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| Who turned 41? |
In the morning I go for a coffee. Joy is working at the café and the music she plays is always optimistic - an optimism that is no longer of the 2010s. It goes like: “The winner takes it all!” and “Time of my life!”
After some days I switch to another café called Café del Patriarchi, which is the popular morning café in town. One would think that I’d have to boycott a Café del Patriachi but it has the most delicious croissants, fresh from the oven. They are called “brioches” in Italy and they can have different fillings: vuota, madorla, crema, ciocolata, marmellata. Italians clearly don’t like their croissants plain. Every morning I try hard not to order a brioche marmellata, but then I always do.
On my way to Café del Patriarchi I pass by the Duomo. There are angels depicted on the frescos with their eyes closed as if sleeping. Sleeping angels. Isn’t everyone an angel when they’re asleep?
I’m on a residency with dancers Giorgia and Eve. Their favorite place to be is in their body, whereas mine is in the head. I introduce them to the concept of “table conversations”, which consists of having coffee and talking, and “reflection time”, which basically also consists of having coffee and talking.
In the morning we do Feldenkrais. “When it’s not easy, it’s not Feldenkrais”, explains Giorgia. The philosophy sounds very Andy Warhol to me. And while doing subtle body movements, the voice on the recorder tells us: “Don’t try to be good at it. Then you interfere.”
In the afternoon we go for river and museum expeditions. We cross the bridge over the river a few times but it dawns to Giorgia only days later, when Eve has already left, to reveal its name: Ponte del Diavolo.
It’s 7:30am on Sunday and everyone is already out and about in Cividale. The carabinieri are striding around, bikers are flashing by. It turns out to be sports day in Cividale: everyone is showing their expertise. We meet Gabriela who tells us she does scuba-diving. “Che tutti in Cividale” she says with proud.
Pigeons are flying constantly from one roof to the other, their wings making a flapping sound in the wind. Giorgia claps her hands on the terrace, trying to scare the pigeons away, preferably for good. Giorgia is not the only one clapping in Cividale. “The pigeons have a lot of clapping friends.” she says. I catch Giorgia cursing “bastards.” A few minutes later a pigeon come back and shits on Giorgia’s hand. Later at the Duomo I find the exact same scene depicted in a painting, but then impersonated by Maria with a bird flying over her head.
Even while writing, dancers prefer to stay in their body. It’s called “flow writing.” “If I think, I have to decide,” explains Giorgia her dislike of any other kind of writing.
Giorgia says there is no word for stillness in Italian. It must be the gesticulating that gets in its way. During lunch with the family it becomes clear that Italians can listen to two / three conversations at the same time.
The three-hour lunch with self-made gnocchi wipes me out. During lunch I have to lay down on the sofa because it’s too much. I get up twice: once to get the desert and a second time for the coffee. Nobody seems to suffer like me, even the 84 year old uncle keeps on having lively conversations and telling jokes. “It’s a habit,” Giorgia consoles me.
We go for the weekend to Lignano, a beach town at the Adriatic Sea that is the third most popular tourist destination in Italy. It’s end of season in September and everything is closing down. I only start to see Lignano’s beauty while walking down the shopping avenue in the evening. Ernest Hemingway said that Lignano is the Florida of Italy and Lignano clearly loves that idea. It stills seems to be living in the time that it was built. The architecture of the 1960s and 70s has an American feel to it that also shows in its names like “Slurp Gelateria” and “Central Park”.
In the evening, we go to a restaurant. Only a few things of the menu are still available because the restaurant is closing down for the season. The oven has been cleaned so there is no pizza. Before our restaurant visit, Enrico took us on his motorboat to Lignano’s laguna. My hat flew off when he increased speed so we turned back to fish it out of the water. Afterwards at the restaurant, we wished we had fished for some more.
There is an Andy Warhol exhibition at Lignano’s art center. I’m excited to see some nice Coca Cola Cans signed by Warhol and stamp drawings. The art center is in an amazing building and there is a lecture going on about other pearls of Lignano’s architecture. Since I don’t understand Italian, I sit through it looking mostly at the waiters who are setting up the most amazing display of food that I have ever seen at an exhibition. I can’t wait for the talk to finish so I can get started with the food. But just before the talk ends, my Italian hosts decide to leave for Cividale in a hurry. That the food doesn’t make them stay, must mean they are used to this kind of excellence on a daily basis.
I learn that Italy is a culture of details. That’s why it is the number one in design and fashion.
I call everything “spaghetti,” which annoys Giorgia. “Pasta!” she repeats.
