With a surname like Gozzi going to Italy was long overdue. So , in May , my wife and I went on a group trip advertised as A Taste of Italy. It started in Venice (north) and ended in Rome (south). In between we visited wine country, Florence and a day trip to the world’s 5th smallest country, San Marino. A side benefit was that I was able to go on a boat, a ferry and a gondola without having palpitations. Glory Days.
The trip lasted 10 days total and was agog with fun and learning experiences. Personally, if I don’t see another museum this decade, I’m good. Nonetheless, it was an interesting cast of characters in our travel party of about two dozen retired and youngish people. But this story isn’t about all the sights, food and culture but more so to answer the question Am I a real Italian?
The sad truth is that I’m third generation at best since my grandparents (both sides) were immigrants and my parents were born in the States. I grew up in the Italian style of the times- basically church, food and family. I spent loads of time with my paternal grandparents who, between the two of them, probably knew a dozen English words. But it didn’t matter, they were salt of the earth people, my grandmother had a chicken coop and my grandfather (Nonno), before I knew him worked on a road crew. He was a smallish man, maybe 5’6” and 125 pounds soaking wet. I was named after him sort of- his name was Giovan. He liked watching wrestling on TV when it was very low brow and attempted to figure out baseball.
My grandmother (Nonna) was built like a refrigerator only softer. She collected rainwater in a barrel and made bread every day. I can still see and smell it. Wonderful people and, in my mind, a good part of the reason I needed to see Italy. My mothers’ parents I didn’t know as well but they were similar all about family (seven kids), food and serious Catholicism. They actually had an altar in a hallway upstairs, I don’t recall either speaking English. But I remember their faces and in my grandmothers’ case a wooden leg due to an infection after spraining an ankle climbing an Italian mountain.
You’d pretty much have been living in a bubble without knowing anyone who hasn’t visited and probably raved about the country shaped like a boot. But just in case, the food GREAT, the sites BREATHTAKING and the Italian people, mostly slim and beautiful. But then there are the tourists.
Particularly in the cities, it was wall-to-wall people from all over. I felt like half of China was in attendance. It almost made me laugh when we were outside the Vatican and the local tour guide said I’s not that crowded. On the other hand, I felt like a human sandwich at Woodstock.
Either way- at times we ate together, got swindled together, drank together and on one occasion laughed so hard that we cried. Life altering memories would about sum it up. So why was I feeling so odd?
On the surface I still look Italian and have some mannerisms. Shouting and talking with my hands would be a couple. But the other staples that fuel real Italians such as coffee, wine and fine clothing- not on a bet. I’ve never drank a cup of coffee, abhor wine and dress U.S casual. A typical Italian male is by western standards small (maybe 5’7”), slim (maybe 140 pounds) and drinks wine like I drink water. Also, their clothing was very stylish, especially the shoes. Women were put together with jewelry, $200 haircuts and perfect makeup. The only negative was smoking, particularly vaping by young adults. On the other hand, I didn’t know the language well enough, looked like a middle linebacker and dressed like a Nike ad. All I knew for sure by the end of the trip was that I was very American, met some great people some of whom were from Arkansas and became a huge gelato fan.
All things considered I am an American first and Italian second. I doubt I’ll go back- too many other places to check out before the big checkout. But don’t let this diatribe scare you into going abroad if you have the loot. Surely, you’ll be challenged with the excessive travel required, different foods and language to name a few. But that’ll be offset by the overall experiences, the people and the just realization that there’s more to life than this crazy place we call America.
Ciao for now
