Colleen's Italy

Processions, Easter celebrations and Cavallo di Fuoco

I should have learnt some Italian before I moved here.  I have no excuse:  my brother gave me a set of CDs, very good ones; my daughter bought me a book titled ‘The Idiot’s Guide to Learning Italian’; and with birthday money from my sister I bought a tome of an Italian dictionary.  Of course, I say to myself, learning anything new takes longer as you get older; the truth is, I haven’t tried very hard and that is a mistake I promise to rectify!

My faux pas ("gaffe" in Italian).  One day, waiting at the bus stop in San Benedetto del Tronto to come home after visiting the twice-a-week market, I got chatting to a man I had seen in passing a few times before.  He speaks little English, I little Italian, and we both have a smattering of French.  We managed the usual ‘good morning’ and ‘how are you’, even discovered we are both retired.  I asked him what he did before retirement and I thought he said that he cleaned in a hospital.  I was a bit surprised but, remembering the few crucial words, when I got home and looked them up in the dictionary I realised that what he had said was that he had worked in hospitality.  I have since had lunch with him and his wife and, using all three languages and a dictionary, we had a pretty good conversation.

I mentioned Thomas, who was brilliant on the day I moved in.  Since that first day he has done loads of jobs for me.  He organised my telephone installation, set up my computer and helped to open an internet account.  I don’t have a car so he has taken me to shops I cannot get to on public transport, and when I’ve needed to buy bulky items.  Every so often, when I have a list of jobs to be done, I email him.  He can do practically everything and charges by the hour; he is reliable, fast, clean and efficient; he also builds and maintains swimming pools.  I’m sure there is a Thomas in all areas of Italy.

If you are planning to live here permanently, rather than have a holiday home, you will need to get ‘residency’.  I’m not saying that the goal posts are moved, but I did find that each time I thought I had finally got everything in order, there was just one more thing to do.  Proof that I was divorced, proof that I had a retirement pension, E121 form (for medical services) which of course would be a different form for people coming from other countries, codice fiscale (tax code), birth certificate.  My birth certificate is only a copy of the original, so had to be authenticated.  By the Italian Embassy in London I was told!!  By the British Embassy in Rome!!  Not true.  For about £20 it was authenticated at the Authentication Office in Milton Keynes; again, there would be similar offices in other countries.   It was a wonderful feeling the day I got my residency; for a start, it meant paying lower electricity bills because without residency it is presumed that your ‘casa’ is a second home.  Also, without residency I couldn’t register with a GP.

In my town, there is a procession on the evening of Good Friday with a crucifix and a glass ‘coffin’ carrying a statue of Christ.  I think that at least half the town residents follow it to the church.  On Easter Day, most families seem to go out for lunch and I went to my friend’s hotel where course after course arrived, all very delicious.

One week after Easter Sunday we celebrate Cavallo di Fuoco, an ancient tradition where a wooden horse is packed with fireworks and pulled through the town to the main piazza where the fireworks are lit and everyone gets a little drunk; very good fun.  Next time I’ll write about other traditions.