Going Home

After almost a year of living in Rome, my Italian adventure is coming to a close. I've been trying to think about what it's all meant to me, and how the experiences I've had will stay with me in the future. I think the quality that characterizes this year for me best is "double-ness." Not a very elegant way for a writer to put it, but it's the best word I can think of for this year.

First, there's Italy itself, which is such a splendid contradiction. You have a country with such a rich and deep history going from the Etruscans to the Roman empire to the Medieval, Renaissance, and Baroque periods, a place that for so many years was the center of political power and cultural output that's almost unrivaled in history. And now? Since the unification, Italy has been ruled by a series of fragile, squabbling coalitions interrupted by periods of relative stability under the rule of a fascist (Mussolini) and a proto-fascist (Berlusconi). In terms of culture, Italy has gone from the dizzying heights of Virgil, Dante, Michelangelo, and Leonardo (to name a very very few stars in a vast solar system) to not a hell of a lot. There was opera, and directors like Fellini, De Sica, Visconti, and Pasolini. A few talented writers like Elias Canetti, Italo Calvino, and Primo Levi. And an art movement, Arte Povera, that was characterized by its ephermerality.

And then there's the Italian lifestyle, which can seem so laidback and easygoing. Italians can be so warm and informal. "Don't stand on ceremony," they seem to be saying. "Just come to my house for dinner and relax." Do whatever you like. Except don't use a knife to cut your pasta or put cheese on a dish with seafood or drink white wine with meat or red wine with fish or leave a party or a dinner too early (meaning less than four hours).

Which brings us to the question of rules in Italy. Sometimes they don't matter at all and sometimes they are dreadfully important. Witness the following two examples.

Example A: When I first came to Italy, I was on a bus when that rarest of rare events happened: an inspector boarded and asked to see if I'd bought a ticket. Misunderstanding what she meant, I replied in Italian, "I'm getting off in ten stops." The inspector heaved a great sigh and repeated her question in English, then said, "Okay, okay" and moved on to the next passenger. I tried to show her my valid ticket, but she couldn't have cared less.

Example B: A month ago, I went to buy a ticket to a movie that started at 8:00. I arrived at 8:04. The woman at the box office informed me I couldn't go in because it was after 8:00 and her computer now only printed tickets for the next show at 10:30. "But can't I buy a 10:30 ticket and go in now?" I asked. "No." "Why not?" "Because." "But why? It's the same price, and I've only missed a few minutes." "Because you can't. Next customer." "Are we in Germany?" I said. "I guess so," she said. A friend of mine who was there at the time said, "This theater is full of assholes," and we left the building. As we were standing outside, the woman got up out of her chair, came out of the booth, followed us outside, and said to me, "Excuse me, excuse me. You, here, are the asshole," and then returned to her desk.

Another time I was in a bakery and could smell the delicious perfume of some fresh rolls coming out of the oven. I asked if I could have one, and was told, "These rolls won't be ready for another half-hour." A minute or so later, another person behind the counter said, "Didn't you want one of these fresh rolls? How many do you want. I'll wrap them up for you now."

This kind of thing happens all the time. Depending on who you talk to and what mood she's in, you'll hear either, "Don't worry about it. Do whatever you want." Or "But you can't do that! It's against The Rules!"

But for me personally, the biggest source of double-ness of this past year has been living here while my partner of over five years remained back in New York. We visited each other every two months or so, taking turns crossing the Atlantic, but life without him hasn't been the same. With every new beautiful thing I see or place I visit or person I meet, the pleasure is that much less sweet because he can't be here to share the experience with me.

Going home, however, doesn't meant the end of double-ness. Though it may stand out in higher relief here in Italy, we in America have plenty of experience with it as well. (For example, fundamentalist Christians who believe abortion is murder while they whole-heartedly back the death penalty.) And maybe that's the lesson I've taken from my year, to take a second look at the mass of self-contradictions we live by, the unswervingly single-minded allegiance we pay to truths (political, religious, sexual, cultural) that seem self-evident, but upon closer examination just don't make sense.