ALLEY OOPS!

 

After twenty-five years of marriage, all of our children left the nest; it was now time for my wife and me to do some traveling. The first place on our list was Italy. Since it was the country of my grandparents, I always dreamed of visiting it. I was full of excitement of the unknown, wondering what it would be like. I believed there would be a sense of culture shock. Instead, from the moment we arrived at the airport, I felt like I came home and that I belonged there. Everybody looked like my cousins, their mannerisms were the same, they spoke like my grandparents, and the food was the same as we ate at home. It was like going to the Little Italy in the United States where my relatives lived.

When I was in my formative years my parents warned me about traveling in cities; don’t talk to strangers, stay out of alleys, and walk close to curb, lest someone pull you into an alley. And stay out of those sections where you don’t belong. And if any one calls to you to talk to you keep your distance. So that meant, I should only walk in the Italian neighborhoods or in familiar area of any city.

These warning were justified since we often went into the cities, like Newark and Patterson, N.J, and New York City to visit relatives. These were basic survival techniques that they gave my brother and me. My mother grew up in an Italian slum in New Jersey and my father in a rural Italian neighborhood in a New York community. Their living conditions were quite a contrast. Nevertheless, my father was street wise. As a young man he often was on the road traveling across America on foot, by freight train, bus and car. He told me many stories of significant ethnic problems he encountered on the road. The contents of his stories and the warnings remained in my memory.

On our trip to Italy we landed in Milan; rented a car and drove to Varese, a small city, on the outskirts. We arrived in the afternoon, acquired a hotel room and rested. That evening we went out to eat. As we were strolling we came upon two young teenage girls, and greeted them saying, “Hi! We are strangers, looking for a restaurant. Do you know of any nearby?”

 “Yes, follow us. We’ll take you to one.”

We followed them having a lively conversation. The first thing they did was to walk into an alley off the main thoroughfare. I immediately became wary. But, not my wife, who grew up in Italy, continued to walk nonchalantly along chatting. We continued and went into another alley, and another, and then into a small plaza where three or four alleys conjoined. In it were many young people. Some were standing in small groups, some sitting on motorcycles and looking tough to my perception. I became more nervous and suspicious.

We entered another alley and as we were coming to the end of it, I finally asked in Italian, “Are you sure there is a restaurant close by?” They both looked at me astonished, and at that moment responded simultaneously, “Si, Signore é lá.” They extended their arms pointing across a small plaza to a cafeteria.

Oops! I felt like a fool, I mentally wiped my brow, musing, “Phew!” For the rest of our trip I learned that many thing of interest to see in the large and small cities in Italy are in alleys.

It was a unique experience. I didn’t have to concern myself with where I went. The cities small and large are rife with alleys. Great works of art, Roman ruins, cathedrals, and the best of restaurants are in them. For example, the famous Pantheon, temple to all the gods, sits three alleys back off of a main thoroughfare, and once there six more alleys span from the piazza in front it. My fears dissipated.

Something else that help any misgivings about Italians occurred in the same town. We wanted to cross the street but there was a lot of traffic. We noticed many people entering to what I thought was a staircase leading down to a subway. But, when we approached it we realized it was a sottopassagio, an under-pass to cross the street. We entered, went down the stairs and when we were at the bottom there was a three way intersection. It was quite wide, and enough so that it contained a few shops and a small plaza. A group of about eight young people were gathered at the plaza and standing in the front of the entrance to one of the passageways. I looked at them with suspicion until I saw an elderly lady, walking with a cane, come ambling directly toward them. As she approached, the group automatically, without losing a word in their conversations, separated to let her through. Once she passed, they melded back together like she never passed through them. They continued talking. 

  Below is an 1836 painting of the Piazza della Rotonda by Jakob Alt and a picture of the back of the Pantheon from the Piazza della Minerva, note the alleys. Also is a picture of the alley way in front of the Synagogue in Casale Monferrato. The dark door is the main entrance.