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Posted: March 15
On Friday we planted grass seed in a large section of the lower garden behind the Curia, and I took photographs of the delicate white blossoms covering the apricot tree: signs that spring is eminently ready to burst forth. And then I got a sudden urge to see snow for the first and last time this year before winter took a final exit. I had already experienced six weeks of summer during January and February when I was visiting the communication works of the East Asia assistancy; the thermometer hit 41 degrees one day in Melbourne, Australia. So a bit of snow sounded pretty appealing. With all the rain that has been falling here in Rome for the past few weeks, the high country in the Abruzzi mountains to the west should have plenty of snow. Fortunately a car was available at the last moment and Joe Tetlow and Bob Geisinger were free and ready to escape the city for a day. So off we headed on the autostrada on Sunday morning.
A little over an hour later we exited the highway and climbed steeply up a mountainside into the broad valley which holds the Campo Felice downhill ski area and a big cross-country ski area, where we stopped. Although the day was warm and sunny, deep snow blanketed the hills and carpeted the valley floor, hiding all but the essential details. We parked on the side of the road like everyone else, reducing the road to a crowded, one-way lane. Italy doesn’t seem to have discovered the concept of parking lots in the mountains to handle all the cars they know will come to a ski area. (Of course, they don’t have parking lots in Rome either, but at least in the mountains no one doubled-parked.)
The snow brought back memories of many great days in the Colorado mountains in what seems like a lifetime ago. Winter is good for the soul, at least for mine. It was beautiful and quiet, with clean air and the steady scrunch of snow underfoot. Since we were on a “gita” or outing, we messed around in the snow for awhile and then headed off in search of a restaurant. Memories of great meals in restaurants all over Italy punctuated our conversation. A gita literally refers to a one-day trip out of the city, but it has its own proper form, just like a sonnet: the journey out of the city, a morning exploring or visiting some place, pranzo (the mid-day meal as the highlight of the gita), an afternoon exploring a second location, the trip home. Sunday’s gita followed the form exactly, with the grace note that we had no idea beforehand where we were going. Everything was a discovery.
Not far from Campo Felice we found a sign advertising the Ristorante La Rocca in a small town named Corvaro di Borgorosa, perched on the lower flanks of a mountain overlooking a broad flat valley that was clearly the bottom of a lake at some time in the geological past. Snow still covered the upper slopes of the mountain, and big piles of black snow lingered on street corners. La Rocca turned out to be the perfect country restaurant: no menu just a recitation of the dishes available. Fresh home-made pasta and lots of meat. It was simple food but delicious; and the waiter was good, as you would expect. We lingered for well over two and a half hours, eating, but talking even more about lots of things. A great Sunday pranzo. Then the chairs got too hard and it was time to move into the afternoon phase of the gita and explore the medieval town which looked to be abandonned because of all the glass-less windows we saw from a distance.
The deep thump of amplified music assailed us as soon as we left the restaurant. Out interest picqued, we walked out onto the main street and saw a big float in front of us with a crowd of young men wearing elephant and giraffe heads. Bob is our designated question-asker because his Italian is so much better than Joe’s or mine; he asked two women bystanders what was going on. With complete equanimity they answered, “Carnivale.”
Since we had just celebrated Mass that morning for the third Sunday of Lent, that answer stopped us cold.
“But we are in the middle of Lent,” we protested.
“Yes, but on Mardi Gras the weather was just awful,” one woman replied, not needing any more explanation for moving the celebration to a much more pleasant day, quite suitable for a parade. Why get too concerned about technicalities, like Lent? The day was mostly for the children anyway, who are a precious resource in an aging Society like Italy. Especially in a small town like this one where the young flee to the big cities looking for jobs. Corvaro was determined to celebrate, and they would not want to do Carnivale too close to Good Friday, so Sunday was the day.
I found it hard to disagree. The first float we saw turned out to be the Lion King; a bit of Walt Disney in the Abruzzi mountains. And a Mexican float featuring a huge serape and mariachi band; and the two young men playing amplified accordians with backup by drum synthesizer. Mostly, I was fascinated by the young children who dressed up in costumes like kids in the U.S. do on Holoween. The excitement came from grade-school age kids running around squirting each other with shaving cream and some pressurized sticky string. It was chaotic and everyone was happy, especially the older people leaning on the balconies who were probably already deaf and not bothered by the accordians.
They probably do this same thing every year; it is not exactly religion but it is a ritual that helps define community. Some people might object to blurring seasonal lines; Carnival is supposed to happen before Ash Wednesday not three weeks later. Bob and Joe and I just watched and applauded their determination to remain a community despite the social pressures symbolized by the abandonned medieval homes looming above the parade route. The Sunday gita was our own ritual, our Jesuit way of maintaining community in the face of the steady grind of planning big meetings (like Joe is doing as the Secretary for Ignatian Spirituality) or handling the canon law business of the Society (like Bob does as the Procuratore Generale) or dealing with communication issues like I do. Sometimes you just have to step aside, and enjoy winter in the middle of spring, or carnival in the middle of lent, or a Sunday gita in the middle of work.
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