Endings and Beginnings in an Italian Village

The beginning of May marks eight years since my wife and I bought our house in Italy. We had spent the two previous years making reconnaissance trips, exploring several regions, narrowing them down, then looking at provinces and assessing the availability of goods and services, medical care, transportation, standard of public maintenance, and other factors important to us. Finally, in late 2016, we hired a bilingual real-estate agent to help us find a town and a house.

We gave her a list of criteria: must-haves, nice-to-haves, and bonus features. We spent a full month in the Marche region of east-central Italy that we eventually chose – not on vacation but spending time in each town she suggested. We looked at so many houses, they eventually became a blur. Then, we entered the village of Santa Vittoria in Matenano. Within minutes, we knew we had found our place. Everyone we spoke with was friendly, welcoming, and helpful. A barista even came out from behind the counter and hugged my wife, telling her she hoped we would become neighbors. It was sweet and touching.

Fast forward to today and we are about to become legal permanent residents of Italy. One becomes eligible for this status after living in the country for at least five years continuously, passing a language exam, and meeting any requirements of the provincial immigration authority. Ours required us to attend a two-day course in Italian civics. It was not onerous. Indeed, I learned a lot from the lectures and videos about the Italian constitution and legal processes.

The Italian constitution has many clauses similar to those of the U.S. Constitution. For good reason. After the end of World War II, and the fall of fascism, the occupying military government gave the American constitution as an example of rights to adopt. The Italians took it in, but they added their own unique provisions.

Three pillars of thought underpin the document and have led to implementing laws passed since its adoption. One is the right to work with fair compensation – with benefits and health insurance. The second is the importance of family – of keeping households together. The third is an obligation to contribute to the community as a whole – in whatever ways one’s interests and skills allow. Military service is one choice. Volunteering to be an ambulance driver is another. As is organizing social and promotional events for one’s town. Why is it difficult to imagine the American constitution including these three basic and humane tenets?

Over the years we have seen how these pillars have played out in real life.

Employees are guaranteed maternity leave. Health care is a fundamental right; medical services, surgery, and hospitalization are provided at no cost. (Foreign residents, like us, pay 2000 euros per year into the system.) Workers get a three-hour break mid-day to have lunch with family members, to run errands, or simply to rest. The typical Italian workday is 9 a.m. to 1 p.m. and 4-8 p.m. People have a healthy, home-cooked lunch rather than wolfing down fast food. The combination of health care and healthy living probably accounts for Italians’ average longevity being in the mid-80s (compared with the mid-70s for Americans.)

Family life is extremely important in this culture. One consequence is that grandparents often live together with an adult child, sometimes in a separate, self-contained, apartment in the house. Multiple generations living together has distinct benefits, from elder care to childcare, from shared household chores to shared utility costs. In Italy, it is rare to see retirement centers where older people are the sole occupants. The idea is to keep people within a community as they age, so that they can feel socially active and energized. Every day we watch older folks take their walks around the village, maintaining a light form of exercise.

Over the years, several of our neighbors in the village have passed away. One woman across the lane died shortly after we arrived. Nowadays we see her adult children visiting her house every so often. The place is still furnished exactly as she left it. Another neighbor down the street passed away after a bout with several afflictions, including cancer. Back when she was still ambulatory, she would stop and give us advice on gardening, and she played with our cats.

The neighbor next door had a morning ritual of flinging open the shutters of his bedroom window and greeting us with “Buongiorno!” He died a few weeks ago. We are witnessing the passing of last generation that experienced WWII and fascism. Back then, as children, these people were forced to watch friends and neighbors who had concealed Jews and downed Allied airmen shot in the village square by the occupying German army. We shall miss Giovanni’s cheerful morning callouts.

I have seen more people that I know pass away in the last seven years than the previous 70 combined. Family members post death notices prominently on walls around the village. I now glance at those to see who is gone. We look down onto the town’s formal cemetery, with its modest graveyard and expansive complex of mausoleums.

At the other end of the lifespan, we are delighted to see parents pushing infants around the village in prams. Italians love to fuss over babies. It’s been enjoyable to watch the children of our neighbors grow from toddlers to teenagers. I teach a class in freehand drawing to a local primary-school class of kids 9 years old. I’ve been impressed with their attentiveness and enthusiasm. I have seen none of the teasing, bullying, or mean tricks played by children of that age that I remember from my own childhood in elementary school.

A couple of years ago, we were invited to a christening by a family we have come to know. It was a grand affair, with a church service presided over by two priests and music by a large choir. After the service, we were invited to join the extended family for a lavish banquet at a restaurant. We left at midnight, just as a whole roast pig was being carried in by a clutch of tuxedoed waiters. Italians certainly know how to celebrate life events.

In a small storefront tucked into an ancient building on the main street in town, my wife has opened a studio where she makes and sells skincare products that are plant-based and chemical-free. She launched the business with the same name she used for her similar space below the Grand Central Bakery when we lived in Seattle. Hence, the name “The Hidden Alchemist,” although it’s not exactly a secret. She already has a steady clientele from throughout the region. Locals have said how nice it is to have a new business in town. We are happy to contribute to the economy.

We are also hosting a continuing education conference of American city-planning professionals later this month. Residents have offered to house participants in their homes for the week of lectures and tours. The Mother Superior at the local convent offered a wing of unused rooms. We are delighted to use our talents to bring new activities and money into the village.

For us, this is a great combination: American entrepreneurial spirit blended with centuries-old Italian traditions, customs, and surroundings. People age and pass as new life appears.