While on a heritage tour with an Italo-American family who had come to meet their Italian relatives, we spent some time with their family near the tiny hilltop village of S. Giorgio la Molara in the province of Benevento.

This is a vast farming region of rolling hills and an immense checker-board effect is created by the colors of the crops: predominant are the powder blue of the sky, the rich browns of the tilled fields and the grey-greens of olive, tobacco and corn, with golden necklaces of tabacco neatly hanging to dry on wooden racks.

At first glance it’s an idyllic scene, with sheep grazing in the meadows, far from the drama of Naples or the exhaltation of the Amalfi Coast.  But it’s a stark, spartan place, where in the early part of the last century lives were torn apart by back-breaking labor, famine and emigration and where even today familes live isolated lives highlighted only by births, baptisms, weddings and funerals.

As we travelled through the countryside, huge turbines harvested the Autumn winds and I reflected that nothing here goes to waste.  And then I was struck by how this stark landscape, viewed from the air, might seem like some titanic game of chess, with the huge windmills posing as pawns on an awesome and endless chessboard.

segue versione italiano

“Under every stone lurks a politician” wrote Aristophanes in 410 B.C.

This was undoubtedly the case in the recent administrative elections in our town.

Three candidates were running for the office of mayor this year in Sant’Agata, each with a roster of eligible  officers which meant almost practically everybody in town was jostling for a position in the administration.  I began to understand how personal political campaigning could be.

The months and weeks running up to the elections saw a flutter of activity in our little town.  Candidates could be seen everywhere, huddled in small groups or talking to prospective supporters.

This brought me to muse about an entertaining book I’m reading on the political campaigns of ancient Pompei.  Candidates were promoted largely by friends, family and ‘corporations’.  These were associations made up of local merchants and professionals: fruit sellers, goldsmiths, launderers, porters and mule drivers would urge citizens to vote for a canditate, writing slogans such as:

NERUM AED(ILEM) OVF. UNGUENTARI FACITE ROG(ANT)
I urge you to vote for Nero as surveyor.  He is packed by the perfumers.

C LOLLIUM FUSCUM IIVIR(UM)…ASELLINAS ROGANT NEC SINE ZMYRINA
Asellina’s chambermaids – including Smirina – request the election of Gaio Lollio Fusco as duumvirate.

Or even the slightly offensive:

CEIUM SECUNDUM IIVIR(UM) OVF. SUTORIA PRIMIGENIA CUM SUIS ROG(ANT) ASTYLE DORMIS
Choose Ceio Secondo for duumvirate.  It is Sutoria Primigenia and her family who ask for your vote.  Astilo you are asleep!

Oooh, that must have hurt!

ELEZIONI PASSATE

“Sotto ogni pietra si annida un politico”, scrisse Aristofane nel 410 a.c.  Era il caso delle recenti Elezioni Amministrative avvenute nella nostra città.

Tre candidati si contendevano la carica di Sindaco, ognuno con la propria lista di candidati assessori, per un totale di aspiranti amministratori vicino alla metà dei votanti. Cominciai a capire quanto personalizzata una tale campagna elettorale possa diventare.

Nei mesi e settimane precedenti il voto fervevano iniziative nel paese: si potevano vedere i candidati presenziare un po’ ovunque, in piccoli gruppi fra loro o parlando a potenziali elettori.

Questo mi fece pensare ad un interessante libro che sto leggendo sulle campagne elettorali dell’antica Pompei.  I candidati erano sostenuti principalmente da amici, familiari e corporazioni.
Queste erano le associazioni in cui si organizzavano mercanti e professionisti: fruttivendoli, gioiellieri, lavandai, facchini, mulattieri. Tutti si adoperavano, spronando i cittadini a votare per il proprio candidato, per mezzo di slogans come:

NERUM AED(ILEM) OVF. UNGUENTARI FACITE ROG(ANT)
Vi prego di eleggere a edile Nero. Lo appoggiano i profumieri..

C LOLLIUM FUSCUM IIVIR(UM)…ASELLINAS ROGANT NEC SINE ZMYRINA
Le cameriere di Asellina – non senza Smirina – chiedono l’elezione a duunviro di Gaio Lollo Fusco.

O perfino il leggermente offensivo:

CEIUM SECUNDUM IIVIR(UM) OVF. SUTORIA PRIMIGENIA CUM SUIS ROG(ANT) ASTYLE DORMIS
Vi prego di eleggere a duunviro Ceio Secondo.  Lo chiede Primigenia insieme ai suoi congiunti.  Astilo, tu dormi!

Questa deve aver toccato a fondo!

By Penny Ewles-Bergeron, writer, artist, … finding the many good things in Naples.

See the original article with photos at Italian Notebook

Some people have fairies at the bottom of their garden. We have the oldest military academy in Europe at the end of our street. La Nunziatella was founded in 1787 to turn out officers for the kingdom of Naples.

These days the boys study strategy, topography, firearms practise, horse riding and all manner of sports within a classic Italian school programme.

Twice a year the cadets parade to Piazza del Plebiscito for a grand ceremony. And we rush to the balcony.

At other times you see them out and about, dressed either in summer white buttoned jackets and blue trousers or their winter black with dramatic cloaks and spadini – short dress swords - always on display. You’d think there has been a mass breakout from the opera house!

But you have to dress and act the part when you live and work in a splendid red citadel like la Nunziatella.

It all started as a game.  Sabra was showing off her acrobatic skills, after a big Sunday lunch at Terre di Conca.

As usual, a small group of people had gathered to watch her.   A little  man pushed his way forward and insisted that I enroll her in the upcoming dog show at Roccamonfina.  (This event was part of the inaugural festivities of the Regional Park and was being held to raise money -and awareness- for a sterilization campaign in the area.  Stray dogs are a major problem in Campania where they are often hit by cars, leaving them both homeless and crippled)

“But she’s not even a pure breed” I protested, secretly beaming that someone was so impressed with her.

“Non importa” he interrupted, “Nobody here has ever seen anything like this!”

You must know that Sabra loves to perform and will do just about anything for her pallina (little ball).  She sits and lies down; she jumps on command, she twists, rolls over and comes to heal;  she slaloms like a down-hill racer; she throws herself down slides in the playground; she will sit up and beg like a chihuahua; so long as you have her little ball in hand.

So I enrolled her in the contest and on the day of the show, as we left the villa, chef Berardino Lombardo’s parting words were: “If Sabra wins a prize I’m going to cook her a steak!” and off we went.  The town’s central square had been cordoned off and a raised platform constructed for the judges. On a table to the left were the trophies, medals and statues.  I pointed to a sculpture of a german shepherd that looked like Sabra and told Chiara, Berardino’s 12 year old daughter, “We’re going to win that one”.

There were alot of dogs. Pure breeds, mixed breeds and a couple of alien breeds, pathetically dressed as ballerinas, quivering in their bows and tutus. In the initial round Sabra behaved beautifully, trotting elegantly by my side and seating herself in the center of the piazza. She performed two or three commands, received her pallina and trotted back to our group. She was chosen as one of the 10 finalists.

On the second round we managed to present an “orsetto” (always a favourite, meaning ‘little bear’, where she sits up on her back haunches looking absolutely adorable, and a “rollover” which were with received many “ooh’s” and “ah’s” from the crowd.

It took the judges another half hour to make their decisions.  They announced the “Best of Breed” winners and the dogs and owners were duly photographed with their trophies.  Then came “Il Più Grande” (the biggest), “Il Più Piccolo” (the smallest), “il Più Carino” (the cutest), “Il Più Simpatico” (the most endearing), “Il Più Buffo” (the funniest)… It was getting dark and we had to admit that Sabra had probably not won over any hearts.

Then, just as we were starting to head back to the car, the judge announced, “And last but not least, we award the prize for “Best Show” to Sabra and her owner Signora Goldfinger!” (it’s the closest they ever get to Goldfield)

What a rush! I started to scream and jump up and down like one of those crazy ballroom-dance moms. We ran to the stage, Sabra prancing like a princess, where we recieved our prize: lo and behold, it was that  german shepherd statue mounted on a thick slab of marble…

…and when Sabra got home, there was a huge steak waiting for her.

Che soddisfazione!

It’s time that I introduced you to Sabra, our german shepherd, seeing as she is such a big part of our lives.

Sabra came to us two and a half years ago. We were about to start a new chapter in our lives and moving to the country meant that I could finally have a dog, a BIG dog. My friend Rachel called to say that she had met a young couple who had a giant german shepherd pup that they were trying to find a home for. I liked the sound of ‘giant’; the more dog the better, I always say!

We spoke to the owner and Kaya (as she was named) was delivered into our arms one fine morning in November … torn from her mother, miserable, dishevelled and covered in her own vomit.

Soon however she was comfortably settled into our home in the Sannio. She grew quickly (and remembering that she was going to be a ‘giant’) we decided that it would be better to give her some proper schooling. I had read Jen Fennell’s “The Dog Listener” and began a search on the internet for an amischien trainer in Campania. Lo and behold I found a school located at the foot of Mt. Vesuvius. It was unforgettably named ‘Happy Snout’.

Federico, Sabra and I went to school for six months and it was the best decision we ever made. We studied how to become pack leaders (which basically means learning how to ignore bad behavior and reward the good behavior of your dog). It was difficult at first but the results were rewarding.

Sabra eventually grew to become a normal-sized, german shepherd mix and she is a real beauty. Whatever she lacks in size and breeeding is more than compensated by her outstanding temperment and intelligence. She has been instrumental in making the insertion and weaving of our lives into the tapestry of S. Agata dei Goti a seamless success. I have become known as ‘la signora col cane’ (the woman with the dog) and when I go out alone, the first question I am inevitable asked is “ma signora, dov’è Sabra?” (”so where is Sabra?”)