All over the world it is common for people to have a nickname. But in S. Agata dei Goti, the phenomenon became so widespread over time that many people actually forgot their neighbor’s real last names and knew them only by the nicknames! Mario Rossi, (our town’s accountant) who has had to do with just about everybody, showed me a list he has been compiling over the years. The names usually define a physical trait or a person’s habit or line of work. They are often funny and sometimes derisive. Here are a few (if you would like the full list of over one hundred, contact me) :

A - Acchiappacani (dog catcher), Affitto (rent), Aiza a capa, Assassino, Avucatiello (lawyer)

B - Babà (after the famous Neapolitan rum cake), Baccalà (stock fish), Battilocchio (eyelash beater), Bellu Uaglione (handsome man), Braciola (pork chop), Brigante (brigand)

C - Cacaglia (stutterer), Campusantaro (grave digger), Carciuoffolo (artichoke), Carnacotta (cooked meat), Chiancarotta (broken hip), Collamuorti (funeral helper).

D - Dentepazzo (crazy teeth), Duca (duke), Daziario (tax collector)

F - Fuchista ( the person who sets off fireworks), Ferracavallo (horse-shoe maker) , Ferraciuccio (donkey-shoe maker), Fetuso (stinky)

G - Geluso (jealous), Giudice (judge)

I - Ianara (witch), Iettatore (a person who brings bad luck), Imbianchino (wall painter)

M - Mezzarecchia (half an ear), Mazzacane (dog killer)

N - Nasone (big nose), Ncopp casa (on top of the house), Nirone (Blacky)

P - Petone (fart), Pisciapoco (little pisser), Parlachiano (soft spoken)

Q - Quattuocchi (four-eyed)

R - Ricciulillo (curly), Ricuttara (ricotta maker),

S - Scassato (broken), Scuparo (street cleaner), Sinnaco (mayor), Strunzillo (little shit), Stuorto (crooked)

V - Vorpe (fox)

Z - Zizzella (flat-chested), Zizzona (buxom)

For the past ten years the amateur theater group in the little town of S. Agata dei Goti, has been directed by my next door neighbor, the retired comedy actress Hilde Maria Renzi, who worked for many years with neapolitan author and actors Eduardo and Peppino de Filippo.

The plays are held inside the courtyard of the town’s 17^th century episcopio, or bishopric, and are always filled to the brim with men, women, children, and local dignitaries. Now in its 11^th season, this event is so well-loved that the show is prolonged for four days which allows the whole town to see it. Tickets are free.

This year’s offering, Fortuna Con la “F” Maiuscola (Fortune With a Capital “F”) was due to début on June 22nd.

But who could have forseen that Italy would still be playing in the quarter finals of the European Championship on June 22nd?!  By 8 p.m. people were arriving at the local bars, armed with chairs and flags, anxiously tooting their whistles, seating themselves in front of improvised screens made of big white sheets.   As I walked towards the theatre, I doubted if anyone would forgo this excitement in order to see an old Eduardo de Filippo play…

At 9 o’clock there were 10 old women seated in the audience, wading in a sea of empty green chairs. But slowly, in dribs and drabs, more people arrived. By 9:30 the episcopio was reasonably full. Full of women who had decided to come to the theater, leaving their husbands and sons to watch soccer.

As the lights went down an old woman looked around and chuckled to her friends: “It looks like we’re all widows for one night!”

It’s been three years since we moved to the Sannio and as memories of the big city fade, an ever-increasing regard for the process of Nature unfolds before me. While walking my dog I welcome the morning dew. I smell the earth, sense the weather and delight in the taste of fresh fruits and vegetables appena colti. Springtime is luscious in every sense: there is a promise of good things, in the greenness of the grass, the budding fruit trees, the climbing pea stalks and the sweet smell of jasmine.

Cantine Aperte takes place on the last Sunday in May and is a perfect occasion to appreciate all this in a single day and to learn what makes the wines in this area so special. For me and the wines of the Sannio, it is the roses…everywhere.

This might seem like a feeble attempt at waxing poetic, but it’s basically true. The oenological reality of this territory is still one of small, single-estate producers that heralds back to a time when families lived off the land and worked their orchards. And so it was that before the advent of metal wire, farmers used their fruit trees as a support for the grape vines. And since the different crops were hand-picked it was easy to harvest (for example) the pears without damaging the grapes and vice versa.

It is wonderful to see the vestiges of this tradition in the Sannio which is why a well-made Aglianico will taste of wild berries, violets, walnut and tobacco and a good Falanghina will speak of apples and almonds and the presence of jasmine and roses.

In the tiny town of S. Agata dei Goti where I live, Bocce is my preferred spectator sport. It is based on the most primitive and mesmerizing of athletic concepts: to aim and hit a target. Every afternoon, as the evenings become longer, from early Spring to mid-Autumn, small groups gather at the covered outdoor alley on the edge of town to spend a few pleasant hours chiding each other and showing off their playing skills. Although the game might look deceptively easy, I have come to admire these men (aged 50 – 90) and their various throwing techniques and the incredible accuracy they achieve.

Also known as ‘skittles’, Bocce is the precursor of modern bowling. Originating in Egypt, the game was first documented in a tomb painting dated 5200 B.C. and shows two boys playing with shiny stones. The game was introduced to Italy by the Greeks in 800 B.C. and the Romans took to it with a passion, introducing the concept of spherical balls, by first using coconuts and eventually carving them from olive wood.

During the 14^th century Bocce was banned in many countries as Europe’s monarchs realized that the game was distracting the population from more serious occupations such as military training. The aristocracy however did not seem to have to obey these laws and it is rumored that Sir Francis Drake refused to stop a game of Bocce while England was being invaded by the Spanish Armada. He is said to have grumbled “First we will finish the game, then we will worry about the Spanish.”

The general gist of the game is that players have two bocce balls each. A smaller ball called a pallino is launched first and contestants attempt to throw each bocce ball as close to it as possible. There are a number of ways to launch the ball: softly to get as near to the pallino without touching it; hard, to whack an adversary’s sphere out of the way; bouncing, to overcome a rival’s placement…

I love to watch as the men gather at the far end of the court after each round, arguing in dialect over whose bocce is closer to the pallino. After a heated discussion a tape measure inevitably appears and the most accurate shot is often only a matter of a few millimeter’s. Then, laughing, they all start another round…

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