Dispatch from Italy - Che Bella! Come Pazzi!

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I remember my first trip to Italy way back in the day. My first stop was Rome. After taking in some of the beauty of the Eternal City's architecture and iconic ancient ruins, I began to focus on the Romans themselves. I was struck by how elegant many of the older Roman ladies were - coiffed hair, make up, smart clothes, good shoes, and tasteful jewelry. They looked their age but had not traded in style for a pixie cut and a track suit. I couldn't get enough of watching these ladies go about life on the streets of Rome.

On this trip to Italy, many years after that first one, it seems that I am seeing more of Italy's female characters - senoras that, how shall I say, appear to have less class and more crass, less Sophia Loren and more Sophia Petrillo, less grand and more bland, less style and more denial, less...well, you know what I mean.

I am writing this while sitting on the rocks at the beach in Capri's main harbor (I hope no senora is reading over my shoulder, or I will end up minced and made into meatballs).

Anyhoo, there is this woman in front of me. She is alone. When I first noticed her, she was sprawled out on the rocks scarfing down a humongous panini. Now she is knee high in the water looking for rocks or shells. She is, how you say in Italian, grande and she is not shy about letting it all hang out of her bathing suit. Each time she bends over in front of me, her legs and behind look like a light bulb. Yikes.

Earlier in the week, I was at the airport in Genoa before sunrise. These two ladies rolled in sporting huge shades even though it was still dark. They were announcing their arrival like someone cared. They were in outfits that they must have put together in the dark with their shades on. In their unfiltered world, they probably thought they were working it. But the whole thing was not working - they looked like Ab Fab's Eddie and Patsy after a bender. One of them had a wig on that was so high, she must have had to check it as over-sized luggage. 

And as I was watching these two train wrecks, I noticed another old woman wandering around the terminal talking to everyone in Italian, whether or not they were listening (and whether or not they spoke Italian).

The day before on a boat from Portofino, some drunk senora was doing the same thing, telling everyone that she was from "Roma!" as she beat her chest Celine-Dion-style. And speaking of Celine, another old bird was on the boat doing her best Titanic-movie impersonation, bending over the bow with her arms outstretched. Now to put this in perspective, this was a slow-moving, open boat with maybe 20 seats. Someone should have shoved her overboard and been done with it.

So while this lady in the water in front of me is a big can of kooky, she is not even a contender for biggest kook of my trip. But wait, there is a development. From stage left, another woman has come onto the scene. She also is alone. In high heels, she is pulling her rollerboard across the rocks while holding a big can of beer in her free hand. She has this huge mass of frizzy brown hair that looks like she just emerged from an explosion (or maybe she was hanging her head out the window of the hydrofoil on the way over like a dog from a car). Now she is setting up shop to the left of the other bird and she is stripping down to a tiny, white bikini that serves no real purpose. It doesn't truss her in any way, shape, or form. She makes the other bird look like she's wearing a burka.

Now she is applying dark-brown bronzing cream in big scoops on her pale white rolls and face. The clumps look like mud...or even worse. She is attempting to work the clumps in but she has a lot of real estate to cover so only the areas around where she applied a scoop get coverage leaving streaky, brown blotches on her white skin. She looks like a Guernsey. And she has forgotten about the clump on her back so that is just stuck there. It looks like she fell asleep on the "good night" chocolates left on the pillow at her hotel. 

Now she has her beer back in one hand, a ciggy in the other, and she is wobbling around the rocks. Oh dear, now she's bending over too - another light bulb - I've had enough of that for one day, thank you. 

Now she is back at her base camp, and she is sprawled on her back on the rocks with her arms stretched out over her head and her legs wide open, feet toward me. More frizzy brown hair. Good grief.

Italy, I know you have beautiful people - some of the world's most beautiful. You have an elegant, romantic, and lovely country, with people to match. I'll never forget those stylish women in Rome so many years ago. But why am I not encountering them on this trip? What is up?

As I avert my gaze from the "beachings", I see people enjoying the sun at tables outside a nearby restaurant. Most are chatting away but I see one older woman on her own, sitting quietly. She is impeccably groomed from her tailored outfit to her well-coiffed snow-white hair. She is clutching her handbag and looking straight ahead as if lost in thought. She has the look and eyes of someone who has seen so much through a long life but has carried herself with poise and grace throughout. She's it! She's the type of Italian woman I so admired in Rome so many years ago!

Ah, thank you Italy! You have delivered! After a big bunch of batty, you've given me a grain of grace. I was starting to doubt you but my faith is restored. Che bella!

I turn back to my view of the old birds in bikinis on the beach. Oh dear. Come pazzi!