Fare una passeggiata

 Because I’ve been working from home (developing an online language learning platform) for the past month and a half, getting out of the house to take a walk at some point during the day has become an essential part of my daily ritual. However, the temperature in Caserta keeps going up and up and up (37 degrees this week), which makes it difficult to “fare una passeggiata” after 9am and before 7pm. Rather inconveniently, these are the hours when Gio is at school and I’m left to my own devices. Regardless, I’ve soldiered on, and from these various walks around the small city center of Caserta, I’ve made a number of observations. This is a walk I often take…

First, I go through the courtyard and exit Gio’s apartment complex (which is comprised of six apartments that are each inhabited by his relations). Entering the street, I need to look left to make sure I am not immediately run over by the cars racing through the one-way street. Having survived the crossing, I continue on through a small piazza. This neighbourhood piazza is lined with leafy, shade-providing trees, and thus, is quite popular for locals, pigeons and stray dogs alike. I make a point of crossing through the piazza, to take advantage of a precious moment of shade. Continuing on towards the train station, I pass by the newly opened Chinese dollar store, the pizzeria which I’ve been told to avoid because of its “schifose” conditions, a bookstore with weather-worn second-hand books on display outside, and the ever giggle-inducing Bim Bum Bar. At the end of the street there is The Family on the Corner.

The Family on the Corner has taken it upon themselves to extend their apartment onto the street. While in Italy life is much more lived in the streets than it is in Canada, this family has taken this cultural idiosyncrasy to the extreme. There are about 8-10 family members, including: a babe in arms, a couple of little tykes who I often almost trip over, a few women in perpetually too-tight clothing and too-high heels, a pot-bellied middle-ager, and a young man in a wheelchair. The Family on the Corner has set up multiple plastic chairs and toys on this busy foot-traffic street corner, across from the already cumbersome train tracks (which by themselves cause lots of congestion if a train is passing by). If a train is passing by, I take the graffiti-filled underpass. Surprisingly, it doesn’t smell bad down there, and is quite refreshing and cool. If there is no train, I walk on top of the tracks alongside the cars, bikes and scooters that traverse en masse.

Continuing on, I pick up some cereal, yogurt and still-water from the Brio grocery store. Gio’s family doesn’t buy these items because biscotti are the typical Italian breakfast food of choice and their preference is to drink lightly carbonated water (to aid in digestion). After hearing about my friend’s kidney problems (and subsequent hospital visit) after drinking too much of the extremely calcium and chlorine-filled tap water, I’m sticking to the bottled stuff. Needing less than 10 cents change, the grocery store clerk decides not to bother returning the pennies. I think she does this to everyone needing pennies change, perhaps to keep the extra money from the till at the end of the day, perhaps from sheer laziness… or perhaps it’s in protest of how annoying pennies are!

Leaving the Brio, I pass an African man who lays out his wares on a white cloth outside of the Brio each day. These white cloths can deftly scoop up all the wares in one fell swoop if a police man is in sight. Caserta has many (often illegal) immigrants from African countries, who have fled war and extreme poverty. Italy has not integrated all of them into society, so instead, for example, stopping at a long traffic light in a car means that a man will come up to your window and wash it (unless you’ve put your wipers on first) or push tissues or plastic toys into your window. He will be accompanied by various other men, who are trying the same thing with the rest of the cars in the line. I like the man outside the Brio. He never tries to push his wares on anyone, and sells wooden carvings and the same type of useful fruit basket that my mom has (with a moveable net to keep insects out). As with every time I pass him, I wonder what his story is, and wonder if he speaks French (because I don’t know exactly which African country he is from, so it could be possible). I was also recently told that he probably has to give half of his earnings to the Camorra.

Further along, I pass a couple of cheap clothing stores run by more immigrants (this time from Asia), a man selling the most seasonal fruit from a cart (though these days he’s been selling grilled corn), and a deli where the man tells you what panino he thinks you should get, based on what is good today. After this street I need to be careful walking, as the sidewalk has ended and if I don’t walk straight against the store fronts, my foot could get run over by a car or scooter that is sharing the same road. Coming up on a main road, to the left there are two of my favourite bars to go for an aperitivo, which always come with copious amounts of snacks, including small sandwiches with marinated vegetables, cheeses and meats. These snacks are complimentary at both bars, and tipping is not required, which makes going out for a drink and nibbles significantly less expensive than in Canada. However, since it’s not aperitivo hour (5-8pm), I continue straight on, across a busy road.

Crossing this busy road is an art form. There is a faded zebra crossing, which is but a mere apparition of order. To cross the road successfully, I take a strong step out into the road, appearing to look ahead while actually keeping a watchful eye to my left and my feet ready to halt at an instant. If the cars were to think I was going to wait for them to cross, they would never stop, so I must make it seem like I myself am not going to stop walking across the road, in order to make them put on the brakes. Basically, it’s a game of chicken. Luckily, Italians are not the murderous sort, so they (usually) stop. But, I must be strong and not show them I am secretly afraid of dying an untimely death in the middle of the strada. The second crossing proves easier, since the cars coming from the right are easier to convince that I’m serious about crossing, since I’m already in the middle of the street.

Having survived that ordeal, I continue along another even narrower road, shared by all types of traffic. Because of the narrowness, this road is usually quite nicely shaded, as well as being protected by the tall buildings and the shadows cast by characteristic Naples-esque laundry fluttering in the wind. This street marks the transition between the stores that sell practical goods to the stores that sell nice clothing, purses, knick-knacks, and other such frivolous sundry. In the heart of the city, further on, I could buy a pair of Prada heels, if I ever got the whim to do such a thing.

After this narrow road my walk could diffuse in various directions: I could continue straight on in a similar fashion, turn left and go towards the Royal Palace, head towards the main shopping drag (and get those Prada heels), turn right and pay a visit to the tiny fair trade/organic shop, or stop in a café and sit and enjoy a macchiato.  Then, I loop back, and take the same route home.

Going for a walk in Caserta is a feast for the senses. It’s not exactly a relaxing experience, but it’s definitely a cultural experience. All I need to do is step outside of the apartment, and there is no doubt that life is being lived in every corner of this city. 

A girl is carried across the street after a heavy rain fall/flood in June. Brio workers watch the scene and sweep the water away from the store front.