Party time

No matter the time of year, Italy seems to be in a state of constant celebration. For example, this summer I passed many weekends in the neighbouring hill town of Casertavecchia, and from there, Caserta below would explode in sporadic firework displays almost every night, commemorating some sort of sagra, saint, or personal achievement. They don’t call it la dolce vita for nothing, and here’s why…

A sagra is an Italian word for a town festival. Sagre happen on a regular basis all around Italy, and for the most part, these celebrations are all about, of course, food. Next month in Napoli, there is La Sagra delle Pizze (where I’ve been told, Japanese pizzaioli have won the competition for the past few years running!) In Tuscany there are sagre commemorating such things as funghi, cinghiale and, without a doubt, la bistecca. Sagre are all over Italy, but more typical in smaller towns. It’s basically an excuse to eat copious amount of the food that is in season at the moment, in a festive environment (like, firework displays).

Another community celebration is for the patron saint, santo patrono, of the town or city. Naples has a patron saint, San Gennaro, Caserta has a patron saint, Sant’Anna, and all of the other small towns and suburbs in between have their own respective patron saints. Usually the bigger cities have bigger celebrations, but that doesn’t mean that the smaller towns don’t know how to honour their saint in style. This summer, I thought the celebration for Sant’Anna would never end, as Caserta was decorated with all sorts of fanfare for weeks on end. But, Naples takes the cake for saint days, with San Gennaro providing a miracle not one, not two, but three times a year! In May, December and, most importantly, on September 19^th (the official saint day), San Gennaro’s sacred coagulated blood liquefies, much to the delight of the Catholic masses. There is a procession with his blood and statue from the Duomo as the streets are packed with devoted Napolitani, who all have the day off work. Saint days, from what I’ve seen here in Campania, are mix of religious tradition and modern celebration. Like many Canadians on days like Victoria Day, for the most part, people are just happy to enjoy a day off.

Speaking of Saint Days, not only does each town and city have their own saint, but each person has their own saint too. This personal day of celebration is called an onomastico, poorly translated as best it can be into English as “Name Day.” Most Italians have a name which is also a name of a saint, and each saint has their own day. I got creative, to make sure I didn’t lose out on all the onomastico fun, by figuring out which Italian name best corresponds to my own (Maddalena). To celebrate, relatives give each other money and homemade cakes are baked and then distributed to family members. Some people might have a special dinner with their immediate family. Basically, an onomastico is a slightly toned-down version of a birthday.

Birthdays are more or less celebrated in the same way they are around the world, with a few added details. If a person has a birthday party, the friends invited will all chip in to buy one big, expensive gift all together. Small personal gifts are just not done. Presents from relatives is generally cash and there is also a special immediate-family dinner. There is however one particular birthday that gets a lot of attention in Italy: the 18^th birthday. I’ve been very lucky that Gio’s brother here in Campania, and Gio’s cousin up in Tuscany, both did me the honour of turning eighteen in the time that I’ve been here. What makes this birthday different from other birthdays is the fanfare involved in terms of present giving and lunch eating. Both boys had five course meals in wonderful restaurants, one in the medieval town of Casertavecchia and the other in a castle in San Moltepulciano, with about 20 guests invited to each affair. The lunch progresses at a luxurious pace, because no one will be doing anything after eating that amount of food. After being fed to the point of bursting, an Italian eighteen-year-old is fit and fed for his passage into adulthood.

               In my opinion, there is a second celebration that more appropriately signifies passage into adulthood than the 18^th birthday: la festa di laurea (the graduation party). Most Italians continue to stay at home during their university careers, which is a financial strategy I know and appreciate well. The difference is, the age that an Italian student graduates can vary a lot, with the majority of Italian students staying at home into their late twenties or sometimes longer, if they can’t find a job (which is a major problem in Italy). If a student takes longer than the time it should take to graduate (between 3-5 years, depending on the program), the student is fuori corso – off track. Students who finish on time are definitely in a better position to find a job, since employers look at how long it took them to graduate to gauge their moxy. The catch-22 is, since said employers seem to be a scarce commodity, students are less than motivated to finish their degrees on time to impress these phantoms and step out into the “real world” of high unemployment rates. These sociological factors make la festa di laurea a real shindig, because graduating is a real achievement of adulthood. Students usually have a meal with family that is comparable to the 18^th birthday affair, but the gift giving is quite a bit more extravagant. Another restaurant party often happens with friends, usually with a more casual meal service, like a buffet. Again, friends chip in to buy the graduate a nice gift. I’m looking forward to the celebrations next month, for Gio’s second graduation party, for his Masters degree!

The final celebration, la crème de la crème of all celebrations, is of course, the Italian wedding. I had the honour of being invited to a wedding a few weeks ago, and got a taste of the elegance and extravagance of a traditional Italian wedding. Italy is well known as one of the world’s most romantic destinations, and the people of Italy hold this reputation true by celebrating proudly and lavishly the most important day for a couple in love. To begin, the traditional Italian wedding is a whole-day affair, from late morning to midnight. This wedding started in a beautiful medieval church, where the priest swiftly made his way through pages of religious scripture. (Much to my delight, the service was “subtitled” with a word-for-word booklet of the priest’s speeches during the service, making it possible for me to understand what was going on.) After the service, rice was thrown, balloons were unleashed into the atmosphere, pictures (upon pictures upon pictures) were taken, and everyone migrated to a villa in a neighbouring town to start the feasting.

A wedding feast to end all wedding feasts.

Though, the word “feasting” doesn’t fully encompass the amount of food that was presented at this wedding. The banquet was bookended by two buffets, an appetizer buffet and a dessert buffet, which could have fed everyone to satisfaction on their own; however, in between the buffets was a nine-course parade of Southern Italian delicacies, alternating gracefully between land and sea based dishes. Between two in the afternoon and almost nine o’clock at night, the dishes were served, wine was drunk, and entertainment (singing and dancing, mostly) got everyone moving enough to shake down the preceding course into our bellies, so that we could all make room to eat again. The evening ended with the dessert buffet of wedding cake and about ten different other pastries. During this stage of the festivities, everyone was invited to a decorated gazebo to make their own take-home “confetti” packages (small hard-candy favours), just in case anyone would be craving something sweet later on. The guests also all received a bomboniere, which in this case was a gift of Murano glass, to keep as a memento of the day.

If I’ve learned one thing from all of these festivities, it’s that Italians sure know how to throw a party. And if I could give one piece of advice to someone going to an Italian party it would definitely be: come with an empty stomach.

As always, comments and questions are welcome!