Summer in Italy II
Rovereto is a middle sized town not far from the northern tip of Lake Garda, the largest lake in Italy. It lies on the direct route from Verona to the Brenner Pass, the gate into Austria.
The super highway shoots up from Rovereto to Trento and Bolzano before it enters the pass. A subtle change takes place in population ethnicity, foods, language as you go north, shifting slightly from Mediterranean Italy to Teutonic German.
Blond, blue eyed people are more frequent, and the accent becomes harsher, until people really sound like Germans, even though they speak Italian.
We reach Rovereto by car, a friend drives us from Venice to Verona, and a second friend picks us up there and drives us to Rovereto. On the road we witness the ever present road construction that goes on in summer throughout Italy.
We crawl for one hour in the gauntlet of red cones. The driver, one of my best friend's brother is silent, I think he is not thrilled to play chauffer, but his brother has twisted his arm.
In Rovereto, we check in at the hotel with the same name, it is a somewhat modest hotel but functional. For a couple of days we still battle jet lag. My wife Vicki refuses to get up before one o'clock, so I wonder through the sunny streets alone.
I notice the strong presence of the Republic of Venice everywhere, evidence of the historic possession of these lands by the Serenissima, the statues of the winged lion with his right paw resting on top of the St. Mark New testament book.
I enter a small book shop, the fan is blowing loudly and an old lady peeks from behind a counter. She helps me find Pirandello's short stories and Goldoni's plays, I need reading material badly.
She seems excited that anyone would need her services on this lonely midday, she will close the store in a few minutes and walk home for lunch and rest before opening again at four o'clock, the ancient rhythm of Italian life.
Back at the hotel Vicki is still in bed.The maid, a short woman in her sixties with strong features and a metallic, commanding voice, anxiously stops me as I enter the room” I need to do your room, signore!” I tell her to come back later but she insists, she will be off work in half an hour.
A few minutes later she knocks at the door. Her face is tense and she holds a pile of clean towels for us.
“Asciugamani! Asciugamani!” I grab them and Vicki turns annoyed “What is she saying, for God's sake?
I shoot the money!!! I shoot the money!!” Oh hell, I've got to send her to an Italian class when we go back to California!!
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