The gondola
A few years ago, bored with the repetitive rhythms of business, I decided to expand my horizons and just enjoy the abandonment to things new and in line with my enthusiasm.
One of them was to try and teach Italian to motivated individuals willing to make the effort to master the language, a strictly non-profit endeavor.
I had found that many persons born in the USA but of Italian origin had a superficial knowledge of Italian and longed to really understand and speak Italian.
Some knew a few words, some many words and phrases, often colored by the dialect of their ancestors, and it was a challenge to teach them the classic, formal Italian language that is used in modern Italy.Also, my intent and plan focused on framing the language in a more complete cultural context, beyond the mechanics of the language itself.
So I sprinkled each lesson with the spice of cultural anecdotes and concepts, taken from the rich texture of Italian life.
A lesson on driving a car in Italy would go beyond the concepts of speed, legal rights, regulations, insurance, description of the car's operational parts and systems, but would expand to offensive words exchanged by drivers, gestures and communications, how to handle traffic cops, etc.A lesson on foods would cover the known history of recipes, the origin of the ingredients, the occasions and folklore of their preparation.
It turned out that this approach kept the students amused and motivated and this would accelerate their learning.Although I included a number of Italian regions in our discussion, I could not avoid dealing in probably more detail the region of Venice where I was raised.
And here is where I met this very interesting individual, a young man by the name of Greg.While this man displayed the classic demeanor of the young modern American male, a little care-free and humorous, not immediately recognizable as an authority on things foreign, he startled the entire group, about six or seven students, with his incredible knowledge of Venice, its history and culture.
And in particular he had a complete fascination, I should say adoration, for the most intriguing and unique symbol of Venice: the gondola.
I knew he was at least mildly familiar with the craft when he pronounced it correctly, gon-dola, with accent on the gon, not gondo-la, with the accent on the do, like so many mispronounce the word. But his knowledge of the sleek Venetian boat was staggering. He knew the history, the location where they are built, almost all have disappeared, a complete knowledge of all the minute parts, many in Venetian dialect. And that is not all.
He owned one, a magnificent matrimonial gondola, a special version particularly well decorated and fitted, bought at an auction and shipped to Newport Beach, California where he lives and operates a bay cruise business. Greg is married to an Italian American wife, but he is not Italian, he is one hundred percent Irish.
He has learned to row this magnificent craft and maneuver it deftly, a daunting task for one who was not raised in the complex structure of the Venetian lagoon and its narrow and challenging canals. But his enthusiasm for things Venetians has directed his actions.
He even spent long months in Venice where he was able to be accepted into the stodgy clan that is called the Venetian Gondola Society, establishing contacts with the somewhat arrogant sect of Venetian gondoliers, who were overcome by the absolute dedication and admiration of this American man.
Needless to say, a few weeks after I met Greg, I was rowing this magnificent vessel across Newport Beach bay, standing tall at the stern, the guiding post of the gondolier, while Greg accepted humbly the rowing position in front, secondary in the team.
My skills as a gondolier were barely sufficient at the beginning, but soon I got the hang of it, since I had done extensive rowing standing and maneuvering the long single oar placed in the gondola's peculiar oar lock in smaller crafts as a teenager.
As we glided across the bay, incredulous eyes from other boats and from the shore followed us, somebody cheered. I shouted back in Venetian dialect of course, as the gondoliers always do.
Greg had given me a fabulous gift, the opportunity to relive the wondrous moments of my youth when I was what he is striving to be: a part of that dream that is Venice.
Alberto Sbrizzi
10631 Vinedale Street, Sun Valley, CA 91352 - Phone (818) 767-3413 - Fax: (818) 767-1410
