The People

Chivalry and courtesy live on in Italy ! Long after you've returned home you'll retain pleasant memories of their politeness. Understandably, tourists often find their vocabulary growing quickly merely because Italians never fait to use sing‑song words of greeting (buon giorno, buona sera ‑ good morning, good evening). When you're baking in the high season summer heat it can really make your day to hear waiters, concierges. shop assistants and office clerks bidding you "grazie (thank you), never forgetting to say "per favore" (please), and using the mort familiar word of all ‑ "prego" (don't mention it, you re welcome). Even in the rush hours in Rome, when public transport tries to stick in passengers like a novic tackling spaghetti, the Italian commuter will beg your pardon (mi scusi) although he has flagrantly queue-barged.

This same kind of warmth expresses itself in the familial attitudes of Italians. In a country where the cult of children shows no sign of easing, you'll see huge families strolling together, especially on Sundays. Momma is worshipped on a pedestal built by her husband and children. You have only to drop in at a pasticceria from Turin to Naples to see the chocolate boxes, dressed up in tinsel and colored ribbons, that bear the manufacturer's printed message "for Momma". Or call in at a stationery shop to see how many greeting cards are printed solely in her honor.

This emotional make‑up is a common trait and takes many forms. Nobody, it seems, from fishmongers to TV newscasters, can express themselves without using tongue and hands at the same time. Ordinary language is equally inadequate and is helped along with peppering of "Santa Madonna !" and "Santa Maria !"

If they are warm in family life Italians reach boiling point in political passions. Three dozen governments have fallen since World War II and the excess of political rallies is surpassed only by the number of public buildings and monuments defaced by spray‑painters with a political message. In the unlikely event of a full in the political forum there are always the football Games and state lotteries as standbys for excitement.

The evening walk or congregation in groups, known as the passeggiata, is a good occasion to observe Italian mates in more tranquil mood. At this hour they meet in the gallerias of Milan and Naples, in the coffee shops, and in the piazze and Campo of the smaller towns. Here they discuss the trivial, the trite and the portentous events of the day which, heaven forbid, should be allowed to pass by without individual comment.

Their abiding love of tradition manifests itself in scores of colorful pageants and folklore ceremonies, many originating in medieval times. Tuscany and Umbria provide most of the jousts and horse‑races, with participants decked out in two‑toned costumes, pointed shoes and armed with crossbows. In the south and on the islands there is a more esoteric touch to the costumes, with hooded men walking barefoot, and often wearing masks that would frighten an African witchdoctor.

Everyday life has ifs own costumed color. Army conscripts, seen nearly everywhere, add a dash of color to their well pressed khaki uniforms by wearing red alpine caps with dangling pom‑poms. Other units strut around in feathered headgear as flashy as cockerels. Guards outside government buildings are resplendent in tritons and ceremonial swords while naval officers are equally eye‑catching in brass‑buttoned uniforms and shining daggers at their aides. The carabinieri, not to be outdone, are forever spick‑and‑span and conspicuous in their white pith helmets.

There are just as many differences between Italians as those similarities we have already touched on. Most of the idiosyncrasies can be attributed to geographic and economic conditions which, together, have shaped the mental outlook and visible characteristics of the regional Italians. Thus, the Florentine, whose artistic heritage is of a decorous, harmonious nature, reflects it in his unobtrusive yet elegant clothes, interior design and in the way he conducts himself in the company of others. He is a world apart from the spirited Neapolitan, whose style and tempo of life are closer to the speed of a Charlie Chaplin film. The scrawny Neapolitan street urchins, clinging to the backs of buses as they bum rides through the downtown area, are part of the norm in this bustling city. Up north, say in Como, they would very soon feel the backhand of the carabinieri. In the deep south, in Apulia, Basilicata and Calabria, life plods along in slow motion. Women are seldom seen atone. The sun peels paint off the flat buildings, farmers eke out a living from the dry soil and people sit on their doorsteps, throwing long, piercing stares at strangers.

Likewise, there is not much in common between the sun-loving Genoese ‑‑ whose women rank among the Loveliest in Italy because of their high cheek bones and tanned faces ‑ and the dour Milanese, so pasty white and factory‑ made in their dull gray suits. The supremely elegant Turinese contrast sharply with the deathly black‑garbed women of the south. Stranger still are the shoddy Bolognese compared with the outdoor types with patrician tastes who live on Capri.

Rome is the only cosmopolitan center in Italy but even here you will be able to spot the stranger in town. There is the unsure southerner, clutching a parcel falling apart because the string is breaking. There is the wily, alert Venetian, whose sprightliness looks out of place in this landlocked, Baroque‑heavy capital. And there is the family from Bolzano, thick‑set and well‑built with short‑cropped hair.

Basically, Italians have a zest for life and demonstrate a love for country that goes well beyond the patriotism of "my country ‑ right or wrong". That the countryside and most of the cities are clean is due to their in‑bred distaste for a messy environment. The symmetry of the vineyards and poplar trees finds ifs counterpart in the clean architectural lines of the cities and in the metonymic movement of life in the towns.

Creative genius did not die with the Renaissance. It is alive in millions of Italians in seemingly ordinary jobs. Window display artists are not content with merely putting bottles, food and clothes in the store‑front. The result is that you can spend hours admiring the composition of the clothes and silverware in Rome's most fashionable Via Frattina, as well as the display of meats and salads in Milans Via Monte Napoleone.

The fullness of life is best felt when you eat in a trattoria. Your Italian table neighbors, almost as voluble as the waiters, are completely uninhibited in their table‑talk and manners. They eat with relish and drink the good grape as if meal‑times and talkative company are the very stuff of good life.

This pleasure is surpassed only by the joy they get in appraising the female figure. Not content with admiring a pretty ankle, the eternally virile Italians have furtive and fertile imaginations. They are past masters at the art and need little prompting from the Mediterranean climate. Bra‑less, mini‑skirted tourists are enough to send them trailing their prey on a pogo stick from the Alps to the Straits of Messine.