As we鈥檝e had to postpone our travels because of the pandemic, I believe a weekly dose of travel dreaming can be good medicine. Here鈥檚 a reminder of the fun that awaits us in Europe at the other end of this crisis.
While Italian men are hopelessly macho, Italian women are strong in response. It鈥檚 a social dance that is fascinating to observe, as I did one evening in Venice. I was dining with my Venetian friend Piero.
Antonella, the daughter of Alessandro the barber, waves to Piero and me as her dog drags her down the lane. We鈥檙e just finishing up our meal at Bepi鈥檚 Trattoria, but I invite her over. Pouring her a glass of Bepi鈥檚 licorice liqueur, I say, 鈥淧lease, Antonella, help me. We are talking about Italian living, but Piero is giving me only the macho side.鈥�
鈥淲hat is macho? There are no macho men in Venice,鈥� she says, grabbing a seat. Antonella is a businesswoman used to dealing with Italian men. She鈥檚 small and tough, more savvy than sweet, with a thick head of long black hair. When she talks, her direct eyes and busy hands give an intensity to her words. 鈥淭hey are mama鈥檚 boys. We call this mammone.鈥�
Piero, as if he鈥檚 heard the complaint a thousand times, cries, 鈥淎hhh, mammone.鈥� Pulling an imaginary umbilical cord from his belly and petting it rather than cutting it, he says, 鈥淚t is true. I cannot cut the cordone ombelicale. I love my mama. And she loves me even more.鈥�
Antonella sips her liqueur. 鈥淭he Italian boys, 95 percent stay at home until they find a wife to be their new mother,鈥� she says. 鈥淎t 30, 35 years old they are still with their mothers. Even if they move out, they come home for the cooking and laundry. This is not macho鈥his is ridiculous. 鈥�
鈥淎nd鈥︹�� she continues, lighting a cigarette, 鈥渢hey want a wife exactly like their mother. If they find a woman like me, independent, with some money, perhaps beautiful, this is a problem.鈥�
Piero nods like a scolded puppy. 鈥淵es, this is true.鈥�
Antonella says, 鈥淚f I make my hair special and wear strong makeup, they will take me to dinner and take me to bed. But they will not look at me to make a family. They want to be sure their wife won鈥檛 leave them. A woman like me鈥t is too risky.鈥�
We pay and promise Bepi we鈥檒l be back soon. Antonella unties her dog and, together, the three of us walk through the quiet and romantic lanes of Venice.
I tell Antonella, 鈥淚 could not finish a sentence with Piero. Always looking at the girls.鈥�
Piero raises his eyebrows and his hands as if to mount a defense and just sighs.
Antonella says, 鈥淚 was in England for two years. No boys looked at me. When I came home, in five minutes I was being stared at. I like this. It feels good to be home.鈥�
鈥淏ut why are the Italian boys always thinking about the girls?鈥�
Antonella says, 鈥淚n Venice, this is particularly true 鈥� especially the tourist girls.鈥�
Walking over a marble veneered bridge, we pass a gondolier. He鈥檚 dashing in his straight-brimmed, red-sashed straw hat, obviously well-built under his striped shirt and black pants.
As the gondolier hollers a hopeful hello to a cute passing tourist, Piero says, 鈥淗e hopes to be suc-sex-ful,鈥� says Piero. As we turn the corner, Piero giggles. 鈥淭he gondoliers, they get the girls.鈥�
Bouncing happily, waving his hands melodramatically, he plays the gondolier on the prowl, singing, 鈥淭he moon. Me and you and the lagoon. Oh my, I feel romantic today. I don鈥檛 know why. My heart is going boing boing. May I offer you a small special ride for free later on? Here, grab my oar.鈥� Grabbing Antonella from behind around the waist as if she鈥檚 about to fall from a gondola, he says, 鈥淏e careful, you can fall.鈥�
Pushing Piero away, Antonella says, 鈥淕ondoliers are the worst. Here, if a woman marries a gondolier and expects him to be true, we say she has hams over her eyes.鈥�
Piero, with suddenly sad eyes, says, 鈥淭his is true.鈥�
Antonella adds, 鈥淏ut here in Venice there are plenty of ways to find the romantic life.鈥� We walk to moonlit St. Mark鈥檚 Square, where the orchestra plays as if refusing to go home. The vast, nearly empty square has been claimed by two seniors, waltzing like they did 50 years ago. They twirl gracefully round and round. The woman smiles with her eyes closed. Antonella whispers, 鈥淚n Venice, love is a threesome: you, the right partner, and our city.鈥�
This article was adapted from Rick鈥檚 new book, For the Love of Europe.
Rick Steves (www.ricksteves.com) writes European guidebooks, hosts travel shows on public TV and radio, and organizes European tours. You can email Rick at [email protected] and follow his blog on Facebook.
