The look

The Italians have a reputation for being xenophobic. Having been exposed to just a small fraction of its landmass and population, I can’t really say one way or another. And I don’t know if the predomination of Fiat and Lancia and Ariston and Vulcan and other locally-made products supports it or not, just as the knee-jerk tendency to blame the Albanians for every theft that happens in this area doesn’t necessarily imply a distrust of things or persons foreign.

What I have noticed, though, is a tendency for the locals – particularly the older ones, the contadini (peasants) – to examine you rather closely when you drive by. They interrupt whatever they’re doing – bending over collecting chicory or fallen chestnuts, or gathering at the local bar for their prolonged daily chin-wag (the men, at any rate) – and stare long and hard, turning their heads to follow you and your smile, wave, serious look, or return stare as you pass them and move off into the distance.

I can’t tell if it’s a hostile, unwelcome once-over … a pained, squinting attempt with failing eyes to identify an unknown intruder … or simply an innocuous, innocent gawk of curiosity. Funny though, how it repeats itself – the fellow up the road from Anna’s house, where we stayed for 6 weeks, gave me the same examination every time I went past him on the road, which was almost daily. I always drove the same car, gave him the same smile, occasionally tried a wave, and without fail got the same response – a long, intense stare with mouth agape, as if he had stumbled across a new and virulent germ that threatened to wipe out the human race.

It’s not as if foreigners are new to this place. More recently, the English have been coming (and now settling here) for years, but the trend dates back to years with a “BC” after them – after all, the Italian peninsula has seen the Greeks, Spanish, French, Saracens, Lombards, Barbarians, and Byzantines ebb and flow through the land throughout its colourful and somewhat jerky history. These visitors I’m sure gave the locals far more to stare at and ponder than a harmless, somewhat reticent, admittedly slightly quirky South African and his family.

So why then do I still get “the stare”? Even one of our neighbours in Regnano, who I once stopped and chatted to (with some success I might add), still gives me the glare, even though I know that underneath it all he harbours a disarming smile and a friendly disposition.

I don’t know, perhaps – given their history of a constant stream of strangers treading their paths – they’re simply wondering “Who’s it this time?”, investigating with a prolonged gaze how their lives might be affected by the new aliens.

Who knows, maybe it’s a property of the atmosphere here, the water, the air, the land. But hold that thought for a moment – I just heard a car coming along the road, and I need to check out who on earth might be passing through our little hamlet …