"The City of Silence"

((Note: new pictures of Ferrara on flickr!)

Just over two weeks ago, I arrived in this almost-familiar-but-oh-so-different country named Italia, in a city called Ferrara. I have since learned that in literature and art this place has often been considered lifeless, apathetic, empty, provincial. Dead. But I don’t think I quite agree. On one hand: Ferrara’s streets, grocers, and piazzas are rarely that crowded. The few times I have eaten out, the vast majority of tables were empty; same with the benches in the park. Giovecca’s diesel cars can be noisy at night, and at quarter of and on the hour church bells toll – but the city is generally pretty quiet, pretty calm. Usually if I hear someone yelling, it’s a kid or teen at a distance from their friends, and as far as I can tell, there are no or few places resembling the famed dance clubs of Europe – meaning even the youth probably don’t stay out as late as they might in a larger city. Oh, and that’s not to mention the 3+ hour break most stores, restaurants and institutions take in the middle of the day. There are museums here, but I rarely see people going in and out, at least when I’m nearby. Ferrara is literally one of the oldest cities in Europe (in terms of demographics and ages) with one of the lowest growth rates, and you can see the evidence everywhere you go. It is a dignified but quiet city. As someone often overwhelmed by cities after a relatively short period of time, I am grateful that for the first time in which I live in a city for an extended period, I reside somewhere without the speed and noise and dirt of, say, New York or Boston. Florence even might have been a little too stimulating for me.

This place does often seem like it’s on the edge of sleep, and occasionally, like it’s still somewhat living in the past. I mean in terms of atmosphere, rather than technology. It’s hard to explain, especially without having lived here for very long. But it’s not lifeless, nor is it apathetic about its history and monuments, like some of the authors proclaim. Just about every adult with whom I’ve had a more than transactory conversation has insisted that I learn about the history of the city, showing such pride in the great amount of people and stories that have passed through here, the fact that we are a massive UNESCO World Heritage Site, the numerous palaces, the art within them (although much of it was removed to Florence and Rome), the rank of first “modern” urban-plan city, the retainment of Byzantine, Medieval and Renaissance structures all within a 15 minute walk or less from each other, etc. etc. etc. People seem proud to be from Ferrara (although that is something that seems to happen no matter where people are from). There was a night tour last week of the oldest part of the city, about which few know, although a number live there, and, I do not exaggerate, hundreds of people showed up. For a tour led by one man. (yes, one…!!! And it… kind of worked.) Beforehand, they seemed so excited for the chance to learn more about their city’s history. Maybe the life of this place is sustained by a love of its past glories, and economically by the bit of tourism inspired by the same, as well as some small commerce and the great surrounding agricultural lands. Some might say that this makes this place dead. But underneath the tranquility and quiet everpresence of history, there is an energy here that I can’t quite place or figure out. It’s as though Ferrara acts like a small town but wants to be a city. It’s a living energy humming underneath, of course, but a puzzling, subtle one.



On a slightly different note, and a more every day basis, there is a word that describes what, at least for us foreigners, life here is often like. This probably applies for all or much of Italy, but not just for foreigners.

That word is “Boh”.

It can be used to mean any or a mix of: I don’t know, well, whatever, who knows? , there’s nothing to be done so why worry?, it doesn’t matter, who care’s, even if there’s something wrong I can’t do anything but it will work out somehow, - and various other ambiguous types of comments in English, usually when presented with an unanswerable question, unresolved issue, or a problem over which one has no control. (except for the fact that in the USA, you might be pestered until you thought of an appropriate answer, here, they don’t bother pushing. The boh is the long and short of it, pointblank period). As Leah has put it well, much of life here makes one constantly feel like asking “did I get left off the mailing list?” and when things aren’t well prescripted or don’t turn out how you planned, Boh! is the only good response that serves to write off the problem and move on smoothly. The out-of-the-loop feeling is due not only to the fact that we are very much not Italian and don’t know all the expected customs and specific words, but also to the massive amount of 1) ambiguity and disorganization, and 2) bureaucracy, and the resulting paperwork, meetings and defintions. The necessary reponse to challenge in order to make it through Italy is “boh”. Incredibly multi-purpose word, for being such a simple sound.

I’m afraid, however, that it is late and the associated stories will have to wait until tomorrow. Good night, and be well.