Cervia for all my Friends

Yesterday we hung out in Cervia (pronounced Chervia…in Italian, when a c is followed by an e, it is pronounced “Ch”).  Okay class, grammar is done.  Let’s move on to geography.  Italy is divided into twenty regions.  I live in Emilia-Romagna which shares a border with the most famous Italian region for Americans; Tuscany. (Okay, possibly the most famous region for Americans is Sicily.  I’m not sure.  Just go with it). Tuscany is the slice of pie South-west of us.  We have a boarder on the east side of Italy with the Adriatic Sea.  Tuscany’s seaside is on the west.   Are you bored yet?  Anyway, Cervia is a quietly elegant seaside resort town in the northern part of Emilia-Romagna.  Italy is all about the beaches and with more than 4,700 miles of beaches, why shouldn’t it be?

Here is a picture of a hot Italian in a bathing suit to try to keep you interested. 

The trip yesterday was my first to Cervia mainly because there are Adriatic beaches half as close to my house and I am lazy.  Who cares that when I take my kids to Comacchio (pronounced Co-ma-kio because a combined ch makes the k sound) there is trash floating in the water and on occasion I have caught my five year old playing with a large animal bone that floated by.  It’s convenient.  Hepatitis be damned.   

Husband and Marble

Okay, so straight away, the water at Cervia looked almost potable after Comacchio, but our friend wouldn’t go in “that dirty water”.  Our friend, Marble, is Italian.  The Italians have a charming way of liking all their stuff best.  Marble wouldn’t go into the dirty water because it is better where he lives.  Obviously.  Marble lives in the region of Apulia (pronounced a-pool-ya).  Now before you have to go all google search on my post, Apulia is the thin, very stylish heel of the boot that is Italy. I’ve not been yet, so I am totally unable to dish.  Maybe, for the sake of informing you, I will take a trip down there next month and check it out.  Okay, okay.  Don’t beg.  I’ll go.  Just for you of course. 

So to take you on the rest of the acid trip that is my streaming consciousness, I am going to need to get us off the beach for a moment and into a clothing store.  I am short and curvy so buying pants is usually not something I look forward to.  Thing is, last year I caved.  I decided I would go ahead and torture myself with the hope that I would have a smokin new pair of sleek Italian trousers when the day was through.  BAH!  After trying on different styles and different sizes I started noticing a trend.  When the sizes went up, the waist just got bigger.  My waist is not the area I needed room.  It was my thighs.  Here look.  They are ginormous.

ps. Pears are in season

So, I got all annoyed that I couldn’t find pants that fit, ate a pizza, then I got all scientific on it.  I started wondering if maybe as Italian women gain weight, they only gain in their stomachs, leaving them still with long gorgeous legs and tiny little adorable buttocks.  I ran my theory by one of my Italian friends who thought I was nuts.  Not uncommon.  Then another…with similar results.  Well yesterday this buried theory reemerged as I watched the Italian populous stroll by.  After a while I could take it no more.  I snapped some random shots of heavier Italians – you be the judge:

I have loads more of these, but I am too lazy to load them all

and I feel my point has been made.

Okay folks.  I think I may be on to something here.

So while we are discussing fashion and beaches, I feel men’s Italian beach wear needs to be addressed.  I get it.  Speedos.   It’s your culture.  Fine.  I am still going to commentate on every banana hammock and grape smuggler that walks by as well as every pair of daisy-dukes for men.  I can’t help it.  If that makes me completely vapid, so be it.  I think it is more a self defense mechanism.  American men tend to be way less blatant when presenting their wangs in a public setting.  That is my culture and change is…a reason to…commentate.

GAZER!

Bathing suits are not the only cultural difference at play here.  The way beaches work in Italy is drastically different than the typical American beach.  When you go to the seaside, you go to one of the many buildings lining the beach and rent a beach bed and maybe an umbrella.  You do not bring these things, or a cooler of Coors Light.  I know, imagine my surprise.  You also don’t sprawl out on your souvenir beach towel, you uncivilized yank.  Besides chair rental, these places offer snacks and drinks.  It would be uncivilized to miss aperitivo.  They also have kid play areas and courts for sand sports.  Now, as an American, when I think of sand sports involving a raised net, I think of volleyball. Maybe I would say bad mitten if I was pressed for a second sport.  Well, here in Italy they are huge fans of playing beach tennis on such a court.  It is just as it sounds, but the ball can’t bounce.  The first time I saw this in action was last year.  Yesterday was my first time witnessing the (maybe) Italian hybrid sport of foot-volley.  More or less it is a game of volley ball, played with a soccer ball and no hands.  It is unreal.  I am going to try to put in a video of my own, but if I totally fail, take a moment and google it.   I googled one for you. You're Welcome.


What's on my i-pod today?  Baci mi Ancora which translates to "Kiss me again".  It is a beautiful song, but  THE VIDEO  is what gets me about this one today.  It shows a typical Italian beach as well as man in a suit walking through the corn fields and into the sea.  What's not to like?

Have an awesome day!  I know what I'll be doing - living in Italy...and I know what you'll be doing - whatching you-tube videos of foot-volley.  You're Welcome.