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HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Citizen, 1997-07-23, Page 5THE CITIZEN, WEDNESDAY, JULY 23,1997 PAGE 5. In a heartbeat and a Sherman tank Well, it's been a month now. The uncontrollable tremors in my hands have vanished. I don't seem to be gibbering spontaneously or throwing my arms over my face any more. I haven't had a savage flashback for three nights in a row. I think perhaps I'm ready to talk about it. Driving in Italy, I mean. I spent two weeks last month in the rolling hills of Truscany, about an hour's drive from Florence. Well, about an hour's drive in sleeping, conventional Canadian terms, I mean. In terms of Italian driving I was probably about six and a half minutes from Florence. Although the trip seemed to take several lifetimes. It's difficult to find words to describe driving in Italy. I'm a bit of a leadfoot myself and I've seen my share of automotive Armageddons. I've been sideswiped in Montreal and rear-ended in Vancouver and tailgated in New York and I've even braved the 401 outside Toronto at the start of a holiday weekend. # But none of that prepared me for Italy. First of all, the roads - as in most of Discovering the joys of ballet When I was young I was so taken up with sports that it was generally assumed that I would do my school work in my spare time and, as far as culture was concerned, that was a lost cause. I must have had some insight into the importance of an education for, as far as I can remember, my homework always got done and I seldom did poorly in school. As for the culture, that was something of a late awakening but it did eventually come to life. I went off to Paris one time to hear Jean- Paul Sartre, the French philosopher who was all the rage among the young set in the post­ war period. Unfortunately Jean-Paul was not feeling well and so cancelled his lectures, leaving me with little to do. I saw a billboard advertising the ballet and since there was a low, low price for students, I decided to take a chance and see what it was all about. If I remember correctly, the ballet was Les Sylphides, a collection of some rhythmic music by Chopin. I have to tell you that I was delighted. Not having to worry about the words, I was able to sit back and enjoy the music and the dancing. If ballet was like that, I told myself, then I had been missing something and I resolved to go to more of it when the occasion arose. Like a lol of our banking practices, the origin of modern ballet can be found in medieval Italy. Those readers acquainted Europe - are much narrower than we Canucks are used to. And twistier, with lots of hairpin turns and sudden junctions. And then there are the Italian drivers. I can say quite sincerely that every Italian I met on my holiday was polite, friendly, helpful, generous, kind and thoughtful. Until he or she got behind the wheel of a car. The act of driving an automobile transforms the average Italian - signor or signora - into a ravening marauder. A speed freak. A power monger. Jacques Villeneuve with PMS. The mission of every Italian driver is to pass your car. Right now. And they will. They will pass you on turns, in towns, on hills, in tunnels, on blind curves. Once I was passed on a two-lane bridge. By a dump truck. Italians do not signal when they pass. Nor have they heard of Elmer The Safety Elephant or the old one-car-length-for-every- 10-kgp adage. They believe in zero car lengths between vehicles. At any speed. As for tailgating - you couldn't call what Italian drivers do just before they pass you 'tailgaiting'. Italian cars attempt copulation with your car. The official speed limit on the Autostrada - Italy's superhighway system - is 130 with Italian history may recall that there was a number of city states in the Middle Ages since Italy as a country did not exist until the middle of the last century. In these city states such as Verona, Venice, Florence, Torin and the like, the local princes liked to impress their friends with their culture and accordingly hired dance-masters to add a cultural veneer to their standing. Il was not long before news of this new form of entertainment spread across the Alps into France where it caught the attention of the French court. It was there that the form was really developed. In a short while it found itself integrated into the operas being performed there about the end of the 1600s. Sometimes the dances were featured almost as prominently as the singers but it took Louis XIV to separate the dance from the opera and introduce a separate presentation complete with story. By the time the French Revolution came around, ballet was firmly established. When I refer to the great Louis XIV, I do not suggest that he played a leading role. Rather it was musicians, etc., whom he hired or supported that did the lion's share of the work. It was shortly after the French Revolution that the ballet form reached its height with such works as Adam's Giselle, which I was fortunate enough to see early in my career and thus was treated to a real classic. However, most people today, if they think of anything in the ballet, would likely call to mind the Nutcracker Suite by Tschaikovsky or even his Swan Lake. kilometres per hour, but if you ever tried to observe that limit you would die very quickly. Most vehicles routinely maintain al least twice that speed. The rest go even faster. It's no better off the Autostrada. Oh, the drivers ratchet it back a bit - just enough so their cars don't fly right off the road - but they still hare along at speeds guaranteed to give a North American driver a heart attack. The only thing worse than being on an Italian road in a car is being on an Italian road without a car. You get the impression that for most Italian drivers, pedestrians are simply an exotic form of potential roadkill. My guide book actually offered this road crossing advice: "Walk out slowly and confidently" it says, "glaring at the traffic and maintaining a determined pace. The traffic should stop. Or at least swerve." Yeah, right. And if that works you might want to try walking on water. Would I ever go back to Italy? Listen. Italy is easily one of the most beautiful places I have ever visited and the people - once you divest them of car keys - are a total delight. The food is wonderful, the scenery is spectacular, the art treasures are priceless and the wine is just grand. So would I go back to Italy? In a heartbeat. And a Sherman tank. If you would like your kids to see something that should fascinate diem, go to Coppelia, by Delibes, the story of a mechanical doll. For some really good fun, go to Offenbach's Orpheus in the Underworld. This last ballet reminds me of the time I told one of my classes about the joys of ballet, only to be greeted with some laughter on the part of the boys. I considered this as a challenge and told them that, if any of them would like to try it, I would buy the tickets for them and willingly give them their money back if they didn't like it. So it was that I went off to the ballet with a bunch of boys. The program was Les Sylphides and Orpheus in the Underworld. After the performance of the latter, they were enthusiastic exclaiming that they never knew ballet was like that. Needless to say, none of them asked for their money back. In essence, when I urge people to go to the theatre, the opera or the ballet, I frequently get an air of indifference. What you have to do is pick your spots so that you start out with something that is likely to be appealing to you. There are ballets and operas that I really do not care for and am not about to find out if my taste has changed. You will probably discover what I did; that my likings are much greater than I thought. A Final Thought Success is getting what you want. Happiness is wanting what you gel. The Short of it By Bonnie Gropp Say thanks These things don't just happen. It's been 125 years in the making, but Brussels Homecoming 1997 is quickly approaching. For well over a year, organizers have been busy planning, preparing and now with the event drawing ever closer, quite frankly, working their butts off. It takes a lot of time and volunteer effort to make such festivities a success. Unfortunately, those who reap the benefits usually spend a good part of the mobilization time on the sidelines. I can say that, because I have been known to be guilty of it. I would not describe myself as a participator, neither in a voluntary nor in a social capacity. Yet I wouldn't go so far as to call myself reclusive, though I am more likely to be found close to home than out and about. And, I don't go looking for trouble so unless approached will generally not volunteer my services. In my defense, however, I appreciate the hard work it lakes and the need for dedicated labour, so when asked I usually see the job is filled — by volunteering my husband. Anyone who pays attention realizes that the success, or for that matter, the reality of many activities in our community would not happen were it not for the tireless energies of a group of people. Look around over the course of the next few weeks, and you will find individuals, no different than most of us, with full-time jobs and family responsiblities, who used to have lives of their own. Through my job with this newspaper I have been in contact with many of these people from time to time. They are answering phones, making calls, running hither and yon. And the work won't slop when the weekend arrives. When Homecoming's here, it will be for the majority of attendees, a lime of fun. They will be enjoying the delicious dinners, watching ballgames, dancing, reminiscing and socializing. Yet others, the ones who plotted and planned this celebration's activities, will be working. And with many of these doers involved in several organziations they will be helping not just al one event, but many. For these folks, this isn't going to be a party. The thing about volunteering, as anyone who has had any experience with it will attest, is that it can be thankless job. From the coach who suffers abuse from parents, to the individuals, whose continued volunteerism has cynics referring to them as glory-seekers, there is not enough credit given. I have often wondered where the incentive is to give of your time. Do the job well, and while others may be appreciative, praise is seldom forthcoming; do it wrong, or simply not the way others might, and someone is sure to let you know. Our volunteers in all our communities are getting tired. Life has become way too complicated and while the concept of voluntarism shouldn't be based on pals on the back, neither should it be taken for granted. So if you're at Homecoming and you're having a good time, may I suggest you just lake a minute to let one of these hard workers know. Say thanks.