No man is an island

As a parting shot in my last entry, I said that normal service would resume shortly, but that was before the dreadful events of earlier this week unfolded in those parts of central Italy devastated by the earthquake and its subsequent aftershocks. And whilst our week here in MSP has appeared on the surface to be a return to routine normality, underlying it all has been the awareness of the loss and heartache of those shattered lives and the communal grief of our adopted country.

Being some 50 miles northeast of the epicentre, MSP itself was far enough away to escape relatively undamaged, apart from the Church of St Francisco now having a couple of extensive cracks running down its walls and some fallen plaster. As for Stephen and me, we were awoken by the rattling of the chandelier in our bedroom and the shaking of the bed – but not, to the locals’ surprise, by the barking of Bella and Harry. According to them animals should be the first to sense the impending danger. In my ignorance (and sleepy state, still recovering from a 6.30 a.m. departure from Stansted) I wasn’t fully aware of the significance of what was happening. Stephen, however, was and made sure we were up and safe, and continued to be so despite a strong aftershock an hour later. A check of the house showed that our only damage was a fine crack, a metre or so long, across part of the recently plastered back wall.

In the hours and days that followed, however, the enormity of the disaster elsewhere became evident, as did the incredible efforts of the rescue services to help the stricken communities. For three days from Thursday, the town hall in MSP was the dropping off point for donations of a variety of essential items which would be taken to the Red Cross centre in Fermo and thence to the afflicted areas. We took our contribution on Friday morning, which elicited a handshake from our old friend Fiorenza. I’m not sure if we, being extra-terrestrials, were singled out for special treatment or whether she acknowledged everyone in that way. For us, though, we were just doing what anyone in the local community would do, as we feel ourselves not only a part of MSP but of Italy too. A certain person once said that there is no such thing as society. Well, maybe there is and maybe there isn’t, but there is such a thing as community and when things like this happen there should be no limit to how far it reaches.

But as I said, our life in Italy for the main part this week has been one of comforting normality, including a moment on Wednesday morning that crystalized why we love this country so much. We’d gone into the centre to do a spot of shopping and had popped into Alimentari Casali to buy a demijohn of table wine as well as some of their fabulous homemade fior di latte gelato (flower of the milk ice cream, simply made from lightly sweetened cream with no flavourings and no egg yolks added). Ahead of us was a young couple with their small daughter, who, whilst the mother was being served at the counter, was sitting on a side table and being fed pieces from a slice of mortadella by her father. It was a somewhat inconsequential scene, maybe, but one which seemed to me to sum up Italy and its sense of tradition and family and the sharing of good food.

Food was also on the agenda at La Casa dei Due Baffi. Besides ploughing our way through hordes of tomatoes, which after weeks of showing no interest in ripening began turning red at an alarming rate the moment I left for Britain, Stephen also presented me with a couple of oversized courgettes that had delusions of becoming marrows. What to with them? Well, one I stuffed (in the nicest possible way) and the other I turned into chutney. Also, both the cherry and the apricot brandies (the former harvested from our own trees) were ready to have the liquor drained from the macerated fruit and bottled. The two months’ wait for them to mature was especially rewarding as not only do you get to drink the liqueur, the strained fruit then makes a fine, and somewhat inebriating, dessert - especially when served with fior di latte gelato (see above).

And so we come to today, and a second visit in the late afternoon to what is now my favourite seaside location, Porto Recanati. Not only was the weather perfect for a stroll along its charming lungomare but, as luck would have it, there was also a market commandeering the main street – and you know how much we love a market. This time we came away with what is probably the best €3 anyone has ever spent, thanks to Stephen’s keen eye for the kitsch. After all, who doesn’t want a hand worked forest scene of a cutesy Bambi, complete with glass eye?

Such a find demanded a small celebration, so we headed to a stylish bar at the top of the high street, overlooking the church tower and piazza, where I had my first ever spritz – a mix of Aperol and prosecco, which according to a book I am currently reading, is Italy’s favourite aperitivo. Sitting in the peace of a late Sunday afternoon as the nearby fountain gently played and sharing a bowl of crisps with Stephen, it seemed to me that what makes a moment really special is not so much where we are or what we are doing, but who we are doing it with.

In our lives, there are those who have touched us and who have loved us, but maybe more importantly there are those that we have been able to love. In the film “Marvin’s Room”, Diane Keaton’s character tells her sister, played by Meryl Streep, that she feels so lucky to have known so much love. When her sister says that yes, everyone loves her very much, she replies that it’s not that, it’s being able to give love that is the true gift. We are all too well aware after the shocking events of this past week that there is real sadness in parting and pain in letting go, but there is also the wonder of having given and having shared love. May this knowledge go someway to comforting the victims of the terrible earthquake and sustaining them through the days ahead. This I wish them, with my love.