Inarea

The story of the Suez Canal isn’t actually modern history. The Romans themselves had tried with determination to facilitate transportation across the Mediterranean. Pity, though, that the isthmus they built wasn’t as determined as them and silted up during the Byzantine Empire. In later times, Napoleon also became obsessed by the Canal idea, but was wrongly advised by his scientists who told him that the Red Sea was higher than the Mediterranean. And so we reach 17 November 1869, a date which marked not only the inauguration of a waterway, but also of a world powder keg. Almost a century later, from 1967 to 1975, the Canal was closed: those were the years of the Six-Day War between Egypt and Israel. This closure came at the expense of 14 ships that remained trapped in the Suez Canal for eight years. The tide of history ebbs and flows, but the Canal silted up for a second time: the stranded ships were nicknamed “The Yellow Fleet”, after the desert sand that coated them, because, seen from afar, they looked like desert dunes. A mirage? Not exactly. The officers and crews set up a small, mutual support community, with a church, a soccer pitch and a cinema. Our own architects are also grounded and hard at work with their pencils and rulers: they still need to add a restaurant, swimming pool and wellness centre to this Red Sea cruise ship. Until all these facilities are ready (and shipshape) our vessel will have to stay put… Name Day: St Elizabeth of Hungary

The word “diet” comes from the Greek and can be translated as “a way of life” and there’s no doubt that the Mediterranean one is a series of one-way streets that all meet up at what is, according to UNESCO, “the foundation of the cultural identity and continuity of communities”: mealtime. To better grasp this concept let’s turn – as always – to one of the fathers of European culture: Dante Alighieri. In his “Convivio”, the Italian poet imagines a banquet, the purpose of which is to disseminate knowledge and to which, for the first time ever, women have also been invited. Similarly to enlightened knowledge, is it not inclusivity that makes for a good table? The word “convivio” (banquet) comes from a word with an even deeper meaning, that of ‘living together’ , and there is no doubt that our ‘closed’ Mediterranean Sea has been overflowing with conviviality since the dawn of time. It is said that the Emperor Claudius sparked much opposition when he proposed admitting Gauls to the Roman Senate; his rebuttal was: “But weren’t your illustrious ancestors Etruscans, Sabines or Samnites when they were fighting against Romulus?” In those ancient times anyone could, if they so wished, assume a Mediterranean identity. As for us, if we are to consider ourselves worthy heirs we’ll need to be insatiable when it comes to gorging on inclusivity. Let’s bring to the table the “fiat lux” concept too, one which also saw the light on these Mediterranean shores. Name Day: St Margaret of Scotland

Friulan is one of the few Italian dialects to enjoy the status of ‘language’, and if there’s one word that’s banished from a Friulan dictionary, that word is “Tocai”, a wine which used to represent an entire community. At the origin of the word’s forced withdrawal is its assonance with the name of a Hungarian grape variety. For this reason, the European Commission ruled that the last Italian vintage of “Tocai” would be in 2008; thereafter, the same wine bubbling in the vats would simply be called “Friulano”. Although the time-honoured Hungarian Tokaji is indeed also a white wine, it’s a strong, (and sometimes sweet) nectar, extremely unlike the dry, almond-accented Italian wine. It’s hard to get the two mixed up. However, being a wine nursery, Friuli Venezia Giulia (Italy’s north-easternmost region) will probably get its own back for this ‘de-naming’ in the near future because it produces 80% of Italy’s grape vine rooted cuttings, 30% of the European Union’s, and 25% of the world’s. This doesn’t detract from the fact that some decisions taken by the powers that be seem to come pelting down on us like crazy marbles. On the other hand, “What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet”, so William Shakespeare tells us (no, not the Hungarian one). Name Day: St Albertus Magnus

Apparently, when Monet’s “Water Lilies” were displayed at the Orangerie in Paris, only lovers in search of a secluded place for their rendezvous flocked to the exhibition. The artist died a year before seeing the paintings installed, thereby probably saving himself the disappointment of also seeing them unappreciated. And yet he had spent a lot of time with those water lilies at his home at Giverny where they floated, glistening in the light. He used to call it opiniâtreté, stubbornness: he used to change canvas every time the sun changed. His art wasn’t immediately understood because the retina of a person at the beginning of the 20th century was not yet steeped in moving images: so why recreate them in painting, an art that has always been considered to be about space, rather than about time? The fact is that, like all great men, Monet was ahead of his time. Looking at his water lilies today, if some kind of liquid state comes to mind, it isn’t that of his pond at Giverny at all but, rather, that of video mapping on a building, of a plasma screen, of an advert that invades our mobile phone like an oil spread. Nowadays, that instantaneousness that Monet tried to capture on canvas is no longer the result of mixing dust and sky together, it comes from other sources; it’s not clear to us yet whether we’ve succeeded in recreating the magic or, on the contrary, have simply interrupted it. What matters, though is that he, with a simple camouflage of oil paints, anticipated a vision. Let’s remember this every time we go to see a Monet, a Caravaggio or a Van Gogh blown up on a big screen: a cosmetic trick, perhaps, that the artists wouldn’t have asked us for. Name Day: St Serapion

“Make kindness the norm” is today’s slogan. An objective that can be best achieved by random acts of daily kindness until, good deed after good deed, we find ourselves steeped in it. It’s only then that we’ll be able to spread our surplus positive spirit around. In the meantime, all we need to do is to start practising the hints on the “Random Acts of Kindness Foundation”’s list; it’s very long and starts off by suggesting little things we can do in the morning to make a difference, such as leaving a ‘surprise something’ for the postman or delivery boy/girl before going out. If our day starts off in traffic, we can compliment our unfortunate traffic neighbour for their great parking job. In the office, let’s encourage collaboration. And when we go home, let’s stop at a kiosk for a lemonade, or ask an elderly person to tell us about their past. And finally, as the cherry on the cake, let’s… make a cake for someone we love! After all, in order to make kindness the rule, we simply need to hover in the air, rounding off all our edges. As for the daily exercise, let’s just remember that time waits for no one (just ask a butterfly). Name Day: St Nicholas I, Pope

We don’t often think of it, but automobile designs influence the way we see the life of a city. The T1 Volkswagen camper is a point in case, the concept of which is credited to a Dutch importer of Volkswagen “Beetles”. It’s a known-fact that anything destined to become iconic has to be characterised by a limited number of features: for example, one sole name and use. The T1, however, seems to defy these prerequisites, starting by its multiple names: it’s known as Bulli in Germany, VW Bus in America and Kombi in Brazil. When the van was put on the market, the German company realised its versatility: a mobile box for transporting stuff and people. In the USA, on the other hand, to buy a Volkswagen camper stood for being on the other side of the fence vis-à-vis the big cars being churned out in Detroit. The anti-Vietnam hippie counterculture responded to those prestigious cars, which smacked of status symbols and white houses with fences, with a motto that could be summed up as ‘jam-packed, but happy’ (the VM Bus passengers perhaps being on their way to a concert or demo). When all is said and done, identity is that which each person decides to sew on to their persona, using whatever features in their daily life. Thus, by throwing into our tribute to the T1 objects such as a bikini, a pair of sunglasses and a hair band, we’ve managed to reproduce the van’s familiar look. But it’s the Ban the Bomb/Peace Sign that looks perfectly at home where the Volkswagen logo would normally be. A happy (or hippie?) camouflage. Name Day: St Didacus

It’s a night like any other and a young man is wandering through the streets of St Petersburg. His only problem is that he’s a dreamer: that’s why the discrepancy between expectations and reality always ends up with the undeserved advantage of the former. In his fantasies he’s a pleasure-seeker, but not much good at socialising in real life. On night, however, he meets a girl who has a story to tell: she is basically the prisoner of her blind grandmother who keeps her under close surveillance (and, paradoxically, won’t let the girl out of her sight), and she’s awaiting the return of her yearned-for love. The girl tells her story so vividly that the narrator (who remains nameless for the entire novella), recognises her as the counterpart of his wishy-washy attitude to life. Fyodor Dostoevsky’s  “White Nights”  (1848) recounts the conversations between these two characters during four typical summer nights in St Petersburg which are shrouded in twilight. In order to remind the nameless young man of the Russian proverb, full of realism, that “it’s bread that keeps one warm, not fur”, we’ve decided to equip him with a freshly-baked trapper hat. This one, however, is also suitable for those never-ending St Petersburg summer days. Name Day: St Martin

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s lifelong vexation was that he had soared to fame with Sherlock Holmes, though he would have preferred to achieve worldwide literary fame as the author of historical novels. His frustration reached such a point that he even decided to kill his famous detective off – though he revived him in the next story he wrote. In a slightly similar way, we have reason to think that the words “spaghetti” and “western” will always feature in the first few lines of any biography on Ennio Morricone . In a career spanning forty years, the Italian composer wrote over four hundred soundtracks, though he didn’t win the Oscar thanks to those for Sergio Leone’s films but, instead, for Quentin Tarantino’s 2016 movie “The Hateful Eight”. If we delve further into his biography, we discover that Morricone used to be a jazz trumpet player and that he studied with composer Goffredo Petrassi. When he was young, in Rome, he became involved in the highbrow musical avant-garde and was one of the founders of the “Gruppo di Improvvisazione Nuova Consonanza”. Another musical career, as it were, that he will perhaps now have the time to indulge. We like to imagine him at work in his studio on Piazza Venezia, his secret hatch, a hideaway behind two doors. If one had been able to espy him in his bolthole, one would have seen him writing his music by hand. His score awaits him: we’re sure it’ll be smooth sailing for Ennio Morricone, wherever he is. Name Day: St Leo the Great

During the 28 years in which the Wall was up, the Brandenburg Gate was situated in East Berlin where it was the pride of the GDR. To the point that when American President Kennedy visited in 1963, red banners were hung over it to prevent him from looking at that part of the city. Fast forward to that fateful evening of 9 November 1989 and the press conference underway in the German Democratic Republic; bureaucratic language was being spoken, the kind that waters everything down so much that nothing is actually being said. After all, the pro-communist government was indeed in dead water: Gorbachev had opened up some borders with Hungary and Poland and many Germans were beginning to go over to the West with the excuse of taking a trip to a neighbouring country. On the evening in question, a journalist from Italian newsagency ANSA, Riccardo Ehrman, asked a German official when measures preluding to free movement of persons across the Iron Curtain would come into force; the official replied: “As far as I’m concerned, from this moment.” Also applicable, therefore, to West Berlin. A few hours later, the Brandenburg Gate became a passageway again; the Wall came down shortly afterwards. It took one single question, to-the-point and in context, to redraw Germany’s borders. Name Day: St Theodor

They say that shortly after receiving the Nobel Prize in Stockholm, playwright Luigi Pirandello quickly packed his suitcase and left for Prague where he had arranged to hold a conference at the Italian Institute of Culture. An episode like that is emblematic when one works in artistic or creative fields: an important contract or an unmissable opportunity can pop up at any moment. And whenever it does, it’s accompanied by a siren song that makes it seem unique, crucial, a ‘must’. The eponymous Mattia Pascal in Pirandello’s novel says that he only ever really felt free when he was “holding a suitcase”: here today, somewhere else tomorrow. The same also applied to Sicilian-born Pirandello who became famous when he was about fifty:  a man always on the move (like his aforementioned character) who no doubt felt he needed to make up for lost time. What a huge effort goes into earning one’s bread (with or without butter)! Feast day of the Four Crowned Martyrs