The picture below is taken at an Italian Fest. This particular one is of the festa di Maria Santissima Lauretana.
I decided not to research this particular Italian festival because I know myself too well. I would’ve driven myself to a library, found the appropriate research stacks, and ended up lost in a world of every Italian festival that exists, and there are a lot of them! If I had gotten involved in researching this festa, I would still be trolling the library today with four foot long hair (on my head and in my armpits) and a chicken leg a la Genovese hanging out of my mouth; such is the ease with which I can develop an OCD-like fervor for factual discovery. I am a geek and I know it so I have to actively keep myself out of situations where I will lose myself to a research endeavor. Suffice it to say that the the Festa di Maria Santissimo Lauretana is a reason to celebrate, which, as you know from the previous posts, is cause for large numbers of Italians to congregate and eat. Every human being that has been canonized has a festival dedicated to them in Italy, and all of the festas are wildly elaborate and steeped in tradition. My father recalls that in the town of Nola, the slightly larger tiny town next to his miniscule town in Italy, there was an epic festa that lasted an entire month. Here’s little Italian history lesson for you from WikiNapoli:
The Festa dei Gigli commemorates the return of San Paolino (Saint Paulinus), the bishop of Nola, after selling himself into slavery in North Africa to save a Nola citizen from the same fate. Upon his return via boat, the town citizens greeted him with lilies ("gigli" in Italian). Today, those lilies are represented by eight giant (25 meter tall, 2500 kg) wooden spires carried by teams of men with very sore backs. There is also a tower with a boat, representing the one San Paolino took back to Nola.
My father remembers a towering structure being processed through the narrowest streets imaginable carried by dozens of men. Drunk men, of course. He recalls people (presumably other drunks) jumping from their balconies on to the structure. He says he never saw anyone fall to their death but he is certain that it must have happened. Balcony jumping is apparently not relegated solely to teenagers on spring break.
Oftentimes, relics of the saint in question are processed in the parade. In case you are unaware of the full spectrum of relics, aside from rings and staffs and articles of clothing that are purported to have belonged to the sainted figure, it is likely that a preserved dismembered part of their body that has been encased in glass might also be available for viewing. In Siena, Italy you can even see saint Catherine’s head in one of the alcoves of the cathedral. It is something else to see people throwing money at a decrepit finger or foot as it goes by. Not being a believer, myself, I find these displays wanton and manipulative. But, hey, if it makes people feel like they are saving themselves by bestowing upon an institution the very thing that that institution espouses shunning, that’s fine by me. I’ve been all good with moralistic hypocrisy since my late twenties.
The festa di Maria Santissima Lauretana traveled to towns around the country in late August as I recall, and it is a very special festival indeed! This happens to be the fest where they select a duo of young girls, make them memorize a speech in Italian, hook them up to the MOST precarious precipice they can find and dangle them from wires, dressed as angels, mind you, to deliver an inspirational message about the sainted soul. I was certain that dangling children from wires over blacktop pavement had been made illegal long ago, but then I found this video from 2007 on youtube.
This festival was replete with zeppole (Italian donuts), ceci arrostito (roasted chick peas), Italian sausage, and other delicious foods and delicacies. Then came the dignitaries. Short Italian men who represented various organizations and institutions entrusted with the burden of carrying on Italian tradition in America. Aren’t they cute?
This fest also incorporated a carnival with those crazy rides that nobody in their right mind should ever sit in. You know, the ones assembled by toothless, dirty carnies that don’t speak to anyone as they press the button to start and stop the ride. My friend Tina and I would get into a car on the Zipper and flip the car over multiple times. I never puked, but thinking about the possibility of that cage disengaging from the main structure with us in it is making me a little queasy right now. As of 2014, this festival is still going strong in my old hometown. Even though the population there is now mostly comprised of non-Italian immigrants. Tradition is tradition so let’s stick with it no matter what the modern day circumstances, am I right?
But, of course, I really enjoyed these festivals as a kid and I still go to the ones my Aunts and Uncles participate in. It is always fun to freshen up my crappy, dialect-infused Italian speaking skills and to taste the homemade wine of the older gentlemen who still insist on making it, and to get nice slices of homemade Capicolo and dried sausage. And at the end of an entire day of eating, bullshitting, listening to Italian music and speechifying, at around 10 pm they finally shoot off fireworks and make everyone go home. Having a robust heritage is a blast. If you don’t have this kind of connection to yours just find an Italian festival and go. They’ll make you feel like a member of the family. Just don’t get too friendly with Uncle Guido, he’ll send you home with three bottles of bad wine and expect you to invite his family over the following weekend. ‘Cause that’s part of the tradition, too.
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