There was only one sign for pumpkin spice anything, and it was at the train station in Rome. Starbucks, of course, and my apologies to all who love the fall-themed brew. But then there was the Trick or Treat sign on the Irish pub (!) in my Italian town of Sulmona. It was jarring. Halloween hasn’t yet come to Italy in a big way, and that’s fine with me. Call me a grump.
Because the rest of the year (as most of you know) I live in Salem, Massachusetts where, over the past 20 years, Halloween starts in early September and runs through mid-November. The crowds are staggering – nearly one million people come into town on Halloween weekend alone. Adults in goth costumes wander the streets, looking for signs of something wicked, I suppose. Or at least something to do. This town of 46,000 or so residents is overwhelmed by traffic, both vehicular and pedestrian, who somehow think that it’s a theme park and that nobody really lives here and has to get stuff done. End of rant.
I think it’s tragic that a city with such a rich history in the areas of maritime, literary, architecture and art – heck, the telephone was first tested here – is known mostly for an unfortunate few months when more than 200 people were falsely accused of witchcraft. Twenty were hung and one was pressed to death in a series of sensational trials. It is a devastating story of superstition, misogyny and land grabs. I do not take this lightly. But when it is translated into pointy hats, zombies, monsters and haunted houses, I say please take this freak show somewhere else. Of course, the broom is already out of the barn and witch images are everywhere, from the police cars to the local newspaper.
Just last week, I pushed some guy out of the way on the pedestrian mall so that I could get to my dentist appointment in time. He was just STANDING THERE in some kind of weird costume. A fully grown adult. It brings out the worst in me. But tomorrow, we start to go back to normal. Start. It’s Reclamation Day in Salem.
Another cappuccino, please. Hold the pumpkin spice.
Linda Dini Jenkins is a card-carrying Italophile, travel planner, freelance writer, and amateur photographer. Travel is her passion, so writing about her travels just comes naturally. She hopes all her travelers find a way to express their joys, surprises, and fears as they travel and gives every traveler a nifty journal to help smooth the way. Learn more…
At first, I hated Rome. Too many tourists, too many noisy Vespas, too many waiters trying to lure me into mediocre restaurants, too many things to see in one lifetime . . . just too, too much! I always said that if I wanted to be in a big crowded city, I’d have stayed in New York. At least I speak the language and the streets are in a grid so it’s easy to find everything.
As a novice hiker, one of my favorite things about this book is the attention that Haines pays to providing what he calls, “Advice for the Trail.” He covers everything: weather, what to take, how to behave when you encounter the inevitable sheep dogs or rockfalls, and what to do in case someone in your party requires a mountain rescue. There’s even an English-Italian glossary in the back of the book, along with two pages of very useful contact information.
Italy, and the spring and first love all together should suffice to make the gloomiest person happy. — Bertrand Russell
We looked at all the chapels, went up to the main altar, and were about to leave when we heard an organ chord. A live organ chord. There was no leaving.
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