Gianna Delle Valle, Author at Itch.world

A three-minute escape to Italy.

Tuscany, travel, medieval village, Italy, festivals, celebrations, customs, cooking, recipes, living in Italy, moving to Italy, visiting, visit, restaurants, language

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October 27, 2019 In Best Of, Live By Gianna Delle Valle

An Italian’s DNA surprise

Itch is delighted to feature more from our Italian abroad, Gianna della Valle, with ideas about how to live more like an Italian no matter where you are. She has made a study of how to bring elements of the Italian way of life into her adopted, more frenetic homeland.

As an Italian living in London people ask “Where are you from?”

Easy for me to answer as my family, for many generations, came from the same hamlet in northern Italy. My father and my mother were neighbours and my grandparents and their grandparents and their grandparents knew each other for as far back as anyone could remember. That’s Italy for you. We have roots. Family trees. It means families are like trees, solidly rooted in places. People and generations may be the leaves and branches but the family is the tree. A tree stubbornly planted in front of that hill. Nothing to do with aristocracy or anything fancy. Simply, we are from there. And in the house we can find things left by a great grandparent (or a great great great) that have survived layers of renovations and are a reminder that we always leave something behind. Better it be useful.

Then I came along and at some point in my twenties decided to pack and followed the North Star, which after some years in Germany led me to London. I still feel the guilt. And after decades I am still given “the traitor treatment” when I go back. “Italy is so perfect and beautiful,” the logic goes, “why did you leave? There were no wars or major disasters. There was absolutely no reason. Why?” I must say, in my defence, I did ask my grandfather for his blessing before starting this adventure, as I always sought his wisdom. And his simple question was “What is it that you like so much over there?” I thought for a few seconds and my answer was “because I look at the sky and the clouds are always running.” “Well then, go.” And that was that. The clouds are always running in England – unlike the Italian sky where not much moves in days. And the constant breeze, the smell of water and wet grass. From the first time I was in London it felt like home. And so it has felt ever since.

A couple of years ago I was having drinks with some colleagues and the topic was DNA testing. A few of them had tried it and it unlocked new learnings. I laughed. I certainly would not need the results to tell me where I was from! I definitively knew! Anyhow, there is nothing like a pub challenge, and there I was with my saliva in a tube, sending it somewhere unknown.

I was due for a shock when the results came back. There was not a drop of Southern European blood in my body. I was from the North, up to 30,000 years ago my ancestors were from somewhere North – between Denmark and England. I thought this must have been a mistake. So I sent a sample from my mother in a way that would not in anyway highlight we were related. And my father. No, niet, nada. Not a single whiff of truly Italian stock in our tree that seemed so stubbornly planted in front of that hill! But I was truly the daughter of my mother and my father (so no surprises there, in case you wondered). I reach out desperately to other people with more obviously diverse backgrounds – and yes, their results were correct. So it was true. I was ultimately from a place where the clouds are running.

What about my parents? What did they think about it? Nothing really — it’s easier to believe what we could see and touch about our ancestors’ belongings, sprinkled around our house like fairy dust, than something so far away and questionable like a saliva swap sent to a faraway lab in Canada.

When we look with a horizon of 30,000 years the history of humanity is one of change and movement and that’s the fascination of DNA tests. There is so much tension today about where we are from. Shouldn’t we all just look up at the clouds in the sky?

December 8, 2018 In Lingua, Live By Gianna Delle Valle

How are you?

“How are you?”

Such a routine question. “Come stai?” But try asking a distant acquaintance (or any random stranger) on an Italian beach in summer and brace yourself for the hour-long conversation that will follow.

Answers will detail how many hours slept and the quality of sleep, the state of bowels and urination, if the appetite is normal, how the stomach feels, if there are any sore muscles, how healthy teeth and gums are, and if there is any hint of a headache.

If any blood tests have been done recently the conversation will cover key results, and how to improve any findings that are off, such as cholesterol. Descriptions will follow of diets tried, the miracle of kiwis, herbal remedies, new pills on the horizon, special yoghurts, or anything that will fix whatever item needs improvement.

If you are at the centre of the universe then every day you need to have an awareness of the most important thing in the world—you.

By going abroad I was surprised that internal systems seem to work without monitoring. Bowel movements, sleep patterns—these things work without constant checking!

And equally surprised that the last thing we monitor is our true selves, our souls. As if we expect it all to work. As if it does not matter.

October 13, 2018 In Live By Gianna Delle Valle

La Bella Figura

“Far bella figura,” or “make a beautiful figure,” is an Italian state of mind—and a national obsession. “Make a good impression” does not even come close to describing the rich combination of looks, gait, elegance, and manners included in the concept of the “bella figura.”

It means to dress elegantly and appropriately.

It means to have an elegant posture and gait.

It means to smash the objective you’ve set, whatever that is.

It means to stand out with your thinking.

It means making sure the light shines on you, no matter what.

It means taking centre stage and being the main character of the occasion.

It means to be the best at what you do.

It means people look at you and think “wow.”

It means to walk with your head tall.

It means to stand in tunica bianca (in a white tunic) despite adverse situations.

It means losing with class and without losing dignity.

It’s the full package, not divided into chunks with post-industrial taste: philosophy, fashion, interesting lives in social media, right ambition at work.

It’s the “sum being bigger than the parts,” a definition of “homo” with Renaissance smack.

It means to be able to navigate different circles successfully, of being able to be relevant amongst bakers and fishermen as well as millionaires and princes.

After something happens, parents question their children, bosses their employees, friends question friends: “hai fatto bella figura?” “Did you make a bella figura?”

One often hears disheartened accounts of having made a “figura di merda” or “shit impression” with all the details of what went wrong, like a post football match replay after a loss. I remember in high school we even had a nasty jingle to highlight “figura di merda,” clearly a social deterrent for not having prepared well enough.

So dear fellows, companions on this journey on earth, and kind readers: stand tall, head high, put on your best face, and coolest trainers. Today make a wonderful, magnificent, victorious “bella figura.”

September 27, 2018 In Live By Gianna Delle Valle

Living like an Italian lion—in London

Itch is delighted to feature the second installment from our Italian abroad, Gianna della Valle, with ideas about how to live more like an Italian no matter where you are. She has made a study of how to bring elements of the Italian way of life into her adopted, more frenetic homeland.

I read that lions, most of the time, take it very easy. These prolonged periods of laziness are the foundation for big bursts of energy spent hunting prey (or mating)—in short getting in the swing of things only when it really matters. The rest of the time they enjoy the moment in the slow lane.

Italians aspire to live in the slow lane, punctuated by bursts of intense activity only when required, or when emotions demand.

Despite more than 20 years abroad, I am no exception. I like to start my day in London as I would in Italy. The other commuters rush to the fast train to get to work as quickly as possible. Not me. I figure I will be hunting all day in my office. Now it’s time to enjoy.

So I choose a nice path to walk to the station and catch a very slow and uncrowded train. Sometimes I stop at the local station cafe for a coffee. Other times I meet my grown-up daughter at the main station at the nicest breakfast place. We sit there and pretend to be in Sardinia at Capo d’Orso, having breakfast while listening to the sound of a harp on a terrace overlooking the Mediterranean under olive trees. We ponder the finer point of life while we sip our organic smoothies or eat our avocado on toast. We talk, we laugh, we people watch. We are the lions on the savanna. Gazelles run all the time: they have to. Lions, however, lounge majestically.

And then the clock reminds us that it is time to go to the office to hunt. I have never figured out, though, if in my office-savanna I am a lion or a gazelle. Most likely a gazelle, aspiring to be a lion.

August 22, 2018 In Live By Gianna Delle Valle

The morning coffee

In this section I’m pleased to introduce Gianna Della Valle: an Italian who has lived abroad for more than 20 years. She has made a study of how to bring elements of the Italian way of life into her adopted, frenetic homeland.

The morning coffee is a ritual that celebrates the bravery, self-discipline, and sacrifice you are making to get out of bed and face the world—all of your own free will. You could have stayed in, slept a bit longer, or entertained other thoughts with your partner. But no. You got up, washed, dressed, and went out. It is a very delicate moment—you need to be celebrated and supported in the day’s first bow to your duties.

That’s why coffee shops were invented in Italy. The “barman” is performing the highest-level duty to society. Like a midwife, he facilitates your daily entry into the world. He understands that your private space should not be disturbed with silly things like asking what you want, and, abomination, asking for your name. The barman knows you intimately and can detect your innermost state. He will scrutinize your face and decide whether to ask you “il solito?” (the usual?) if he feels you are approachable, or simply get on with it and serve your favorite combination coffee and pastry if you’re seeming too delicate for questions that morning. The world has an order that needs to be respected. For that moment, you are at the center of that world and that order.

The barman then will engage you tactfully in a conversation that is meant to be uplifting and get you out of the natural grumpiness your situation warrants (you just got out of bed, remember).

Then the smell hits. And the burst of caffeine. Your energy level spikes. You are ready for your day. Mission accomplished.

Sorry mass coffee chains, you simply do not get it. I don’t want you asking my name. I don’t want paper cups. I don’t want to have to stand in line.

But that’s ok. I am not at the center of the world. I am just a cog in the system. It rains and I got here after a long commute. Another shit day.