URBINO, Italy – It is a Thursday night, nicknamed la notte dello studente – the night of the students – in this historic hilltop town and  University of Urbino students are at the Bosom Pub unwinding – loudly  –  after a week of classes.

Charged by lively Italian dance music and a ready supply of alcohol their shouted banter rockets up to the aged wooden rafters. Beer bottles clink. Foosball tables crack with the sounds of battle. And the bellowed choruses of pop songs echo off stone walls.

Eventually the noise – and some of the students – spill out the doors onto surrounding cobblestone streets where neighbors hoping for sleep look from their windows with frowns of exasperation.

Behind the bar, owner Sandra Lannes, 46, pours metallic blue vodka into shot glasses, tossing a gummy shark – a chaser – into each. With a grin and a belly laugh, Lannes watches as a crowd of eager students gulp the glittery substance.

“It warms my heart to see students having fun,” says Lannes. “It is like the happiness I see in them is transferred to me.”

In recent months, though, her happiness, and even la notte dello studente has been put in jeopardy.

Last February, Urbino mayor Maurizio Gambini, bending to wishes of sleep-deprived residents, imposed a two-month curfew of 2 a.m. on all establishments within the city limits. The ordinance sparked protests by outraged students and business owners.

Because Gambini passed the ordinance without the approval of his cabinet, it had an expiration date of two months. However, the repercussions of the ordinance are still rippling through the city today.

Just as in many American college towns, this resident-student tension has existed in Urbino for generations. However, this conflict is more complex and perhaps heightened due to its unusual geography. The community of Urbino is divided into two distinct geographic and demographic parts.

One part is the historic Renaissance city, surrounded by 14^th century stone walls.

The other is the modern ‘greater Urbino,’ which is a few kilometers outside the old town.

The historic center of Urbino is nicknamed “the cradle of the Renaissance,” boasting the birthplace of renowned artist Raphael, and the Palazzo Ducale – Duke Federico da Montefeltro’s turreted 600-year-old home.

The old city is a UNESCO World Heritage Site, which means that it has essentially been declared by the U.N. a living museum – with artistic and cultural treasures. But it is also home to the University of Urbino campus and the apartments of some its 15,000 students.  This is where they study – and play.

Though it’s hard to draw an American parallel, this might be like attending university – and partying – on the National Mall in D.C. Students stroll through history-soaked streets on their way to class, and home from bars at night.

And while students far outnumber the 1,100 citizens within the city walls – they feel their voices are not being heard by the current administration. In Italy, you cannot vote in mayoral elections if you are not a full-time resident of the town, a requirement which excludes most students here who typically travel home for the weekends.

That commuting tradition gave birth to la notte della studente, which, as student Emanuel Leandri put it, created a lot of hype. Students like Leandri feel the ordinance took this celebratory night away from them. “I would always look forward to Thursdays, but it was different during the ordinance.”

Students said they didn’t see the crackdowns coming

“The ordinance sort of shocked everybody,” said Nicola Moretti. “Before, it was thenormal thing to stay out until 3 or 4 a.m., but after the ordinance the center emptied itself.”

Luca Gasperoni, a journalism major who has covered these issues for Il Ducato, the student newspaper, said students have nicknamed the mayor “the Sheriff,” because of his harsh stance on student nightlife in the city.

There have been other regulations over the years impacting student celebrations. One prohibits dancing in establishments which have not acquired a dance license, a requirement to prevent overcrowding. The other prohibits citizens from carrying alcohol bottles, closed or open, anywhere beyond the doorways of bars and cafes.

Students and business owners had adapted to these rules but were caught off-guard when the repressive curfew was accompanied by more stringent enforcement of the old regulations.

Lannes and the Bosom customers were shocked one la notte dello studente

when the Urbino police raided, threw out its occupants, sealed off the dancing room with police tape, and charged Lannes and her husband, Stefano Galli, for violating city laws.

That day, graduation celebrations were being hosted at the pub; cakes lined the tables, and the air was ringing with shouts of congratulations.

“They were celebrating a great accomplishment, so naturally there was some dancing happening,” Lannes recalled.  “One young girl was forced to leave before she could even eat her graduation cake.”

Because Bosom doesn’t have a dancing license, Lannes and her husband are now awaiting trial in city court, facing up to six months in jail should they lose.

Lannes remains defiant – “If they want to arrest me, ok, but I know I’ve done nothing wrong” – but the emotion and uncertainty of the past few months have weighed on her.

Uses a napkin to dab at tears as she recounts the story, she says “It’s the passion that does this to me. There are 34 years of history in this pub, and the mayor has completely destroyed it.”

“I know people who’ve met because of the Bosom, gotten married, and now their kids come to my pub.”

In fact, the Bosom pub has been is an integral part of nightlife inside the old city for decades. Its walls declare the stories of generations of students, travelers, and young lovers.

“I know people who’ve met because of the Bosom, gotten married, and now their kids come to my pub,” she said.

In the weeks after the ordinance, students forced to leave the pubs at the new 2 a.m. closing time would gather in Piazza della Republica – a public square in the center of Urbino – to protest the ordinances until 4 or 5 in the morning. Moretti recalled students singing chants against the mayor in the piazza in the weeks after the ordinance was passed.

“They were angry, but they aren’t criminals,” Lannes said.

To American ears, a curfew of 2 a.m. may sound moderate, but in Italian culture, it is outlandish. Italians react with disbelief when told that most American establishments close far before sunrise. Things are different here.

In Italian culture, evening socializing begins around 4 or 5 p.m., with a period called aperitivo. People crowd outdoor sidewalk tables to enjoy a glass of wine or Italy’s signature drink, the refreshing Aperol a spritz – an orange liquor with a splash of bubbly Prosecco, garnished with an orange slice. While drinking, customers munch on a wide assortment of free appetizer, from the simple – peanuts, chips, and breadsticks – to the elaborate – sushi, freshly made bruschetta, pizza slices, and salumi.

Café De Sole, an airy, quirky sidewalk café with ceramic sun depictions covering its walls, can be found bustling during aperitivo. Romina Piccolo, 44, petite and kind-eyed, celebrated the 20^th anniversary of the café this summer. Known for its live music, the café is a popular gathering place for students and residents alike.

Hearing that shops and bars in the city resulted in destruction was hugely disheartening. “I’ve always tried to bring something new to the city – arts, music – I strive to create beauty,” Piccolo said.

More than just a personal toll, the ordinance took an economic toll on Piccolo as well. She explained that closing even just one hour earlier would amount to 30 hours of lost business in a month, which is the equivalent of letting one employee go.

Additionally, because of the ordinance, owners of late-night businesses didn’t have anywhere to eat after closing up; there was not a pizzeria, gelateria, or kebab shop open past 2 a.m. “If I have a visiting artist to show around, and I want to take them somewhere to eat, it’s embarrassing to have to show them a dead city.”

Piccolo said she felt “free, free, free” after the ordinance was lifted.

For Samuel Sorrenti, owner of Enjoy Disco Club, a new dance club located just outside the old city’s walls, the end of the ordinance meant survival.

In Urbino there is a distinction made between clubs and bars. Clubs can acquire dancing licenses, and typically have later opening times. Like most discos, Enjoy doesn’t open until midnight, and typically closes after 5 a.m.  So Sorrenti was appalled when the curfew was announced.

“A club is for night entertainment,” he said, “you can’t close at 2 a.m.!”

Sorrenti said preliminary meetings with the mayor before his opening in October had made him feel welcome. But when the ordinance was passed in February, just four months after he’d opened his doors, Sorrenti felt as though his “legs had been cut out from under him.”

When the mayor chose to end the ordinance two months ago, he felt like a weight was lifted.

Sorrenti, a friendly, determined businessman, sits in an office clad with brightly colored posters boasting months of themed Enjoy parties. Enjoy’s most recent party, the inauguration of an outdoor garden, was well attended – 1,500 students came out to revel under multicolored neon lights.

Now Sorrenti feels like the future for his disco is brighter, though no one can be sure whether the curfew will be reinstated.

Back at the Bosom Pub, Lannes weighs in about the importance of students in the city, claiming that “we need to protect them because many are here on their parents’ dime.” She argues that many parents have made huge sacrifices so their children can study here. Students are also an integral part of the life and economy of the town, and Lannes believes they must be respected as so.

Hand on her heart she said, “I feel as though you all – everyone who comes to Bosom – are my own children.”

Lannes’ heart for her student customers is worn on her sleeve. Despite the anxiety that accompanies her impending trial, she remains hopeful for the future of Urbino. “There are meanspirited things that have happened here,” she said, “but it is a beautiful place.

Not only for studying, but for living.”

Video by Madison Schultz & Caitlin Piemme

The post Dancing around the Law appeared first on 2019 Urbino Project.

Urbino, Italy — This magnificent Renaissance city is known for its friendly faces and peaceful piazzas. Except on Thursday night. That’s when the quiet streets erupt with laughter, loud music and screams of university students.

Gabriele Cavalera remembers one harrowing night 20 years ago when ambulance trying to reach a sick student was blocked by crowds of partiers, most of them University of Urbino students. They then began rocking the vehicle back and forth and tried to climb into it. 

Cavalera, now the communication director for the mayor, remembers thinking at the time, “Before somebody dies, let’s do something.”

Although things hadn’t been that bad since 1999, earlier this year growing noise and celebrations had hit such volume and intensity residents worried it was reaching a boiling point again. So they asked the mayor, Maurizio Gambini, to intervene.

He agreed and passed an ordinance that clubs must be closed at 2 a.m. for two months, outraging students and bar owners but delighting residents. The ordinance was dissolved in April, but the argument continues.

This fight is nothing new inside Urbino’s ancient walls. For decades there has been a struggle between students and residents. Students say they need to relax and have fun, and residents say they need their sleep. And the unique geography of the city makes a solution difficult.

Of Urbino’s 14,000 fulltime residents only about 1100 live inside walls of the historic city center, which the United Nations has declared a World Heritage City. The rest live outside in modern housing.

But the old city is the campus for most of the 14,000 students. They attend classes in the old buildings, some rent apartments there, and its bars and clubs are where they naturally go to blow off steam after a long week of classes.

In the old days, bars and clubs could stay open until 6 in the morning, Cavalera explains. The first ordinance required closure at “3 during the week and 3:30 during the weekends.”

Through the years, closing time has been continually pushed up earlier. Then, four years ago, an ordinance was passed that outlawed people from having bottles or open containers in public 8 p.m. to 7 a.m.

Customers could have open bottles near the doors of the establishments where they were drinking, Cavalera explains.

“This was done because a few years ago at a certain point there were students who would buy alcohol in supermarkets and just sit around, and they’ll leave bottles and glasses and rubbish everywhere,” Cavalera said.

It was no longer just a nuisance to residents; it became a safety concern when there was broken glass up and down the streets. However, the ordinance against music outside after 12 a.m. was due to complaints from neighbors trying to sleep.

“Sometimes they sing, they yell, they scream, they talk, and for the residents it can be pretty difficult,” said Cavalera.

Anna Rita Romani works for Urbino Living, a local realty agency that sells and rents out apartments to students and residents. The inhabitants close to the bar would be up until 5 a.m. due to the noise.

“There are some apartments which are very close to the bar, and some students have left their apartments because during the night it was too noisy,” Romani said. “Some students gave the key back because they couldn’t stay there.”

The students from the University of Urbino are not the only ones to blame for all the commotion, however. The town had become a hotspot for students from nearby areas as well.

“Thursday night in Urbino was so popular that people used to come from other towns and other regions,” Cavalera said. “You would get so many people downtown that was really becoming a problem.”

Alessandra Ubaldi, Urbino resident and owner of a specialty clothing store called Guado, may be one of the few who isn’t bothered by the noise at night, but she acknowledges that the students dominate the population of this small town.

“I don’t live where there are many students. I live next to the historic center, so I don’t have a direct contact to the problem,” Ubaldi said. “But, there’s a difference in numbers because there are a lot more students than there are citizens.”

Cavalera said when citizens have a complaint, it goes directly to the mayor.

“They usually sign off a petition, they send it to the mayor, and they ask for a meeting,” Cavalera said. “They promote the meeting with the mayor, and they try to explain their points of view.”

Although the ordinance was only in place for two months, people didn’t think it was enough for solving the tension between citizens and residents.

“It just started a strong discussion about the topic that needs to be continued,” Ubaldi said. “Just setting a time for clubs to close doesn’t solve the problem.”

Veronica Gentillini, a university student and coordinator of Agora Student Association, has made an effort to meet with the residents and talk out the issue. The attempt has turned into more of a struggle, she said.

“It’s not always so easy, so they try with the student council to talk to the citizens and to have the citizens meet so we can find an agreement,” Gentillini said.

“There is a generation of 20-year-olds who change almost every year and there is a generation of older people the actual citizens who remain the same.”

It’s not surprising that the two sides are at odds, not only because of the age difference but their difference in values. Ubaldi says that is the source of the fighting.

“There is a generation of 20-year-olds who change almost every year,” Ubaldi says, “and there is a generation of older people the actual citizens who remain the same.”

Gentillini blames both sides for not communicating enough.

“There’s not a physical meeting between students and citizens,” Gentillini said. “In my opinion, this ordinance was created because there was never an agreement between students and citizens.”

Cavalera disputed the idea that residents and students do not get along and insists that the situation is not as bad as it’s made out to be.

 “Sometimes you find on newspapers that the students and the residents are like rivals or enemies, it’s not the case,” Cavalera argued. “It’s just a question of having different needs.”

However, Ubaldi thinks that having different needs is part of the problem, because people just start to talk in circles. She will eventually stop meeting with residents for this reason.

“Often people just tell their own stories and their own needs,” Ubaldi says. “Instead of actually trying to find a common ground they fight.”

Collaborating on a solution that makes everyone happy has not seemed to work out so far, but some ideas have been thrown around.

“We need to find the right kinds of entertainment, and I think that this is probably the most difficult of the problems where people can’t agree,” Ubaldi says.

Campogiani thinks that college kids shouldn’t act out just because they are in a different city.

“They have to be the same in their home in Urbino. Correct, educated, clean,” Campogiani says. “In Italy we say ‘Paese dei balocchi: the country in which one can do everything’, it’s not correct. Urbino is not ‘Paese dei balocchi’.”

Although there are differing opinions on long-term solutions, one thing remains clear: An ordinance like this could likely be passed again. According to Cavalera, only if something major happens, but Gentillini thinks otherwise.

Gentillini says, “Because I know the mayor, yes.”

Translation of interviews and other language assistance by University of Urbino students Lisa Oliva, Liliana Cogliandro, Bianca Sartini and Roberto Giambona.

Video by Caitlin Piemme & Madison Schultz

The post Finding the Off Switch appeared first on 2019 Urbino Project.

At the piercing sound of the six o’clock bells, 7-year-old Luciano Bussu smiled knowingly–it was time.

He walked deliberately through the long hallway to the back of his parents’ country-style home. There he entered the cheese kitchen, a room with reddish-brown brick walls that were nearly a foot wide and void of decorations or family photos. The spring heat trapped in the room clung to his olive-colored skin, causing small beads of sweat.

Luciano carried cheese molds and a container of sheep milk to a steel table at the center of the earthen floor where a tall steel pot sat on a burner. Pride washed over him: For the first time on his own, he was going to make Sardinian cheese and ricotta, two of the cheeses his parents had been producing and supplying to local shops since 1941.

His parents had left for the evening and had told him, joking, that if they didn’t return by 6 p.m. he’d be in charge of making the cheese. Little Luciano had taken them literally.

The steel pot that would hold the sheep milk towered over his small stature, preventing him from seeing over the top. But with a wooden stool, his small hands, patience, and the recollection of many hours spent watching his parents work, he refused to let the size of the task or the pot intimidate him. With focused eyes and calculated movements, the young boy successfully poured and cooked the milk, formed the wheel of cheese, and made the fresh ricotta.

His parents, on their return, were astounded.

Bussu’s confidence and willingness to stand tall in the face of challenges followed him into adulthood. Now 55, Bussu is the owner of Casa del Formaggio di Bussu, a milestone on Via Mazzini that for 31 years has weathered economic storms and changing tastes to remain a stalwart source of cheese and other Marche products for its loyal customers. Bussu’s focus on relationships, both with his family and clients, keeps his shop alive and bustling with activity. And through his devotion to high-quality local suppliers, Bussu has not only strung together a community of people but continues to preserve a myriad of Italian family traditions.

“I was born in cheese,” Bussu says, shifting aside cream-colored beaded curtains to unlock an aged wooden door. It’s now morning and Bussu is opening his shop for the day. He pulls out a crate overflowing with bright red strawberries and a box with golden peaches propped inside, placing them on the sidewalk beside the front door.

“I started making cheese when I was very little, so I grew up doing it,” he says as he props a scarlet red stand with a list of featured products by the window. In the wood-framed window, as always, he has displayed honey, truffle sauce, and wine. “It came very naturally to me to open this place just to sell the products that we had been making our whole life.”

Now finished with setting up, he walks through the front door shaded by two beige awnings. The brown, slightly faded words “Casa del Formaggio Di Bussu” stretch across the awnings, welcoming clients into the quaint shop.

Bussu and his family, originally from Sardinia, moved to Urbino in 1965 for a job offer. Once in the small town, they conformed to local tastes to satisfy their clients. Instead of aged Sardinian cheeses, they made younger, fresher casciotta d’Urbino and pecorino. From the leftover whey, they made ricotta, which was also used as a cake ingredient. They relied on their hands as tools. And for better quality products, their cheese was produced from sheep that were only fed organic products.

“It’s a lot of work behind it,” Bussu says, now leaning on the cluttered granite counter by the cash register. The wooden walls and shelves cast a golden warmth throughout the store. An assortment of different products, such as peanuts, bread, cheese, and other items can be seen. “It can sometimes take a village to make cheese,” he says, “especially since some cheese requires more accuracy than others.”

“He gives his shop a good reputation and casts a good light on the community around him,” says honey supplier Fabrizio Pesare.

The door clatters open and an elderly woman with feathered gray hair pushes through the beaded curtains. Bussu, tall and lanky, greets the woman with a warm smile. As he puts her cheese in a white paper bag, they share anecdotes from each other’s day and laugh.

This client of 31 years, Maria Romana, has known Bussu since he was one year old and says he’s like a son to her. She remembers Bussu’s family fondly, and says in the mid-60s, when they moved to Urbino, they used to supply her family’s shop with cheese. To this day, Romana continues to visit and buy from him.

“I come back here because I like it and because Bussu and I are friends,” Romana says, with a soft smile in Bussu’s direction. “I don’t really like supermarkets. I only go there when I’m in hot water. I [rather] come here because there is a friendship that unites us, it’s not just buying things.”

Bussu spent his high school summers helping his parents produce cheese at their home in the countryside of Urbino. Even though as a child Bussu admired his parents and their craft, as he grew up, he explains that he wanted to do something “bigger” and make his parents proud. After graduating from high school, he went on to pursue law at the University of Urbino “Carlo Bo.” But after a year, he realized he no longer wanted to study and came back to make cheese with his family.

In 1988, he opened Casa del Formaggio di Bussu.

“I wanted to be able to get my own money and build my future on my own,” Bussu says. “I think that is a very important lesson in life, to learn how to get by without other people’s help.”

With a faraway look in his eyes, Bussu recalls the vivid memory of arranging his products in the glass case near the door on the day his shop first opened. From the start, he was motivated to line the shelves with nothing but top-quality products, mostly his family’s cheese. Each Thursday, Bussu went to his family’s farm where his brothers, Sebastiano and Michele, and his parents helped him produce it.

In 1998, his parents stopped making cheese and moved to Tuscany, just east of Urbino. This left Bussu with the task of finding another cheese-maker to supply his shop.

“I was looking for a supplier for a long time. It’s hard to find a farmer that makes the cheese the proper way,” Bussu says sharply. “There are many farmers who rush the process just to get a good income. You have to be willing to work hard. The client is the final judge and knows if the cheese is actually good or not.”

He gestures to a wheel of cheese enclosed in a dimly lit glass case. On it is a label with a bright green graphic of a mountain, thick red letters that read “Martarelli” and the word “Formaggi” in white cursive font. After years of having suppliers who didn’t quite meet his standards, Bussu found this family business about a year ago. With its use of raw sheep milk from organically fed sheep, the taste is the closest to the “perfect supplier” he was in search of.

“Cheese-making is a job that’s becoming less and less big every year because it’s like an ancient job, so people tend to not do it anymore,” Bussu says.

In 2007, Bussu and similar shopkeepers were hit with a double whammy: the global economic crisis and the rise of supermarkets. Many stores around him folded, but he prevailed by incorporating other products in his shop.

“I tried to adapt my business to the request of the clients and the social context that surrounded me,” Bussu says. “As supermarkets were opening everywhere, I had to keep up with them so I started carrying top-quality items you can’t find in supermarkets.”

Now, various food items flood the store, many representing Italian family traditions. Bussu points to the window, where a tall bottle of Gambelli wine from a Marche winery sits. The winery dates back to 1898. Next, he gestures to a glass jar of Acqualagna Tartufi truffle sauce made entirely with Italian ingredients and ancient techniques.

“There’s also Gabannini’s honey,” Bussu goes on, smiling. Bussu points to an assembly of honey jars on a wooden platform by his cash register. Marino Gabannini, a man who had a unique fascination with bees as a child, first began making honey in 1913. Since then, the company has expanded, and the family of beekeepers aim to respect nature’s course, bees, and their territory to create top-quality products.

Fabrizio Pesare, Gabannini’s great-grandson who now works with the factory, says he admires the positive impact Bussu’s shop has had on Urbino and other residents in the Marche region.

“He gives his shop a good reputation and casts a good light on the community around him,” Pesare says. “He’s always looking for high-quality local products. For instance, instead of buying from mass markets he looks for ham from Italian pigs. Many shops have tried to imitate him and have failed.”

Over the years, Bussu’s customers have grown to trust his choice in products.

“If you go to a super market you can find Sicilian products and products from all over Italy,” says Anna Rosa, a client of 31 years. “But here you can find the real products made in Urbino by people from Urbino [and the Marche region] so that’s actually a unique thing.”

“There are many farmers who rush the process just to get a good income. You have to be willing to work hard. The client is the final judge and knows if the cheese is actually good or not,” says store owner Luciano Bussu.

Bussu’s customers are like his family, and he puts his family above everything. A swarm of childlike illustrations are taped to the wooden walls behind his counters. One is a crayon drawing of a young girl with a light blue shirt and black hair, standing in a grassy field. A speech bubble beside her reads: “venite tutti alla casa del formaggio di Bussu Luciano.” This translates to “come all to Luciano Bussu’s home of cheese.” The drawings were made by his two daughters, now 13 and 18, when they were younger. Bussu has yet to take them down.

It’s now mid-day on Thursday, the day he closes early to have a long meal and visit with his family. Sunlight casts a soft glow through the honey jars and wine bottles propped in the window. Bussu brings in the crates of strawberries and boxes of other assorted fruit. He snaps the sandwich sign closed and brings it inside. He removes his apron, and then turns off the lights. He lets out a subtle sigh of relief. Finally, Bussu locks the door and begins to head up the street to his car to return to what matters most to him–his family.

“I’m one of those people that doesn’t live to work,” Bussu says. “I work in order to live.”

This article, by Jazmine Otey, won a Raffie Award for Best Magazine Story Package. Translation of interviews and other language assistance by University of Urbino students Francesca Massari and Beatrice Burani. This article also appears in Urbino Now magazine’s La Gente section. You can read all the magazine articles in print by ordering a copy from MagCloud.

The post Bussu’s Home of Cheese appeared first on 2019 Urbino Project.

Marco Galazzi, a middle-aged man whose stern disposition masks a friendly nature, walks into the office of the Contrada Valbona, a small, unassuming space located along Urbino’s Via Mazzini that serves as the headquarters of his neighborhood association. On the walls are old black-and-white pictures of children playing, and above the entry into a kitchen hangs a banner reading Nel blu, dipinto di blu (“In blue, painted in blue”), a lyrical reference to the famous Italian song of the same name by Domenico Modugno. Upon closer inspection, however, the banner is revealed to be not a banner at all, but rather part of a kite—just one example of the articulate, three-dimensional kites that are made every year by Galazzi to be flown in the annual Festa dell’Aquilone: “The Festival of Kites.”

Held every September since 1951, the festival brings together the ten contrada, or “neighborhoods,” of Urbino to take part in a competition, and the winner is determined by who can get their kite highest off the ground while avoiding getting tangled in others’ strings. Each contrada makes about 100 kites each year, and during the festival some 500 soar through the air, gently sailing over the walled Renaissance city. Each contrada is also assigned a specific color for the festival, causing a rainbow of shapes and colors to appear in a luminous display in the sky.

Galazzi serves as the head (or capocontrada) of Contrada Valbona, one of the 10 neighborhoods that take part in the festival, which is represented by the color blue. He also serves as Valbona’s chief kite maker: He’s been making kites almost every day since he was seven, meaning Galazzi has made more than 5000 aquiloni in his lifetime.

“A kite a day keeps the doctor away,” jokes Galazzi.

Moving toward a table laden with materials such as paper, string, and sticks of wood, Galazzi prepares to demonstrate how to make a kite. He starts with a type of paper called pergamino which is imported from Germany, which he first cuts and folds into a square. Not letting anything go to waste, he uses the remaining paper to make the tails on two sides and the bottom, which helps the kite maintain its posture in the air. Using a very smooth type of wood called legno ramino, he forms what is known as the telaio, or “frame,” of the kite against the paper part, which is called the velatura, or “veil.” The telaio itself is composed of two parts, which resemble a bow and arrow (known as the archetto and freccino, respectively).

“It has to be even on both parts,” says Galazzi of the telaio. Describing the archetto, he says, “I have to then bend it to make an arch so that the length of the string [attached to each end] is the same as the central part of the kite.”

He carefully crafts each part with razor-sharp precision in order to achieve a perfect distribution of weight to ensure that the kite stays in the air. Galazzi uses a box-cutter to whittle at the legno ramino to make sure its weight is even as it forms the archetto. To test it, Galazzi balances the wood on the edge of the knife. If it doesn’t balance on its own, Galazzi will continue to work on it until it does.

Galazzi places the telaio onto the velatura to see if it aligns. “Voila! It’s perfect,” he exclaims.

While this kite is fairly standard-looking, Galazzi also makes far more elaborate ones for the festival, which he brings in to display at the contrada headquarters, placing them on the tables in upright position. One such kite is called ottopunte, or eight-point, an extravagantly made octagonal kite, the type Valbona is more likely to use for competitions. Another type, known as the Cody kite, has its origins in World War I, when it was used by the British navy as a type of parasail used for observation. Galazzi also shows off his own creation, a large star-shaped kite (which he simply refers to as “Star”) that must be held at a certain angle in order for the wind to carry it.

“All of these kites have their own unique telaio,” says Galazzi. “There are some kind of kites that don’t have any structure, but you can automatically inflate them and blow in the wind.” Larger and more complex kites can easily be disassembled to be transported, then reassembled at the chosen flying location.

Asked what draws him so much to kite-making, Galazzi’s answer is simple. “It’s in my blood,” he says. “It’s who I am.”

“A kite a day keeps the doctor away,” jokes Galazzi.

For the next festival, Galazzi plans to make a kite model of the porta entrance of the city walls that leads to Via Mazzini, near Contrada Valbona’s headquarters. Salvatore Stella, another participant at Valbona and a painting instructor at the Accademia di Belle Arti in Urbino, will also work on the porta kite. Around four years ago, he was recruited by Contrada Valbona to help design the kites. He also helps instruct others on how to properly paint and design their own kites.

“We have a different theme each year,” says Stella. “We decide it as a whole group, and then develop it together.”

In addition to the grand prize trophy for highest kite, several other prizes are given out each year, such as the Aquilone di Belezza (for most beautiful kite) Aquilone Tredimensionale (for best three-dimensional kite) and Aquilone d’Oro, or “Golden Kite” (given to the best children’s kite). While Contrada Valbona hasn’t won the grand trophy in recent years, Galazzi has won the Aquilone Tecnicale, the prize for best technical kite, for 12 years running.

The festival itself has its origins in a poem written by Giovanni Pascoli, one of the most influential poets in Italy at the end of the 19^th century. Though his adult period is associated with the city of Bologna, he spent his adolescence in Urbino, where he attended the Collegio Raffaello, located in Urbino’s central Piazza della Repubblica, which today has a bust of Pascoli in its entranceway. One of his earliest poems “Aquilone,” describes sitting on a hill in Urbino, flying a kite into the air.

“Now we stand still, facing windy Urbino,” the poem goes. “From a cliff, everyone sends their comet towards the turquoise sky.”

Following the end of World War II, Urbino was beset with problems of juvenile delinquency. The Festa dell’Aquilone was started to give the youth a more peaceful way to fight. Originally, there were only five competing contrade (one of which is Valbona), but as the city expanded, the number eventually upgraded to 10, with newer contrade incorporated outside the city walls, including the oddly named Hong Kong, which got its name from building developments which resemble Chinese pagodas.

At the Fortezza Albornoz, once a fortress to keep out invaders that now serves as a park overlooking a scenic view of Urbino, I go to fly kites with Galazzi and Giovanna Luminati. Luminati, who has blonde hair that touches her shoulders and a lively smile, is one of the oldest contradaioli who partakes in the festival. While she isn’t particularly good at making kites, she assists in the rolling of the matassa, or the spool of string that’s held by the kite flyer, an exercise she says helps her wrists stay flexible as she ages.

“When I was a child, I didn’t like the kite festival because I would always lose my kite, and it was held the Sunday before school started,” says Luminati. “But as I got older, I came to enjoy it more and more. I like to be in a big mass of people. Now I act like a pirate, and try to get other kites tied up to bring them down.”

It’s a warm June day with a perfect breeze for kite flying. Galazzi and Luminati bring out some of the kites to fly. One is a standard diamond-shaped kite resembling the one made earlier, while the other is a Cody kite. It’s the first one we have more success getting into the air. On one of her first attempts, Luminati sends the diamond kite into a tree, but Galazzi is able to send it back high into the sky using little effort, turning it into a small speck with a simple tug of the string.

“It isn’t that far,” Galazzi remarks offhandedly of the distance of the kite. He notes that during the kite festival, the highest kites can reach 2500 meters (or 8200 feet) high in the sky.

“Now we stand still, facing windy Urbino,” the poem goes. “From a cliff, everyone sends their comet towards the turquoise sky.”

He then hands the matassa to me to take control of the kite. As the kite sails higher and higher in the air, I’m overcome with an almost childlike feeling of happiness. I can’t help but to break out in a wide grin. Something about flying a kite brings a wave of innocence over you, making you recall a time earlier in your life when you were carefree and unaffected by all the troubles of the world. I’m reminded of the penultimate scene of Mary Poppins, when the always-stern Mr. Banks takes his children out to fly a kite, a symbol of his transformation into a kind-hearted father.

As the kites land, Galazzi rushes to them to throw them back into the air. Despite his obvious shortness of breath in doing so, he shows no sign of wanting to stop. While he doesn’t say so, perhaps the playful nature of the kites has infected him as well.

“I think Pascoli’s poem helps us all rediscover our inner childhood.” says Luminati. “As a metaphor, I think the kite is something as you fly it in the sky, you attach a dream to it.”

Translation of interviews and other language assistance by University of Urbino student Francesca Massari. This article also appears in Urbino Now magazine’s Urbino Centro section. You can read all the magazine articles in print by ordering a copy from MagCloud.

The post Let’s Go Fly a Kite appeared first on 2019 Urbino Project.

Standing at the wooden workbench at the back of her small Urbino shop on Via Giuseppe Mazzini, Margherita Mari measures a large piece of red leather she intends to use as the cover for a custom photo album. She examines the leather, looking for any scuffs, scars, or holes, not to hide them, but to highlight them. She carefully rubs her fingers along the leather, then pauses. “That’s it,” she says, referring to an inch-long raised bump that resembles the letter “j.” She arranges the leather so that the blemish will be in the bottom-left corner of the cover, and begins to cut the leather around a wooden rectangular stencil. No other book will have that scar nor look like that album. It is one of a kind.

Margherita Mari, owner of the shop Daisy in the Book, makes one-of-a-kind products. She hand makes all the book-related items in her shop, such as albums, agendas, bookmarks, and wedding invitations. Her work requires logic and resourcefulness, attributes that, until two years ago, also served her well in her previous career as a chemist. “I am meant,” she says, “to make practical things.”

Daisy in the Book, located almost at the bottom of Urbino’s Via Mazzini, is a small and narrow shop. The display window shows shelves of thesis covers and books, each different from its neighbor. Walking through the doors, the customers are immediately greeted by a towering brown bookshelf on the right holding Mari’s latest work, small graphic agendas and leather photo albums. Mari, a petite woman with large black-rimmed glasses, can always be found peering from behind her tall counter at the back of the shop.

This morning, she is attaching a thin fabric to the cover of a custom agenda. As she sits in her chair, she recalls that only two years ago, she was struggling to find work. Mari earned her PhD in chemistry at Università degli studi di Camerino with the intent of working in a laboratory. But the job market had other ideas, and she found herself with a lot of time on her hands—hands that were used to being busy. She began making scrapbooks, which led to a fascination with all craft-making. As her time as an unemployed chemist grew, Mari had to weigh her options. At last, she thought to herself, “What do I actually want to do with my life?”

Just then the phone rang. It was Sara La Rosa, a friend from her past who was a professional bookbinder. Mari would occasionally help La Rosa at her shop when La Rosa had big restoration orders. La Rosa was retiring from bookbinding and wondered: Would Mari like her bookbinding equipment and lessons on how to use it? Mari finally got what she was waiting for, a push in a direction and an escape from limbo.

Mari says, “I thought, like, oh my god!” Throwing her hands down against her thighs, she says, “This was something sent to me from heaven because I really had no idea of what to do with my life because I loved being a chemist, I loved working in the lab.”

Mari finally got what she was waiting for, a push in a direction and an escape from limbo.

Mari accepted the cardboard cutter, the trimmer, the book-press, and the lessons. La Rosa, using her university skills, taught Mari the basics of box-making and bookbinding. La Rosa gave Mari the boost she needed to take her hobby to new heights.

—

Mari stands up from her chair behind her desk with a big smile on her face. A customer is in the shop wanting a custom order. Today, the customer is me.

I tell Mari that I want a leather photo album for my mom. Mari responds, “Okay, what type of leather would you like?” She walks over to an imposing tower of different leathers. I look at her blankly, like a deer in the headlights. All these choices, choices most people don’t know they have.

I choose a deep-red leather with lines of texture you can see from feet away. Mari grabs the rolled-up leather from the middle of the large tower and brings it to her workbench. She runs her fingers over the piece, looking for the perfect detail that will tell its own story. She finds the raised “j”-shaped scar that will make my album like no other. Mari walks to a bookshelf and takes down the pre-sewn pages of the future photo album. She flips and turns the leather against the sewn pages, determined to show off the imperfection. As she tries every position for the material, she explains why she is so determined to show the scar: She wants to “make a defect something precious.”

Mari flattens the leather under the wooden stencil, and, on each side, cuts it down to size in a single smooth stroke. Then she takes three small bags of metal accessories from the drawers beneath her desk. Dumping out all three bags, she scatters onto the desk about a hundred pieces of small mixed beads that are used as decorations. I choose a silver circular metal piece that shows three suns nested within each other. Next, Mari goes to the back of her shop and pulls out options for string that would hold the flaps of the album closed and would complement my red album. I pick a navy-blue string, which she weaves through the punched holes she’s made and ties in a bow. Finally, Mari glues the leather to the cover, smiles, and says, “It’s done. Now we must be patient and wait.”

—

Walking into the shop named Guado is like walking into the sea: All four walls are covered by turquoise-blue products. Parting the sea is Alessandra Ubaldi, standing behind her counter. Mari has explained that she is collaborating on a new book product with Ubaldi, owner of Guado, another small shop on Via Mazzini, which specializes in products dyed blue using an ancient technique.

When asked about her collaboration with Mari, Ubaldi says, “It’s important that we stick together, and it would be important to communicate and exchange ideas much more. Since in Urbino, we have an economy that turns o­­n tourism and university we should customize our offer towards that direction. It’s important that we all go towards the same direction.”

Back at Mari’s shop, she flips through the pages of the small seawater-colored book that she and Ubaldi are creating, and talks about why she likes to work with the local people of Urbino: “I see myself in them. I see creativity. I see brilliant people doing brilliant things and I always look for ways to include those beautiful things in my work.” With this collaboration, Mari and Ubaldi will create a unified, one-of-a-kind, and brilliant thing.

Moving to the back of her shop, Mari examines her fabrics and paper, looking for the factors that make them unique. Each item has its own characteristic, whether it is a mark, hole, or unusual pattern or texture. Mari uses those characteristics to her advantage. Mari points out two similar, but not identical, leather books and says, “Even if I tried, I couldn’t make two of the same products look exactly the same.”

On the wall of Daisy in the Book hangs a note that Mari says “makes it all worth it.” The letter is from Camryn, a past customer who was staying in Urbino for a study-abroad program. Camryn ordered a few custom journals from Mari to send as gifts to her family and friends. Camryn wrote in big bold letters, “Thank you so much! I am so glad I met you and cannot wait to see my journals.”

“I see myself in them. I see creativity. I see brilliant people doing brilliant things and I always look for ways to include those beautiful things in my work,” says Mari.

But in a world of mass production, Mari worries that individual creativity—one-of-a-kind-ness—is dying out. “The world tells you what music you like, which dresses you like,” she says as she throws her hands up in the air. “Even which kitchen tools you like!” How do we get our creativity back?

Books, says Mari. “The more you read, the more you travel without traveling, the more you open your mind, the more you learn about points of views different than yours, the more you get curious,” she says. “The more you get curious, the more you get creative.”

Translation of interviews and other language assistance by University of Urbino students Lisa Oliva and Beatrice Burani This article also appears in Urbino Now magazine’s La Gente section. You can read all the magazine articles in print by ordering a copy from MagCloud.

The post Beakers to Bookbinding appeared first on 2019 Urbino Project.