FANO, Italy – At 3:30 on a Wednesday morning, the smell of freshly-caught fish permeates a small amphitheater near the docks of an ancient fishing port. As the owners of local restaurants and markets gather here for the weekly fresh fish auction, a conveyor belt begins rolling plastic bins of cuttlefish, cod, goatfish, crab, calamari, and many other species into the room for inspection and bidding.

But something isn’t quite right with this picture.

The 140 seats in the bleachers are filled to only a quarter capacity. An auction that once lasted a few hours is completed in just 30 minutes.

“In 20 years when [we] retire, the next generation won’t be replacing us because it’s not a job that people aim for anymore,” said fisherman Massimo Perugini. “The industry will slowly disappear because it’s no longer a tradition as it used to be.”

This tradition, which historians say extends 42,000 years, appears to have an impending expiration date—-and the clock is ticking.

A combination of collapsing fishing stocks, a degrading environment, fewer fishermen, and a new generation uninterested in the hard work and sacrifices of this profession, may be leading to the end of this way of life.

“It used to be generational, a tradition that was passed on, but now it’s not anymore,” explains Daniele Isotti, a fisherman of 40 years. “Fisherman used to have more boats, like 17, and now they only have 5, so it’s a smaller industry now.”

Harvesting fish from the Adriatic Sea has been an important part of life along Italy’s eastern coastline since long before the time of Christ. Archeological records from civilizations such as the Terremare culture, which began in 1450 BC, show signs of fishing. And an ancient harbor belonging to the Illyrians in 900 BC has been discovered and identified as an ancient trading post.

More well-known civilizations, like the Greeks and Romans, also relied on fishing in the Adriatic. All segments of those societies relied on fish. The poor could only afford small fish like anchovies and septs, while the wealthy ate tuna, bass, and red mullet.

Fishing and seafood continue to be integral parts of Italy’s cuisine and economy, but records show that could be ending. Italian fish production doubled from 1960-2000 but has been suffering from a severe decline since early in the 21st century.

In the past 50 years alone, research shows the Adriatic Sea has lost half of its marine mammals and fish populations.

Perugini and other fishermen believe they are contributing to the problem. Fisherman don’t always follow the protective government regulations on size and species of legal fish, he said. Instead, they catch and sell young fish before they have time to reproduce the fish stocks, leading to a lack of replenishment. He believes many fishermen ignore these rules and sell the illegal fish under the radar: “This stuff [illegal fishing] happens everywhere in Italy…it happens all the time, but it is illegal.”

Research shows global warming is also harming Adriatic fish populations. As sea temperatures increase, the waters become uninhabitable for the fish. This is predicted to be a global problem that will only increase as temperatures continue to rise. There has already been a 4.1% global decrease in fish species and shellfish.

Adriatic fisherman, like Perugini, have also noticed that new species of fish such as the dusky spinefoot, have appeared and are predators to the native ones, “destroying and contributing to the decline in local fish.”

The lack of fish in turn leads to declining jobs within the industry, causing members of traditional fishing families to look elsewhere for occupations and income. Research shows Italian fishing employment dropped every year since 2000.

“The cost of the fish is higher, and the quality is lower, but it used to be the other way around.”

Fishermen have noticed the decline has affected the quality of fish as well as the quantity.

“…The cost of the fish is higher, and the quality is lower, but it used to be the other way around,” said Perugini. He also believes that this increase in cost has spread to equipment and maintenance, not just in the fish.

Due to these financial factors, most Italian fisherman nowadays don’t do it for the money, but for the passion.

Unfortunately, they say, their passion is absent in most of today’s generation.

“It’s a tough job made of sacrifices that aren’t appreciated by newer generations,” Perugini said. “When the weather is good I work 24/7, so I don’t get days off. . . You have to be passionate and love what you do, then see what you get out of it.”

Although there are many factors threatening this tradition, many organizations, public and private, are joining together to continue it. The government has made laws to protect endangered and young fish, restaurants are beginning to place importance on the freshness and quality of fish rather than the quantity, and fisherman are moving to eco-friendly techniques.

Isotti agrees that fishermen have an important role in this effort.

“Of course it is the responsibility of us fisherman [to fish eco-friendly], if I only fish the regulated kind, then everything will work better. The restaurants will be better, and the smaller fish will have time to reproduce and get bigger.”

Translation of interviews and other language assistance by University of Urbino students Luca Cocozza and Francesca Massari.

Video by Olivia White & Katherine Inman

The post Fishing for a Future appeared first on 2019 Urbino Project.

PESARO, Italy—On an average summer Saturday in a typical Italian town, dozens of tents sprawl out on a long asphalt road. Crowds of customers gather around vendors to form a familiar sight, a farmer’s market. However, each Thursday in the beach town of Pesaro, five tents gradually appear on a small browning field beside a sidewalk. There are some of the customary signs—smells of fresh bread and pastries, sights of vibrant fruits and vegetables, and sounds of the chatter and laughter among vendors and customers. But then you discover the quirky personalities, the funny hats and vintage clothes of the vendors, and the earnest signs of authenticity such as hand painted leaves and flowers on the labels of products for sale. The realization hits that this is not a regular farmer’s market. This is Oltre Mercato.

It’s not just the petite nature of the market or the offbeat personalities that puts the “Oltre” in Oltre Mercato. (Oltre means “other” or “beyond.”) It’s the actual philosophy of the market. Oltre Mercato fuels itself on supporting local and homegrown food while going against the norms of society, with members constantly giving to each other and being ecologically conscious in how they prepare their produce.

“This is a culture that cares about the weakest side of society both in a sense of production and in a sense of general well-being,” said Michele Romani, 48-year-old vegetable vendor at Oltre Mercato.

“This movement is about thinking that we should have the right to do something…even if it is not legal.”

These individuals believe they’re part of something bigger than themselves, and they will go to risky lengths to fight for what they believe in. Tommaso Lombardi, 34-year-old beekeeper and legislative coordinator for Oltre Mercato describes how his passion drives his group. “This movement is about thinking that we should have the right to do something, so we are going to do it,” he said. “Even if it is not legal, we are going to do it if we feel it is right. For example, we create new market squares to sell products and this is not legal because you have to have a permit, but we sell food here anyway without a permit.”

Three years ago, Oltre Mercato was started by a larger national movement called Genuino Clandestino. Oltre Mercato is one of 24 local markets associated with Genuino Clandestino. These local markets range from Milan to more southern parts of Italy like Sicily.

The national Clandestine movement, meaning underground and secretive, began in 2010. Lombardi said this movement started as a revolt against Italian legislation that forced producers of self-made and locally grown food to deal with the same obstacles and regulations as food produced by big industries. For example, small-farmers must file their taxes with the Chamber of Commerce, but they don’t think this should apply to them because they’re selling directly to a final consumer instead of going through layers of retail consumers as big industrial food companies do. Additionally, small farmers have to pay taxes like their big industry counterparts do, but since they live on their own land, and don’t make the same amount of profit that big industries do, it is extremely difficult for them to afford this and keep their business afloat.

This legislation also requires that small farmers carry out the same health and sanitation regulations as industrial agriculture, Lombardi explained. For example, such simple practices of killing and burying one’s cattle must be done outside the property of the small farmer, but these small farmers believe their businesses are small and sanitary enough that they don’t have to go through this extra precaution.

According to Lombardi, Genuino Clandestino participants not only feel betrayed by Italian law, they also don’t agree with the way big industries operate. Lombardi said that in order to go against the way industrial agriculture operates in today’s society, this community of Clandestines thrives on the concept of self-determination, meaning they provide for themselves and make their own way of life, disregarding societal norms.

“We put ourselves in the debate of self-organization because we think that Oltre Mercato and the other markets provide a place where we have to provide our own food and provide for ourselves,” said Lombardi. “We are on the complete opposite side from what is normal, which is being controlled and organized by the power of the higher-ups in society.”

“We have this method of a ‘time bank,’ where we give our time to each other.”

While the participants in the Clandestine movement want to separate themselves from main-stream society by being different and having their own kinds of markets, they also want to continue to strengthen their bonds with each other. They do this by adopting the method of mutualism, which means they give to each other and treat each other in a way that benefits all parties.

“Something that we really are focusing on right now is this method of doing whatever we can for each other,” Lomabardi said. “We have our own registry and we have this method of a ‘time bank,’ where we give our time to each other. Lombardi explained that this time is not limited to just work hours. It could be time spent helping people in other ways, such as watching other people’s children or helping someone plan a party. The overall point, Lombardi said, is to do something for each person and in the end, “It is all equal.”

While this concept might seem quite relaxed, Lombardi said, it’s actually really regulated. For example, the local market in Bologna, CampiAperti (meaning open fields) prints its own money to keep track of members’ favors to each other.

Guilia Maschera, 37, who is an herb producer and vendor at Oltre Mercato feels the most important part of the philosophy of the Clandestine movement is the bond the customers and vendors establish with each other. “No one feels alone because there is so much help,” Maschera said as her one-year old son passed by in a stroller pushed by one of the other community members. “The market is a place where you can establish a direct communication with the customers.”

Daniela Fontanor, 52-year-old Pesaro native, has been shopping at Oltre Mercato ever since it opened three years ago. She said that she buys everything from toilet paper to wine at Oltre Mercato. She said this relationship between the vendors and customers is one of the reasons she shops here. “They are quality people here,” Fontanor said. “Everyone is familiar with each other. I respect their thinking, and also the products are good prices for the quality you are getting.”

The idea of direct communication and relationships with the customers is something of great importance to Maschera and her partner, Marco Triche. “Here in Italy and everywhere in the world, there is this way of thinking that if you write that you only prepare natural products, this is true, but in reality, it is not true,” said Triche. “So, in this kind of market everybody knows everybody, so we know how everybody produces their product.”

Though Maschera is reserved and nervous, she comes to life when she talks about the importance of this relationship with her customers. “Yes,” she said, enthusiastically chiming in. “There is a quality of control. The clients cannot actually check the quality, but they know it is good because we all know each other.”

On a recent Thursday in June, there was a constant flow of customers buying produce from Romani. All that could be heard was his playful, contagious laugh as he bagged his produce to be given to his customers. Between selling, Romani explained that quality of control through ensuring the customers are getting healthy and chemical-free produce is a big theme of Oltre Mercato. He, like Maschera, feels it’s a moral obligation to his customers and the earth to sell chemical-free food. “I would never poison the soil,” Romani said sternly. “Apart from being certified as an all-natural producer, I first care about the guarantee of the products for my customers.”

Quality of control isn’t the only thing these individuals are trying to achieve. “The main point of the Clandestine movement is to be able to criticize society through food,” Lombardi said. “Through food we want to be able to approach all kinds of political and economic topics. We are able to get together and turn something that is usually strictly about culture into something political or environmental.”

Lombardi can talk passionately about this movement for hours. He tells of an Italian woman who lived in Kurdistan, where in the midst of a revolution the farmers organized themselves through the same concept of assembly as Genuiono Clandestino. These Kurdistan farmers have their own community lands that they share with everyone involved. “We are looking forward to maybe doing the same thing and having our own community lands, which is something we used to have way back in Italy,” Lombardi said optimistically. “Eventually we want to turn this into an international movement.”

Translation of interviews and other language assistance by University of Urbino students Francesa Massari, Bianca Sartini, Tonia Perreca, and Luca Cocozza.

Video by Carley Welch & Gianna Di Gregorio

The post Oltre Mercato appeared first on 2019 Urbino Project.

Halfway down Via Giuseppe Mazzini sits the Chiesa di San Francesco di Paola, a small, unassuming church lost within the multitude of bright doorways. The church holds more than four hundred years’ worth of Urbino’s history, and is home to the Confraternita del Corpus Domini.

The church’s main hall, though small, is full of religious treasures. Low wooden pews line either side of the room, drawing the eye to an altar framed by a hanging censer on each side. Stretching across the entire ceiling are oval frescoes, the figure of San Francesco di Paola only just visible through the dust and faded paint. Each side wall contains three niches for statues, which stretch almost to the ceiling. The statues are of bishops and saints, colored to resemble stone, with halos and staves painted an antique gold. The center statue on the right is entirely obscured by scaffolding, displacing the symmetry of the church interior.

In the humble adjoining office, Giuseppe Cucco, the head, or prior, of the confraternity, sits and sifts through the church archives. The shelves behind him hold boxes upon boxes of scrolls, parchments, and old leather-bound tomes, some of which date back to the 1200s. He flips through them slowly, carefully, running fingers over the looping script and ink blotches, digesting everything, however trivial. Sometimes, he stops and crinkles his salt-and-pepper eyebrows. It can take Cucco up to thirty minutes to decipher a single word, but he always forges on.

“If we’re able to let them view it for as long as possible, why close the church?” says Matteo Bacchiocca.

“When I started researching these records, my curiosity made me dig deeper every single time,” says Cucco. “At one point, I had so much information that I said, ‘Let’s write a book, so that everybody will know what I know.’”

In total, the prior spent upwards of a year gathering data from the archives and poring through old documents to chronicle the history of the confraternity and the church. The research began as a necessity to bring about the restoration of the church and the statues, frescoes, and artwork within it, but what began as an obligation soon became a labor of love and personal interest.

The book, titled La Confraternita del Corpus Domini di Urbino: Scrigno di arte storia e umanita, or “The Confraternity of Corpus Domini of Urbino: a trove of art, history and humanities,” details Cucco’s findings in the church archives, including the history of the construction of the church, restorations and maintenance, and the artwork associated with the building.

The book also chronicles the history of the confraternity, founded in 1340 and once a well-known brotherhood with members such as artist Raffaello and his father, Giovanni Santi. The confraternity was funded by wealthy patrons, and used this money to pay the dowries of poor girls so that they could get married. Today, donations largely benefit those affected by economic hardship, including students who have trouble paying for an education. Although the confraternity plays a smaller role in today’s society, they hold mass weekly on Wednesday nights.

The Chiesa di San Francesco di Paola was ceded to the confraternity in 1708, when their old headquarters in the nearby piazza was demolished to make way for the Collegio Raffaello. Since then, generations of priors have made changes to the church interior by repainting the statues and architectural elements, either to fit the aesthetic sensibilities of the time, or to save the walls of the church from the humid Urbino climate.

Cucco, however, intends to break with this tradition. He has employed restorers to return all six statues in the church to their original condition, by peeling off the layers of paint to uncover the past.

—

It is 10 a.m. at the Chiesa di San Francesco di Paola, and restoration of a statue is under way. The pews are arranged haphazardly, with one set directly in the middle of the floor to create a barrier. Behind this barrier, Isidoro and Matteo Bacchiocca, a father-son art restorer duo, have set up shop atop the two-story metal scaffolding. The structure is draped in white plastic, shrouding the statue of San Filippo Neri, the last of six to be restored.

Isidoro, the father, uses a scalpel to chip relentlessly at the paint, which can be five or six layers thick. He is white-haired, bearded, and bespectacled, and wears a long white lab coat. His son, Matteo, is dressed more casually, his brown hair and beard contrasting with his father’s features. He takes a cotton swab soaked in solvent, and carefully swipes it along the curve of a decorative border to reveal a flash of gold from underneath. It’s quiet, focused work, disturbed only by the scratch of scalpels and faint rustling of paint chips falling to the floor below.

Removing the old paint may be a tedious process, but it certainly doesn’t compare to trying to fix previous restorers’ efforts.

“The most difficult part is getting rid of the previous parts that were badly done,” explains Matteo. “When the other restorers used materials that weren’t right for the job to create new parts of the statue, we have to get rid of them and create a new part that looks good with the whole.”

He motions towards the restored statue on the left, which depicts San Crescentino, the patron saint of Urbino, squashing a morose-looking dragon underfoot.

“For example, the tail of the dragon isn’t entirely original; there are some parts that were made with chalk, and we had to create continuity by fixing some sections,” says Matteo.

The humid Urbino weather also affects how the statues have aged. Isidoro points out the condensation forming on the floor of the church, just inside the inner door. Apparently, the situation used to be even worse. Water used to flow beneath the church’s foundation, and had to be drained to create a suitable environment for the old statues and artwork.

The statues depict local religious figures such as Beato Mainardi di Urbino, a famous 11th century abbot. Each of the six is constructed with an iron core that is covered in plaster, and then painted to look like terracotta or marble. The moisture in the church has warped and rusted the cores, as in the case of San Crescentino’s dragon’s tail, and cracked the outer layer of plaster. Cucco is entirely familiar with this phenomenon; in fact, he keeps the fragments of rusted cores in a plastic cup in the back room of the church.

At night, pedestrians can step up to the glass pane and see the artwork and frescoes of the Chiesa di San Francesco di Paola, as well as the scaffolding hiding the last statue to be restored.

Luckily for the Bacchioccas, their current project appears less work-intensive. The statue of San Filippo Neri primarily requires the removal of layers of accumulated paint. Matteo points out the segments that have been restored.

“On this side [of the statue], you can feel the flavor of the original, and you can see all the little scratches,” he says. “It feels antique. On the other side, you can see all the new paint.”

Matteo laughs, gesturing at the contrasting textures. “In short, this,” he points at the unrestored part, “is ugly.” He delicately brushes some plaster dust off a freshly cleaned scroll on the statue, and taps it with the tool. “And this is beautiful.”

According to Isidoro, the church represents the only example of its style in Urbino. After having been rebuilt in the 1600s atop the ruins of an older church, it has largely retained the aesthetics of its time. While other buildings like the nearby Oratorio di Santa Croce were built during the same period, they have undergone changes since.

However, the Chiesa di San Francesco di Paola has some commonalities with another building in Urbino. Four of the statues in the church were created by artist Marcello Sparti, who was also responsible for creating some of the statues inside the city’s cathedral. These statues are the only example of Sparti’s work in Urbino, as he worked mainly in Genoa and Siena.

The Bacchioccas have been restoring the statues in the church since 2017, but the end is not in sight. They estimate that will take at least four more years to strip layers of paint from the gilded balcony, polish the frescoes on the ceiling, and restore the front of the church.

“When someone comes in in the future–after the restoration—the atmosphere will be important,” says Matteo. “The tourists that come into this church should experience the same feelings that believers in the past would, when entering for the first time.”

Cucco agrees with the restorers, noting that his personal approach is quite different to those of priors past.

“I just want to restore [the church] to how it was at the beginning,” he says.

He gestures at the statue of San Filippo Neri, where a cherub rests on the saint’s foot, carrying an open book. Cucco highlights a corner of the page where Isidoro and Matteo have done tests to show the difference in color of the original (demarcated neatly with a dotted line) and the paint on top.

“Beati qui ambulant in lege domini–blessed are those who walk in the law of the Lord,” reads Cucco, in halting Latin.

The phrase is written over the new coats of paint, which still partially obscure the book. Different letters, however, emerge from the corner that the Bacchioccas have marked. It’s enough to confirm that the two inscriptions are different, but not enough to ascertain what the original means.

For all his digging, even Cucco can’t crack the mystery of the hidden phrase.

“I’m curious too,” he admits with a smile.

Although five statues have already been restored, many such mysteries remain within the church. The balcony above the door is gray, but streaked with two bright flashes of gold, where Isidoro and Matteo have done tests to strip away the new paint. The frescoes on the ceiling are dusty and faded with age. Only time–and the Bacchioccas’ efforts–will reveal all.

—

The interior of the Chiesa di San Francesco di Paola lies behind two doors, the first of which is solid wood. The second door, however, is glass, which allows tourists to peek in and those within to see the street outside. From his perch on the scaffolding, Matteo spies an important teaching opportunity on the street outside. There’s a crowd of young children led by two teachers who are passing by, and the restorer hurries to unlock the door and usher them inside the church, his movements animated and eyes flashing with excitement.

Onlookers line the stairs of the ducal palace, cheering and raining handfuls of confetti down on the group. As they near the main plaza, there is applause and a crescendo of chatter. It appears that the entire city of Urbino has turned up to celebrate.

The children cluster around Matteo, staring in quiet awe at the small space that seems gigantic to them. The teachers lurk near the back of the church, ceding their responsibility momentarily to the restorer as he tells the group about the history of the church and the nature of his profession. Already, some of them are growing restless.

“How much do you earn?”

One of the boys in the group grins cheekily up at Matteo, and there is a smattering of laughter. The restorer smoothly avoids the question, ending his brief lecture to let the fidgety children resume their day.

For Matteo, it’s important for the younger generation to familiarize themselves with history and art by entering his place of work whenever possible.

“After all,” he says, “this is an important piece of history. If it’s supposed to be available to the world and humanity, you shouldn’t deprive them of being able to come and take a look. If we’re able to let them view it for as long as possible, why close the church?”

This is a subtle jab at the local tourist attraction, the Duomo di Urbino. The famous cathedral has been closed to visitors while it is being rebuilt after the earthquake that hit Urbino in August of 2016.

That’s why Cucco has installed a motion-activated light above the inner door that comes on at night. The decision was made by the confraternity a year ago, some time after the restorers first began their quest to restore the church.

—

Mass is held at the little church on Wednesday nights, beginning at 7:15 on the dot. Inside, the right side of the pews is blocked off by the scaffolding around San Filippo Neri. People are sitting slumped in pews and plastic chairs on the left side of the room. Silence permeates the small space. A bird trills hesitantly from outside, before the congregation chimes in.

They take turns reading from a prayer book. A girl in a red puffer jacket takes the pulpit, her voice high and tremulous. However, as she reads, her tone becomes steadier. When she pauses at a break, the congregation’s voices swell around her in song, a chorus with various timbres of the old and young, male and female: Hallelujah!

The girl in red is Lucia Marchetti, an education student at the University of Urbino Carlo Bo. In a congregation dominated by older members, she stands out. According to Marchetti, much of Italy’s youth are not religious, since bible study classes are boring and not relatable to the younger generation. She found her way to religion, however, through community. Marchetti attends mass daily, either here in Urbino, or in her hometown of Rimini, but most of the time with friends.

Domenico Campogiani is also at mass that Wednesday night, and belongs to the older crowd. Even though he wasn’t born in Urbino, he’s lived in the city since 1972 and considers it his hometown. Like Marchetti, he’s built a community around his religion, going to mass twice a week and meeting with like-minded friends monthly to share the latest happenings.

“For me, being Catholic means following our Signore–our Lord,” he says. “It means living in a community with other persons of our religion, and if possible, to be a good husband, a good father, a good colleague at work, and so on.”

When he talks about his four children, Campogiani seems reluctant to describe them as purely religious in the traditional way, instead highlighting the importance of a community of believers.

“Young people [today] can be religious, and be Catholic, if they meet other people who are happy to share in the experience with them,” he explains.

—

June 1. It’s the day of the feast of San Crescentino, the patron saint of Urbino. Afternoon sunlight filters in between the buildings, illuminating the Chiesa di San Domenico and the crowds in the square outside the Palazzo Ducale. The babble of the crowd is cut with strains of hymns emanating from inside the church. At length, people begin streaming out. Two men bearing a banner of Urbino’s flag lead the parade, followed by a crowd of children, and then various organizations and brotherhoods in their religious vestments, and finally, four men carrying a painted statue of San Crescentino. The Confraternita del Corpus Domini is among them, and Cucco appears amidst the brotherhood as they begin to walk. Wearing the red, white, and gold robes of his order and a stern expression, he cuts a completely different figure from the smiling, casually attired prior at the church.

The procession winds its way down a serpentine, scenic path at the edge of the city’s walls, passing under arches and the shade of trees. Somewhere in the throng, a marching band plays a solemn tune as accompaniment to a disembodied, melancholy voice that echoes through portable speakers.

Curious onlookers line the stairs of the ducal palace, cheering and raining handfuls of confetti down on the group as they pass by. As they near the main piazza, there is applause and a crescendo of chatter. It appears that the entire city of Urbino, religious or not, has turned up to celebrate.

The procession stops in the square, where the crowd has parted around the sunniest spot. A small group including the Bishop of Urbino breaks out of line, and the crowd around him quiets. From within the folds of his voluminous robes, the bishop retrieves a golden object, and it is hard to make out what it is until he raises it high above his head. He turns this way and that, blessing the gathered masses with San Crescentino’s relic.

The crowd erupts into cheers and applause, and soon, the procession resumes its course out of the square and back to the church. The crowd begins to disperse. The main event is over, the blessing complete for another year.

“The procession consists of taking the statue of the saint through the streets where people live,” Cucco explains. “It means asking for the protection of the saint in everyday life. For me, it’s also a demonstration of my faith to everyone.”

Tonight, the Chiesa di San Francesco di Paola stands empty. But someone in the crowd may meander down Via Giuseppe Mazzini and wander past the outer doors of the church to peek in through the glass pane. If it’s dark outside, a light will flicker on, and allow them approach the deep layers of history embedded within the church.

This article, by Meaghan T’ao, won a Raffie Award for Best Magazine Text Story. Translation of interviews and other language assistance by University of Urbino students and graduates Liliana Cogliandro, Giulia Mazzoni, Bianca Sartini, Silvia Malagoli. This article also appears in Urbino Now magazine’s Arte e Cultura section. You can read all the magazine articles in print by ordering a copy from MagCloud.

The post Uncovering the Past appeared first on 2019 Urbino Project.

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.

Nerone, Italy – It was another moment when the reporter felt the panic of being stuck, of being buried alive deep inside this Italian mountain. What seemed to be a huge cave on the outside was now closing within inches of her head, arms and legs. For a moment she was paralyzed…

That’s when Giacomo Berlocchi offered his prescription for the qualities of necessary becoming a speleologist – a person who explores mountains inside and out: Determination, a desire to discover, and car grease.

A speleologist and rescuer, Berlocchi was also squeezing through the first and tightest hole in the cave of Monte Nerone as he offered the advice. He recalled an outing when a chubby friend coated himself in grease to navigate a really tight spot.

“The caves are pretty safe,” he said. “A car will not hit you. What should we be scared off? If the passage is too small then do not go. There’s nothing to be afraid off.”

Berlocchi is one of 15 instructors for the internal rescue branch of the National Alpine and Speleological Rescue Corps (CNSAS), a volunteer group that carries out rescue missions recovering injured or lost Italian adventurers. It is part of the Italian Alpine Club (CAI).

This region central Italy, Le Marche, is a prime location for their services. Packed with rolling hills and soaring mountains is home to a community that can found hiking the trails in the mountains that line Urbino’s horizons

 On any given day members might find themselves using their kills inside caves, on a hiking trail, a mountain summit or a whitewater canyon river. It’s what makes them speleologists in Italy.

“Being a speleologist is a multifaceted experience,” Berlocchi said. “On the one hand you should be a scientist: someone who knows the cave, knows why it was formed and how its developing. On the other hand, you need to be technically ready as well as physically.”

His fellow CNASA members are prime examples.

“You have to explore yourself, your fears all while taking in the beauty of a place many people will never be able to go.”

Filippo Martelli, speleologist and professor of physics at the University of Urbino, plays a role in building the speleology community by expressing his love and knowledge of the sport to students. He says the sport requires personal exploration as well.

“You have to explore yourself, your fears all while taking in the beauty of a place many people will never be able to go,” he said.

Lorenzo Zanarelli, speleologist and long-term friend of Martelli, agrees the sports requires exploration within and without.

“Experiencing a cave allows you to know what’s inside yourself and not just what is inside the cave,” he said. “It is a personal, more intimate experience.”

And speleologists say the sport creates a close-knit community.

“Speleology allows you to create relationships and share experiences with other people while increasing your knowledge and giving you have a deep understanding go the world which surrounds you,” Zanarelli said.

The hobby has helped the local environment. Speleologist who specialize in hydrogeology, like Zanarelli, created Carta della vulnerabilità , a pollution vulnerability map of the aquifers of Monte Nerone, a vital drinking water source for the city of Urbino.

Video by Zahra Sandhu & Sarah Detwiler

The post Diggin’ Speleology appeared first on 2019 Urbino Project.

On a cool December night, author Nicola H. Cosentino sits poised on a wooden stool in front of a packed house at Urbino’s Caffé del Sole. He’s holding his third novel, Vita e morte delle aragoste (Life and Death of Lobsters), the bright red cover scattered among the hands of audience members reading along. Ornate white teapots top the various worn coffee tables.

After reading aloud a momentous scene in which a character destroys elegant teapots in a fit of rage, Cosentino slaps the paperback shut. “Now, we will smash the teapots,” he says. At first, there is silence, then skepticism. A collective, “Huh?” escapes the confused crowd.

“Smash the teapots.”

The author leads the throng of readers outside the bar to the slanted bricks of Via Giuseppe Mazzini, teapot in hand. He drops the shimmering white ceramic to the street, where it delicately shatters. One by one, the now-enthusiastic audience members follow suit.

This is anything but unusual at the eclectic Caffé del Sole, a cultural beacon in Urbino. Owner Romina Piccolo, tall, with short brown hair and a warm smile, describes her caffé in many ways: a family, an alchemical forge of ideas and culture, but most importantly, a second home to anyone and everyone who enters. She volunteers the caffé for the yearly literary festival, Urbino e le cittá del libro (“Urbino and the city of the book”), and works with local and regional artists, musicians, poets, and authors that bring the community together and enrich its cultural life. “People come here and they play the guitar, chess, foosball,” she says. “They do what they want as if they were at home.”

Afternoon light pours into the bar through the wide-open double doors. Straight ahead, the S-shaped bar curves and fills the right corner. Shallow shelves jut from the wall behind, displaying a colorfully vast assortment of liquor and wine bottles. On the left, past the obligatory foosball table, an arched window overlooks the back lounge, which resembles a cozy family room. It has coffee tables, books, and soft lamps in the back corners. All the walls in Caffé del Sole are covered with brightly painted ceramic suns.

Why all the suns? What’s with the name? Sinking into one of the loveseats in the lounge, Piccolo says, “I have loved the Sun ever since I was a little girl.” In grade school, when asked to draw her own image of God, she drew the sun. Growing up, she bought all kinds of paraphernalia plastered with the big burning star–“mugs, T-shirts, whatever.”

Piccolo gestures toward a large cluster of suns above the couches in the back-left corner and says, “At first, twenty of these decorations were mine. But as students were graduating and leaving, they added a piece and the collection grew bigger. It became a sort of tradition.”

Piccolo calls to a bald man shuffling around the bar on his way into the lounge. She points to one of the chubbier-faced suns on the wall, laughs, and says, “That one’s Mimmo.”

“I think our secret weapon is the fact that people here are always welcomed with a hug, handshake, or smile,” Celi says, offering a smile as cheerful as one of the beaming soli on the wall behind him. “There’s a real relationship with our customers.”

Mimmo is the nickname of Domenico Celi, Piccolo’s business partner with whom she opened the caffé 20 years ago. He’s a music connoisseur and promoter, responsible for bringing live music events to Urbino. “We started off with jazz, and we would play it at seven,” Celi says, plopping himself down next to Piccolo. “We were kind of judged for it,” he says, stroking his gray beard.

Before Piccolo and Celi started Caffé del Sole, live music was nearly impossible to find in Urbino, especially while it was still light out. Acts had to play outside because other caffé were too small to accommodate them indoors. The loud volume so early in the evening was bothersome to neighbors.

Piccolo says they were successful in their endeavor because of the larger size of their caffé. She’s right: The larger lounge area allowed them to bring musical acts inside, without compromising the whole bar just for a performance. People could move freely and enjoy the music at whatever capacity they preferred.

A friend enters the bar, and Piccolo leaps from her seat to kiss her on each cheek. “Ciao bella!” she says gleefully. “I think our secret weapon is the fact that people here are always welcomed with a hug, handshake, or smile,” Celi says, offering a smile as cheerful as one of the beaming soli on the wall behind him. “There’s a real relationship with our customers.”

To his left, below the assorted suns, is a large, light-brown wooden grand piano. Here, Celi mentored award-winning singer and pianist Raphael Gualazzi.

At first, says Celi, Gualazzi played with his back to the audience on a small keyboard he carried when skipping school to come to the bar. “I tried to encourage him because he was really shy at first. I tried to convince him to believe in his own potential,” Celi says. He eyes the piano he bought almost 20 years ago so Gualazzi had a real place to play. “And eventually he did.” Piccolo and Celi reminisce about Gualazzi eventually playing in a band with other locals, finally facing the crowd, and writing his own songs in the caffé. They’re like parents reveling in pride for their prodigal son.

Gualazzi’s fame also brought crowds, which brought recognition to Caffé del Sole, which in turn brought other musicians who wanted fame and crowds. “He was a big inspiration for the other artists who were playing here, just to see him become famous here,” says Celi.

This past May, the caffé hosted Comelinchiostro, an urban singer-songwriter from the Linguria region. Born Giorgio Bravi, the solo acoustic act showcased songs from his newest album, Di che cosa hai paura? (“What are you afraid of?”).

Past the grand piano, on the far side of the lounge, is a corner bookshelf, fully stocked with a selection of novels, non-fiction, and poetry. Five years ago, Piccolo recognized the caffé had the ability to include literature in its range of events. “Books are alive. They present culture, they can provide a different perspective on an experience,” she says. The abundance of books in the caffé and her robust vocabulary are dead giveaways that she is an avid reader. “Books saved my life, but that’s a whole different story,” she says, and laughs.

The creation of Urbino e le cittá del libro (abbreviated UCL) in 2014 was a major catalyst for this new addition. Founder Alessio Torino, who is a university professor in Urbino, started the festival with the goal to “promote reading and editorial culture through presentations, readings, workshops,” and the like. Torino is a longtime customer at Caffé del Sole, so Piccolo decided to reach out and use the connection to its fullest extent. “I thought it was strange,” says Piccolo, “that people came to this festival from all over the country, and people from Urbino did not know much about it, so I decided to spread the word.”

She finishes her sentence just as another good friend enters the lounge and is met with more amiable cheek kisses and a hug. He’s holding an advertisement for what Piccolo calls “Waiting for UCL.” Each month, she holds a book presentation at the caffé to bring awareness of the festival to Urbino.

When she first brought up the idea of literary events at the caffé, friends and colleagues hesitated. They insisted that no one would come if she wanted to introduce reading. So she went home, thought about it more, and came back with her own special Piccolo spin: She decided not to present books academically, but instead with what she calls the “Sixth Sense.”

“I strongly believe that Caffé del Sole is a crucial meeting point for different kinds of people, from academics to workers. I have always thought of it as the heart of Urbino,” says customer Domenico Giordani.

“It’s a way to involve people and to sort of re-create scenes of the books in the caffé,” she says. Like when Cosentino had the patrons smash the beautiful teapots. “I tried to give my guests the chance to try new things.”

Waiting to order a glass of wine at the bar is writer Domenico Giordani. He was brought to the bar by a friend four years ago with the promise of the best aperitivo in Urbino. Now, he can often be found at book and poetry presentations at Caffé del Sole.

“I strongly believe that Caffé del Sole is a crucial meeting point for different kinds of people, from academics to workers. I have always thought of it as the heart of Urbino,” he says later in an email. Giordani also sees the place as a valuable outlet for young artists to attract the notice of academics and talent scouts. Along with requests from musical acts all over Italy to come play at the bar, Piccolo says she receives books and inquiries from publishers to be presented.

Standing in the wide doorway and looking down the steep street, Piccolo lights a cigarette. She believes Caffé del Sole has managed to survive the recent economic downturn in Urbino because “people realize there is a soul in this place.” She adds that her employees were not simply hired randomly. “They are people that I trust and know how to welcome customers. They don’t do it for the money, they do it because that’s how they are,” the business owner says.

The newest hire at Caffé del Sole, Iride Benna, has already begun to see the magic both behind the scenes and at the bar. “Two years ago I tried to work here, but they had a full staff so I worked somewhere else,” Benna says while greeting familiar guests as they enter the bar. In her three weeks of employment here, she says she’s already been inspired by Piccolo and Celi.

Benna is well versed in mixology, having studied in Rome and Milan. She also studied photography and cinematography in high school and here at Urbino’s university. “My dream is to open a bar that introduces art like Caffé del Sole,” she says. She admires their willingness to reach into and help the community. “It’s one of the rare places in Urbino where if you have something artistic that you do, they are so happy to have it here. And if you are a student and you propose an event they really try to help you do it.”

Now sitting outside at one of the tables, Piccolo gently sips a cappuccino. On the summer solstice, June 21st, Caffé del Sole will celebrate its 20th anniversary of business in the same way that it began. Piccolo has planned a jam session and invited all the artists who have played at the caffé in the past. “We’re going to set a small stage right here on the road,” she says, gesturing downward with two outstretched hands. There will also be a poetry exhibit, and students from Urbino’s art academy, who will make drawings for customers.

“We’re going to give all the clients a little gift, but I cannot say what that is yet,” she says with a devious chuckle. You’ll just have to make your way down there on the day of the Sun to find out. Who knows? You might just get to smash a celebratory wine glass.

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 Shining Light on Caffé del Sole appeared first on 2019 Urbino Project.

URBINO, Italy – Deep in a lush forest on an Italian hillside, Serena Panti encourages a small group of preschoolers to face their fears.

The typically small stream, after a few days of rain, has become whitewater rapids – at least in the eyes of a small child. Hesitating in their colorful rubber boots, the children line up to jump over and continue their hike.

Panti grabs the hand of each student and helps him or her leap over. As each student lands safely on the other side, praise erupts from the others and from Panti herself. With each trip across the stream the children become more confident, some no longer needing assistance. Eventually all fear subsides, and the new game of jumping back and forth across the stream becomes more important to the children than continuing the hike.

Serena Panti is one of four teachers at this outdoor school, Maestra Natura, an educational project of a new organization in the Marche region called L’albero Maestro, or “The teaching tree.”

“L’albero Maestro was established on the fundamentals that children should learn to be autonomous through self-exploration,” says Panti, who taught in traditional schools before teaching at Maestra Natura. “Some people think the children just run around like wild things, but we follow all the institutional guidelines.”

L’albero Maestro started nearly three years ago in 2016 as an association which offered weekend nature outings for families. Enthusiasm from parents and children of the Marche region encouraged L’albero Maestro to establish a permanent location to provide nature experiences daily.

Thus, the magic of Maestra Natura blossomed.

Maestra Natura is a completely outdoor preschool located a few miles outside the walls of Urbino. With 23 students from 9 months to 5 years old, and four teachers, the school provides more one-on-one attention from instructors than does a traditional school, Panti says.

Parents agree that this is one of the school’s attractions.

Francesca Guidarelli, whose daughter Alice, age 4, attends the school, says that children need more than what the traditional Italian school system can offer. 

Francesca and her husband, Luigi, wanted something different for Alice, “something that considered the full and happy development of the human being as the first need for a child.”

The Guidarellis enrolled Alice in Maestra Natura almost two years ago. Francesca Guidarelli believes “having grass, pebbles, trees, and sky all with different colors and moods acting as a classroom is an incredible advantage.”

At Maestra Natura, students are able to learn through action and creativity.

Each day starts with a “circle of greeting” where students sit in a circle overlooking Italian hills and mountains and discuss how they are feeling that day. After the initial morning greeting, students get a quick, gluten-free snack prepared by one of the parent volunteers. From there, children get to decide individually what they want to do for the day.

This is one of the primary reasons the Guidarellis enrolled Alice in Maestra Natura. “We wanted something that would consider her as a complete and unique person,” Francesca says. Much of the school day at Maestra Natura is left to the discretion of the children, as the school aims to offer a routine without imposing a structure.

Children can choose from activities such as tending to the class’s two chickens, Clara and Belle, or by sitting on a quilted blanket and reading.

With the school being completely outdoors, the chance for new activities and adventure can happen at any moment. “Alice has no fear in clearing the way for her mates in the forest,” her mother says.

A common crowd-pleasing activity is a hike into the woods after snack time. With steep slippery hills, rivers to splash in, and trees to hang from, the nearby woods act as nature’s best jungle-gym for the tiny children.

Students work up an appetite after such an adventure, so lunchtime quickly follows.

Appetites satisfied, the wind acts as a soft fan and the birds provide a sweet lullaby. The children sprawl on mats under shady trees to catch a quick nap.

Once children wake, there is free time for play until parents arrive to pick them up for the day.

The parents’ involvement with the school is not restricted to the drop off and pick up. From the establishment of the association nearly three years ago, L’albero Maestro has strived to keep families involved with their children’s education.

One of the ways parents and guardians can get involved with the school is through a “time bank” initiative established by the nature school association. Parents can receive discounted tuition rates by helping cut grass, caring for the hens, or doing other tasks around the school.

The benefits of the time bank initiative go beyond the economic help.

“It is a way of realizing the participation in first person,” says Francesca, “ so giving a true sense of community to the project.”

“It is important to maintain healthy relationships amongst families as a way to teach the children about the importance of cooperation.”

In between educating children about fair trade, and running her own business in Urbino, Francesca spends time working in the kitchen and doing chores around the school to help out. Her husband helps by doing more physical chores, such as cleaning the chicken coop and maintaining the grounds around the school. Francesca admits that with hectic schedules, it is not always easy to face all the needs of the school, but with collaboration anything can be done.

 “It is important to maintain healthy relationships amongst families as a way to teach the children about the importance of cooperation.”

They say it takes a village to raise a child, and L’albero Maestro seems to do just that.

With the late afternoon sun beaming through the shade of the tree leaves, a father arrives to retrieve his young daughter just as she is waking from her nap. She stretches her tiny arms and rubs her eyes. A wide smile spreads across her face as she spots her father and scurries toward him. Kneeling down to match her height, the father wraps his daughter in a warm hug. The pair say goodbye to Panti, gather the young girl’s backpack, and head home for the day.

Translation of interviews and other language assistance by University of Urbino student Antonia Perreca. 

Video by Kelsey Robertson & Eliza Friel

The post Nurture Through Nature 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

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The post L’Artigiano: The Craftsman 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.