Neshumaeng’s Weblog

Finally the train stops. We are in Rome. An infinitite series of heartrending moans is invading the aisle. A hour and  a half ago, at 3.30am, I saw the Japanese guy sitting in the aisle in front of my compartment that tried to sleep while standing, the hands of the window that covered his face. He resisted for 45 minutes in that position. These oriental philosophies are really something.

Miraculously, we manage to arrive at Tiburtina Station without loosing anything and we jump on the 8am bus. We arrive in L’Aquila at 11am, but only because the bus broke in the middle of the highway and we have to wait for another bus to pick us up.

The luggage switch from one bus to another is not that easy in between cars that flash past at 180 km an hour, but noboby gets hurt. And this can be considered a victory for the bus company ARPA.  

L’Aquila is a little more beautiful that I left it in July. More shops and bars are open, people start to go out at night. The red zone, the historical center that completely crashed down with the heartquake, is still there, surrounded by soldiers and barriers. Only the outskirt is now alive, but at least it lives again. With regard to the center, the old heart that united L’Aquila (as the city is actually made of dozen of micro villages, being the Italian city that occupies the most surface compared with the number of citizens), no one will be allowed to step in for at least 5 years.

And then there is the “3e32” camp,

in via Strinella, 200 metres from the bus station. An oasis of democracy in between the Forza-Italia-blue of the tends belonging to the Civil Defence Organization, which are all equal, all fenced in, all silent. What was once known as “Parco Unicef” is now “Piazza 3e32”, from the name of the committee that organized the place. 3:32am, the time of the earthquake.  A presidium of firemen (“We only trust the firemen” was one of the cries of protest during the G8 protests, and the processions would always back away on the streets sidewalks to let them pass), a media center that during the G8 had become the official meeting point of all the journalists wo wanted to give some real news (from Japan to Finland, the “Yes we camp” writing on the top of the hill travelled the whole world), a bar, a shed for concerts an meetings,a kitchen and a litte fountain to wash up.  And, last but not least, the three mythical Sebachs, the three chemical toilets that are the only form of toilet possible here.

Well,the atmosphere is not the same as during the G8 anymore. Martin is not here anymore, the German rioter who spoke 11 languages and who have been in jail four times because “I am not a non violent rebel!”. He had followed every G8 in the past 10 years, even the one in Japan (which he reached by train), and his only luggage was his tumpet case. Turi is not here anymore, the homeless who played the wooden flute. The buddist monk who used to wake everyone’s up at 5am with the gong for the prays and the witch from Vicenza who maintained that cell phones are unuseful because thinking of someone means connect with him on an energetical level and messages are delivered even better are missing.

But Sara, Mattia, Vincenzo, Lorenzo, Federica, Orzo and all the 3e32 guys are still there, a bit more tired but still hard-fighting. And definetely not alone: as I arrive I am surprised by the number of tents that sprouted since the last time. 3e32 is a real camp now, lots of turists are arriving because of the “Yes we camp” writing from the tv news.

My sister and I pitch  the tent, right in front of an anthill of course, and we spend the rest of day hanging around the city. It rains hard. It always rains in L’Aquila, but the rain does not stop anything.

10.30pm, on the train to L’Aquila. Even if it is the 8^th of August, it is surprisingly empty. I am actually afraid this is the calm before the storm and that after Genova it will be as full as a pack of sardines. I reserved my seat but my back hurt already, and I wish I did not have to carry my bag on my lap.

Anyway, I think I should inform my two readers (I even know the names – Mox and Francesco they are – so that noboby will think I show off) that I go to L’Aquila with a broken heart. The worst part of this is that it’s nobody’s fault: I spent months being mad at someone because I did not understand anything about him. I cannot be resposible for someone else’s choices, or better non-choices. I cannot help being sad about it, but that’s my problem.

Now, with all these troubles and overthinking that completely absorb my one and only neuron,  I am on my way to a place where the big problem is to have a roof on your head. To get the money to eat. To find a pump to take a shower. To try to contain the damages of the government, a government representing that State which is supposed to help you in a situation like this. On the contrary, the government is skipping from doing nothing to create other trouble. The only present real outlook in L’Aquila is to be assigned a little flat in a new house. What about a job? What about a place to hang out at night? What about shops to buy things you need, and when you can afford it things you like? That is, banally, your everyday life, your simple real life. What about it?

Nonetheless, people don’t want to leave, after all it’s their city and they care about it. And they are doing anything they can to keep it being their city. Everyone keep saying they are strong, kind, admirable. It’s true, but also banal. After all those who are fighting are just people between their 20s and their 60s, nothing more than that. Us and our parents. The point is that when you have everything  you spend your time looking for troubles inside you. In L’Aquila people were forced by the events to look around, to put themselves in the open and see each other as one big group of human beings rather that as a couple or a family. They were forced to look at what really matters, and to love it.

It is easy to let a city die: all you have to do is turn it into a dormitory. To build a house is cheaper and more profitable than to make an industry operative again.

And on television everyone knows already that with the arrival of the “casette”, the “little houses”, everything is going to be alright.

It is not. And keep reminding it is probably the best thing everyone can do right now.

And then maybe get to the point that we can even protest a little bit. Who knows.