Partenze and arrivi-the essence of friendship.The essence, in fact, of life.
Very likely traumatized by their recent plane flight oltremare, my sister’s children forced me to play ‘airport security check’ for the better part of their summer stay. Here’s what I learned: when you are traveling with a snuggly stuffed dog and a fat baby-doll named ‘Ciccio-bello,’ there is always something that needs to be confiscated. I didn’t make it though a single check without being handcuffed to a chair, which, I hope, would be the case in real life, too, for those attempting to travel on a passport that doubles as a card from the game Memory. Especially if you happen to opt for the one where Hello Kitty disguises herself as a mermaid.
Monopoly was their other idea of prime entertainment, but frankly I prefer pretend arrest. Paying real rent is headache enough without having to make a board game out of it. Besides, airports-even imaginary ones-mi emozionano. There is no good word for emozionarsi in English; only Italians allow for ‘emotion’ to be a verb in its own right. But the point is, can you find anything more poignant than partenze and arrivi? And is there a race in this world that’s better at hellos and goodbyes than Italians are? In fact, I’m quite sure that the two-hour pre-flight wait was invented by un italiano who wanted a bit of stalling time before finding strength for the final saluto. ‘Un saluto is not a word, it’s a process,’ my friend Giovanni says.
I prefer to think of it as the best filibuster this side of parliament; all the politicians in the country are at the airport anyway. If, like Giovanni, you are a sucker for old-fashioned formality sized to fit Jane Erye like a jacket, you might start the whole processo with a phrase like buon proseguimento or tante belle cose. More modern-minded folk who find themselves in a sudden rush precisely at the final stage of their goodbye parade will end it in a quick embrace punctuated by tante cose! or ti saluto! I love those, too. Wishing someone ‘many things’ very nearly measures up to the beauty of ‘I salute you.’ And those new to the country, whose spines still chill with the thrill of fresh vocabulary, are sure to notice it: the uncanny similarity between saluto the greeting and salute, the Italian for ‘health.’ During your next long goodbye, try to verify it: true health depends on the quality of our hellos and goodbyes.
Infatti, I’d go so far as to say that you can base an entire friendship on this premise. In Italy, there are amici del cuore and amici per la pelle but somewhere in between those who know your heart and those who would risk their own skin to save you, there ought to be room for l’amico dell’addio, fresh off the word mint. Let’s coin the phrase and make it official. This friend is the one you call to make sure somebody knows you are leaving town and the person you can count on to pick you up if you fly in too late, after the trains have stopped running.
Perhaps because he’s so very good at feelings of fondness, Giovanni plays this role for me. I don’t like to talk about trips before they happen, but a few good words before departure are never a bad idea. So, what started as a subconscious trend between us has become a deliberate act of pre-departure protocol. Months can pass without us sharing news, but once the suitcases are stuffed, it’s calling time.
Mid August infallibly brings about our summertime exchange.
‘Ciao, Gio.’
‘Ciao, Bellezza. Are you going somewhere?’
‘If I do, will you miss me?’
‘Most certainly.’
‘Bene, allora sono in partenza.’
‘Perfetto. Buon viaggio. Let me know quando rientri.’
See? Partenze and arrivi-the essence of friendship. The essence, in fact, of life.
Giovanni, sono rientrata. And everyone else has re-entered too, thankfully. All of us busy city-dwellers, back safe and sound-with or without mermaids on our Memory card passports.
