Il Sole

I would not recommend hiking Cinque Terre in the summer and I say with certainty that neither would my family. Our hearty group got through one of the five hikes on foot, decided that was quite enough, and instead turned to the haphazardly-scheduled local train system to carry us through the rest of the towns. The views in Cinque Terre are stunning, of course. The water is a phenomenal shade of blue, indeed. And the sun, well... the sun has a death grip on every bit of the outdoors not blessed with a fleeting patch of shade.

For the Italians, this muggy and bright patch of space along the sea shore is an ideal place to lay down with only a few critical parts of the body covered. It is where they gather in groups to take in the sun; there are a lot of Speedos and to be truthful there are a lot of Americans. Many of these Americans also happen to be walking public safety announcements -- with swaths of fuschia-hued sunburn sweeping across their bare skin. The Italians, however, appear to soak up the sun in glamorous if not also dangerous quantities with the only results being a golden sheen and a happy love for direct sunlight.

If there is a truly surprising summer difference between Americans and Italians it might just be the use of the modern machine we call an air conditioner. Yes, the Italians have them. And yes, they will often turn them on without being asked. But - and here's where things get interesting - they do not seem to like them.



On more than one occasion I have had Italians tell me that I am very American simply because I like air conditioners better than stifling heat.

One of the conversations, in a room where the AC was functioning normally and the oppressive humidity of a Milan afternoon had been alleviated, went something like this:

Italian: It's too cold in here.
Me: ...better than too hot.
Italian: That's because you're American.

Flash forward to our train ride back to Milan after a long hot day at the Cinque Terre with my parents. An Italian couple not only attempted to take control of the AC in our train compartment but also went on to complain that New York City has far too many air-conditioned spaces. They eventually left because the wife, despite dramatic attempts to warm herself by briskly rubbing her upper arms while making the pained face of someone caught in a blizzard, was far too cold to remain in the compartment. At this point I think I was still sweating.



The Italian love affair with the sun is shared by anyone and everyone. Men who look like Santa Claus in black socks and ride in the back of rowboats with their shirts off, and men with woolen caps topped by thin woolen spires. You can watch these people come and go out of the harbors in their little boats and that's just what we did. Sat in the shade and watched others soak up the sun.



Have you ever seen a soft-bellied barefoot man in a Speedo walk past eating a gelato? I have. And I say, good for you sir! Good for you for getting that body out of the house and into a Speedo. And good for you for thinking that there's nothing like a gelato to complete the outfit. It's actually a pretty good deal - trading the body image mania of the Americans for a Speedo and an ice cream cone. That's what the summer's all about. Now if we can only slip an air conditioner in there somewhere.