This is where I was heading yesterday when I distracted myself with an attempt to be humorous or satirical, or whatever it is I try to be here. On Wednesday, my attention was drawn to a headline in the Guardian, stating that an Italian village imposes fines on inappropriately dressed tourists. We have heard about some cities charging, for example, cruise ship passengers to sully the walks and waterways of Venice in their thousands, and as long as the income goes to local infrastructure, all well and good. Symi and other islands were/are considering doing the same, I believe. Now, when it comes to the cladding of those visitors, the sensible and catholic Italians have seen the light. Well, they’ve also seen too much bare flesh, wobbly cellulite, misshapen bulges, and chests of all modern genders, passing by Nona’s house on a quiet Sunday afternoon. The villages of Varenna have had enough.
They are not alone.
In the matter of visitor coverage, I’ve noticed a few changes over the years. For one; that the average tourist-cladding has become scanter to the point of scarcity. For a second; that the number of day-trippers making it to the village (usually, sorry to say, the worst offenders) has remained roughly the same; therefore, the number of incidents per wandering population appears to have increased. I have also noticed the timeworn ritual of the Greek male when a scanty-clad passes by, in that conversation, until then about farms, football and family, ceases for the duration of the spectacle as time passes in awed silence. It then resumes on the subjects of females and fornication, and the world is set to rights.
Meanwhile, the high collar and pearls generation can hardly conceal their disapprobation, and clutching their Woolworth’s tightly, fill the air with tutting and ‘Well I never.’ The dedicated beer drinker takes little notice, others laugh behind the bare backs of the scanty-clad, and some take to blank pages such as this to laugh at life without, hopefully, actually insulting anyone.
The kind of spectacle I am talking about is this: Imagine, if you dare, a lady of any years between the ages of teen an ‘think I’m still a teen’ appearing at the entrance to the village sporting nothing but a pair of cocktail party sandals and a bikini, what Vogue calls, ‘an elevated swim essential’, including two-tone triangle tops, supportive underwire bikinis and sleek one-pieces.
Supporting what? A variety of rear hangings, as far as I have observed. In some cases, one catches a glimpse of the lower glutes hanging beneath a top covering, which is just short enough to get the Greek men betting on whether she’s wearing anything beneath. In other cases, we have the full-on arse reveal, the ‘couldn’t care less’ approach, or the ‘I’ve got it, so I’ll flaunt it’ attitude, even among the misguided who haven’t been capable of a good flaunt for many a moon. Also witnessed — and I am not alone in this — is the Thong.
The Thong is not the villain in a Japanese Kabuki (as it might sound, and indeed be), but is a style of swimwear. The Thong, according to people who are not me, comes in a variety of styles, though how anyone can make a style out of a piece of baling twine and half a pocket square is beyond me, as is how they can then charge upwards of €100 for the lack of material. Ladies can decide between the high-wasted Thong, the ‘Shorty’, the small, medium or full coverage Thong. (No-one dares say ‘large’ when it comes to Thong fashion, but everyone knows it means fat). Full coverage is a misnomer, because it doesn’t mean full body, it more or less means full frontal non-cover, but you get the picture: Ursula Andress or Bridget Bardot glistening as she leaves the sea and walks into soft focus, the ladies of the audience cooing in admiration, the men placing their box of Maltesers in their laps.
And so, passes by a free anatomy lesson, often with complete ass cheek and cleavage demonstration on show. The talk next door returns to football and philosophy, and the lads take no notice of what comes next.
Teh passes by a middle-aged man who made a pact with Lucifer and exchanged his dignity for a pair of Speedos. No offence to the brand, it is highly successful, and where would our fantasies be without Australian lifeguards and their budgie smugglers? However, when worn by a portly gentleman whose budgie hasn’t seen the light of day since 1989 because of the shadow from the serious overhang above, the Speedo becomes almost a Thong, and we know we don’t like to see those in the village. You can’t actually tell he is wearing anything until he passes by, or rather, until he arses by. As when catching a glimpse of a Thong, the effect on the digestion is similar.
Admittedly, there are some male picturesques who pass, and the sight of a bare male chest is not always unpleasant (as long as it’s Hugh Jackman, Zac Effron or, at a push, Henry Cavill), in other words, blokes can sometimes get away with it. But they shouldn’t.
What should happen is this: An inappropriate dresser appears in the village in a string and a pocket square (or a pair of wren-smugglers if male), and immediately, the officer charged with laying a fine appears from a darkened doorway to demand redress (get it?) and a fine of up to €200, as the village of Varenna is wont to do. Problem sorted; no eyes are singed, no offence is given to the orthodox culture, and, sadly, the lads next door have to think of something else to talk about. The visitor, suitably shamed, dresses, and the municipality takes the money before passing it on to a family member. Or, the cladding-warden might simply be someone with a heads-up who has got there before the authorities, and taken it upon himself to make some naughty cash. It doesn’t matter who imposes the fine as long as everyone is suitably dressed to visit an ancient village considered an historical monument and its churches. With the fine paid, only one question remains:
Where do these people keep their money?
Back on Monday.
If you are looking for some reading material this weekend, you might want to browse these 31 books in a special promo. They explore freedom in personal, civic, historical, emotional, or social ways. The theme is intentionally wide, so there is a variety of subject matter among the titles, and because of that, I was able to enter ‘Bobby, a Life Worth Living’ as my contribution. (Click the banner.)
