Where do All the Old Men Go?

Yesterday, while waiting at the parruchiera of the brilliant Manola for color to overpower my ever more powerful grey hairs, I read an article in "Il Fino" a slim magazine devoted to life in the communities of the Fino valley. The Fino valley is the name given to the group of towns surrounding the Fino River. It's not much of a river, really. More like a stony gash in the lowest part of the hills surrounding it through which water sometimes flows. Apparently, water flowed abundantly enough in the last several hundred years to enable the existence of Arsita, Bisenti, Castellenti, Montefino, amd our own little village of Castiglione Messer Raimondo.
The article on which I alighted in order to give my brain an Italian language workout was entitled "Chiude l'Ultimo Barbiere di Castiglione".  It was about the closing of the barber shop of Belfino. He has operated his shop in the same location - a tiny, cave-like space carved in the tufa stone underneath the church steps - for 48 years, since 1968. He turned 83 in March and has said, "Basta!" He cannot keep up with the times. He regrets having to close. It has been a place to which men have come not only for a haircut, but because, in his own words,
"I was a bit psychologist, a bit friend, and a bit confidant. The old men chose my shop and are sad it is closing. Times change. But not habits. These men still want to have their hair cut as they did at one time - slowly, and in a familiar environment."
My grandfather, Carlo, was a barber, too. He closed his shop in Plainfield, NJ, when he, also could not keep up with the changes. People then were asking for Beatle cuts and 'Fro's and Carnaby Street chic. These were beyond his ken. So he, too, acquiesced to a shifting tide and moored his boat.
I wonder where the men who sat around his shop chatting, reading the local paper, or arguing went to? Where will the old men who frequent Belfino's shop go now? Not only for the haircuts that are ingrained into their identities, but for the company, the camaraderie, the comfort of familiar tradition?
Abruzzo is a region that hews to tradition more closely than any other area of Italy to which I have been. The rituals of life, the celebrations, the food, the music, all spring from the same deep, old, sturdy taproot from which their grandparents, great grandparents, great-great grandparents, and n
beyond have received life and around which they built their lives.

Candle Making

Antipasto at Ristorante Antica Loggia

The Church of San Donato, decorated for
The Festival of Its Namesake

The men still parade the statues of the Virgin Mary and Holy Infant on their shoulders, through narrow streets lit with candles, while the faithful process, chant, and pray in a delicate blend of Catholicism and paganism. The women still sit in front of doorways, knees wide to make a fabric bowl of their aprons as they shell fava beans and chitter away in the dialect I have yet to understand. People still debate, passionately, which maceleria has the best meat for arrosticini - the mutton grilled on skewers that is the pride of every Abruzzese holiday, group celebration, soccer day, or picnic. There are still shepherds in Campo Imperatore who graze herds through its vast, pristine fields to provide the source for this meat. People still communicate from balcony to street, perhaps before even thinking to text. Children run in the square with friends while teenagers flirt and laugh too loudly in their awkwardness and, yes, check their smart phones regularly. A woman will still take another woman's arm when passing her in the street inviting her to her house for un caffe'. Even if she is l'Americana or l'Americana's foreign guest. Men able to the railing at the far end of the bellevedere to gaze out over the Fino Valley, perhaps to ponder where all the water went.

 
                                        Musicians at Val Fino al Canto, the annual music festival in Arsita

These are all done with un-self conscious grace. There are no displays for tourists exhorting crowds following a raised umbrella and continuously adjusting their " whispers" to step up and buy goods. Organized tourism is finding its way into Abruzzo. I am grateful for that. This is an Italy that needs to be shared. It is an Italy that continually keeps its promise of being Italian, to offer what many visitors seek when they come here. It is an endangered Italy.
Belfino has said that he hopes someone younger will take over the shop. If  they do, he will give them all the equipment in the shop for free. I am hoping this happens. I am hoping the torch is passed. Otherwise, where will all the old men go?