Tourist in Italy

TRAVEL

by CHARLES J. ROLO

FoR the American tourist Italy is today a close approximation to the earthly paradise, with genial overtones of opéra bouffe. There are few countries in which the traveler will get better value for his money or more courteous attention, and none in which so much entertainment is thrown in free of charge.

The free entertainment is a by-product of the fact that the Italians, vastly relieved at no longer having to impersonate Roman centurions, are having a fine time just being Italians; that is to say, gay, childlike, excitable, warmhearted — and resolutely anarchic. Pedestrians abhor the sidewalk and even for conversational purposes like to cluster in the middle of a main thoroughfare. Drivers cling to the center of the highways. At the same time the Italians are excessively well mannered and friendly toward visitors, whose presence, to a nation so long dependent on the tourist trade, is a welcome symbol that things are looking up.

Last summer a double room with bath in firstclass hotels — the Eden in Rome, for example — averaged $3.50 a day; board as well as lodging in a comfortable pension cost less than that per person. A couple could dine sumptuously in any but the ultrafashionable restaurants for $4.00 to $5.00, vintage wine (80 cents) and 15 percent tip included; in the modest trattoria, where food and wine are generally excellent, the bill was substantially lower. Travel in Italy by train, bus, or plane was on an average 25 per cent cheaper per mile than in this country.

Lest this cheerful communiqué suggest that American aid is superfluous, let me add that the statistician’s Italy — now, as always, a poorer country than France — is no bounteous opera land. It is the highly advantageous exchange rate which creates the impression that there is an abundance of everything, and at a reasonable price. For the man with dollars, there is.

Last summer the exchange rate in bunks was around 500 lire to the dollar (somewhat more than the official rate), and from 630 to 660 on what we call the “black” and Italians more realistically the “free” or “parallel” market — the basis used for calculations in this piece, since it is, to quote an Italian banker, “quasi-official.” In effect the Italian government, with a characteristic mixture of nonchalance and good sense, does nothing to prevent the visitor from securing the most favorable rate.

Any amount of American currency may be taken into Italy or transferred to you from your bank via American Express. Bills of $20 and less command the highest rate, but travelers’ checks too can be cashed on the “parallel” market at better than the bank rate. Even the customs officer at the frontier, when I groaned that the enormous duty on my cigarettes was un disastro, offered to convert the sum into dollars at the quasi-official rate. Officialdom, too, appreciates that the quasi-official point of view is good for the tourist trade. And so it has been. Italy last summer was crowded with English and French getting the most out of their restricted travel allowance, with prosperous Swiss, wealthy Egyptians, and Americans of all income groups. Tourist expenditures have in turn fortified the lira, one of the few currencies whose dollar value has risen during the past eighteen months.

In addition to being cheap and easy, life for the tourist is a cheerful affair. I never encountered any of the sourness or apathy which I found prevalent in France, or the lassitude apparent in England. The Italians are giving full scope to their talent for creating a gala atmosphere. The throng in any piazza gives one the sensation of having strayed into a festive crowd scene in a Puccini opera. Every holiday is a minor carnival.

What also makes Italy one of the most heartening places in Europe is the remarkable resilience of the Italians, whose eagerness to make the country a going concern — they have no wish to be a great power — has achieved impressive results. Railway lines and bridges, which suffered devastating bombardment, seemed to be everywhere in commission. Despite the shortage of materials, I saw building in progress wherever I went, and not infrequently whole blocks of new houses completed. A pioneer in the electrical field, Italy has already produced an enormous number of radios, phonographs, and household appliances. The shops in the large cities and resorts are well stocked with every type of clothing, at prices which to Americans are lower than those at home — men’s pure silk lies at $2.00, for example, and women’s fine quality suede gloves at $2.50 to $3.50. A made-to-measure afternoon dress of heavy silk taffeta at Gori’s in Rome on the fashionable Via Condotti cost $65; Cifonella, one of the most noted tailors in Europe, charged one third more for a man’s suit — prices which must be set against those of the most exclusive establishments in America. The tourist will find first-rate buys in Venetian glass and lace, Florentine ceramics and embroidered lingerie, silk fabrics, art books, and most types of leather goods. Of necessities, the only expensive items are soap, razor blades, and American cigarettes. The latter are for sale on every street corner at 65 cents a pack.

It is high time to explode the dreary cliché that tourists “live off the black market.” In Italy, for all practical purposes, there is no other market. The butcher, baker, or grocer will sell any amount of any commodity without ration coupons, and it is no under-the-counter transaction. A ration card brings the price down, but the basic ration is so derisory that all but the poorest Italians make most of their purchases off the “free” market.

There is no taxi problem in Italy. You can always find a cab which, appearances to the contrary, will get you where you want to go with no more assistance than a good push. Seventy-five cents will carry you from one end of Rome or Milan to the other; the normal rate averages about. 25 cents (except at night, when the rate is doubled). The legal tariff is forty times the pre-war rate shown on the meter. Anyone who can afford it will reap high dividends out of taking over a car. Tourists get a monthly allowance of 75 gallons of gas and 6 kilos of oil at the special price of $48. Additional gasoline can be purchased on the “free” market for about $1.20 per gallon.

The tourist who is careless, as I was, cannot afford to be nonchalant about travel arrangements. I found that if one’s movements were planned at least a week in advance, it was usually possible to get a train, plane, or bus reservation via one of the travel agencies. It was highly advisable to make a hotel reservation at the same time. When taking off at short notice, the best procedure was to ask the hall porter of the local hotel de luxe to wangle a train reservation through his special station agent, a distinctly less than quasi-legal operator whose costly services are available only to the porters of palace hotels. The economic but foolhardy alternative was to post oneself just outside the station, leap onto the incoming train carrying one’s hand luggage, and there struggle for a non-reserved seat against professional competition.

The special agent system is one of a wide category of transactions known as combinazione, an egregious feature of Italian life. The term in its purest sense refers to an operation which circumvents the law but does not affront it head on. A classic combinazione is to take a car to Italy and on departure transfer it by deed of gift to a dearly beloved Italian friend, who has meanwhile spontaneously supplied you with lire for your holiday at a bountiful exchange rate and perhaps with the loan of a villa. The expression is also loosely applied to an infinity of beguiling commercial arrangements, not necessarily nefarious or even quasi-official, but such as to be shortsightedly neglected in the curricula of business schools.

My first two weeks in Italy, but for a brief stopover in Milan, were spent in Venice and at the Lido, once again a vacationist’s dream. At the Lido, whether you stay in one of the modestly priced hotels on the main street, 400 yards from the beach, or in the palatial Hôtel des Bains, which has a restaurant, bar, and dance floor at the water’s edge, the bathing and boating are superlative. An almost continuous ferry service carries you in ten minutes to the Piazza San Marco in Venice, whose familiar attractions again include International Film, Drama, and Theater Festivals.

Anyone who can afford the time should not miss a trip to Cortina d’Ampezzo, a mountain resort 3500 feet high yet only three and a half hours by bus from Venice. (Round trip, $3.00.) Cortina, which lies amid some of the most sumptuous scenery in the Dolomites, offers every type of mountaineering — from the gentle walk to an inn-with-a-view for coffee with whipped cream to the most challenging rock climbs.

Bologna is considered by gourmets to be the gastronomic capital of Italy. But the Venetian cuisine is altogether excellent. Florence rivals Bologna as a gastronomic center. Of the many admirable eating places, I recommend the Buco Lapi, which is considerably cheaper than the more fashionable Buco di San Ruffilo or the Cenci.

We started dinner there with a titanic assortment of hors d’oeuvres, which included foie gras, smoked ham, pickled mushrooms, and hearts of artichoke in olive oil. This was followed by a charcoal-broiled beefsteak (a Florentine specialty) thicker, juicier, and more tender than any I expect to encounter again. A baked potato smothered in butter and a green salad dressed with olive oil, salt, and a sprinkling of lemon juice provided a delicious but unobtrusive accompaniment. We drank a half liter of light white wine with the hors d’oeuvres and later a bottle of the Baron Riccasoli’s 1932 Chianti, a prince among Tuscan wines. A ripe Gorgonzola, strong Espresso coffee, and a glass of Grappa rounded off a dinner that cost the two of us less than $6.00. I should add that the service was as outstanding as the fare; the headwaiter and his henchmen created the impression that the satisfaction of our palates was the most weighty enterprise in Italy. An inexpensive trattoria where the caneloni and osso buco à la Milanese were unforgettable is the Orestes in the Via Dante Alighieri.

After Florence, eating in Rome was something of an anticlimax, though I recall many restaurants which compared favorably with the finest in New York.

From Rome, TWA will carry you back to New York via Paris for approximately the same price as for one of the better first-class cabins on the Saturnia or Vulcania from Naples. You can save around $50 by taking a second-class railway sleeper to Paris, and roughly as much again by traveling tourist class by sea. The transatlantic fare is by far the most extravagant part of a luxurious vacation in Italy.