Under the Olive Trees

by Irina Zudina (Germany)

Making a local connection Italy

Have you ever been in a cloud of curiosity and secureness, shaken by the desire to remain a part of a distributed, atmospheric emotion? I have. Let me give you an insight. It is time to say arrivederci under these heavy Ligurian olive trees. A single tear rolls down my tanned and freckled skin. A tear of joy. Packed with juicy fresh figs I step into the car and am looking forward to my trip back home while nostalgically reflecting every single minute of my spontaneous detour to northern Italy. I am so happy to have met these loving people that made the past 30 hours like a family gathering. Strangers became friends. Moonlight. The moonlight's tenderness seems to put a special shine on my skin. “Tintarella di luna, Tintarella color latte ...“ – Moonlight tan, a tan with the color of milk. My inner radio puts Mina's 60s hit on replay and I am ready to become part of my environment as the moon is becoming a part of mine. Stefano Faravelli brings me back to reality. With a soft, almost whispering voice the renowned Italian artist and travel writer reminds his students to blend the aquarelle colours more carefully. They all gaze up to the moderately risen moon and draw its magical appearance on small pages in their watercolour drawing books. I did not expect to find a group of roughly ten people from all over Italy attending a aquarelle drawing workshop in San Stefano al Mare. Sabrina invited my to her agriturismo when I met her and her family in a restaurant in southern Tuscany a few days ago. It was not quite my direction on my route up north to Germany but I decided to extend my road trip by a day to come and visit this place. “Make sure you wake up on time. We will practise on drawing the sunrise“, Stefano says after the moonlight session. In bed I smile mischievously as I will make sure to sleep in. Earlier this night, right after dinner, we listen to Faravelli's diary entries and travel stories. Candles illuminate the outside dining area under the ethereal smelling olive trees. I am the only one lacking Italian language expertise. But there is no need to be fluent in Italian. The doctor of philosophy narrates his stories beyond semantics. I understand his travel experiences from India on a different level. Being touched deeply by the sound of his voice, the look on his face. The changing mimics, even the slightest shrug of his eyes. It seemed like every little factor was a puzzle piece. They smoothly found their way into combination and fulfilment like in an aquarelle painting. These deeply intertwined loops of memories and memorised emotions are my affective scaffolds. They make me an emoting being. They make me human. Everyone gives my a tight and intimate hug on this sunny September afternoon. I even receive hugs from people I did not talk to. What made us friends? The same distributed affective experience. I refer to myself as an collector of euphoria. And as soon as a moment of euphoria enriches my collection I make sure it is not a goodbye for ever.