Italy's Le Marche region: the new 'new Tuscany'

The Marches region of central Italy has become the latest recipient of the title ‘new Tuscany.’  But this area, exemplified by the sleepy comune of San Ginesio, holds its own identity.

The majestic views towards the Sibillini mountains.

Beneath the sublime Sibillini mountains, nestled in the crooked rural hills of Le Marche, hides San Ginesio; a small comune mostly lost on the tourist radar. Tourist guides have been increasingly burdening Le Marche with the lazily reiterated portent - ‘the new Tuscany.’ This tired analogy is perhaps the most prevalent in tourism's unimaginative nomenclature - previously branded on a host of Mediterranean destinations throughout and beyond Italy, Croatia and even Slovenia.  A more exact title for Le Marche would be something like ‘new new new new new Tuscany.’ Having said this, the region is geographically comparable - mirroring Tuscany on Italy's opposite, Adriatic coast. And if Tuscany inspires images of terraced Italian countryside, ancient sandstone hilltowns brimming with arts and culture, as well as luscious local food and wine, the title of ‘new Tuscany’ is finally, at least superficially, accurate.

Entering into the walled town of San Ginesio, it seems everything you would expect from an isolated Italian community. Passing under the grand archway, it seems a liminal gateway into an Italian fairy tale, its walls masking a resplendent, antediluvian bubble of timeless natural and architectural antiquity – a town quietly winding its way through history like the struggling puntos up the sharp gradients of its narrow streets.

You find here a proud and unique localism; a manifestation of the fierce independence of Italian regionalism that would scoff at Tuscan comparisons. Communal pride is triumphantly displayed by processions of San Ginesio flags shadowing the streets from above. In this proudly traditional environment, tourists remain transient anomalies, floating by like foreign somnambulists on the peripherals - stared at unashamedly but welcomed warmly in shops, cafes and bars. Next to the deep working tans of San Ginesio inhabitants, outsiders stick out like sandals next to white socks stretched half way over pink shins.

The cobbled streets and sandstone walls entering San Ginesio.

 What is most refreshing here is the strength of community. The vitality of San Ginesio matches its heritage; you could imagine the local characters existing unchanged from any age.  Balcony gazers hail from half-open shutters, ancient, bent over Italian women struggling with groceries up the narrow streets, winding ubiquitously to the town’s grand piazza; the epicentre of the community. Here lackadaisical old men swoon in high-trousered gangs around the square, parodies of local hoodies. Heckling in geriatric (and semi-intoxicated) cheek at the passing local policewoman they are dismissed nonchalantly in daily routine. You are recognised by the flamboyant butcher selling varieties of luxurious local meats. He communicates in a semiotic code of flailing and gesturing, not assuming for a second that you have no idea what he’s talking about.  Condensed into this buzzing local piazza are the local shops, cafes and restaurants, two ornate churches and a magnificent loggia shading the entrance to the grand but intimate theatre.

While a holiday could be easily spent relaxing in the piazza - determined to blend in with the groups of old men - there are many activities out and around San Ginesio. Hiring a car is generally a necessity. Perhaps testament to the infectious community atmosphere, a local London investment banker turned B & B owner and taxi man, Mario, lent us his car to visit the stunning nearby lakes. His extreme friendliness and multilingualism inspire a constant feeling of guilt and unworthiness (Mario is a half Greek Aussie who has lived in a scarily diverse range of European countries speaking Swedish, Hungarian and Italian, with a Russian wife and even more multilingual children). Swimming in the brisk lake and sunbathing on its slate banks can be interrupted with lunch at nearby restaurants in unspoilt lakeside comunes. Other activities in the area include trekking and cycling trips through the mountains and excursions to the Sibillini national park.

The clear refreshing water of the nearby lakes overshadowed by mountains.

Although there is a hotel in the piazza, staying in one of the beautifully located lodgings pocketed in the surrounding valleys is preferable. Our villa, Casa Knight, was a rigorous twenty minute walk from San Ginesio, but the exercise can be easily interrupted by long rests admiring the clear views of the terraced vineyards, meadows and tumbling waysides. Mario’s Shambala Country House and Spa, which I can only assume is as comforting as the man himself, is located a similar distance from San Ginesio.

Le Marche deserves more than to be known as nouveau-Tuscany. The region demonstrates a rich heritage, landscape, culture and character that have flourished in the neglected shadow of its celebrated regional neighbour. A strongly hermetic identity is highlighted in the neighbourly atmosphere where the population remain unaware of the whimsical and ominous fluctuations of tourism fads – an ignorance hard to find in the tourist-invaded Tuscany. Le Marche offers a mostly undiscovered and unique destination where you are made autonomous of your invasion whilst silently accepted as a fleeting part of a vibrant, local community. 

Tallinn – a stunning city break at half the price

With more and more Brits looking to Eastern Europe for cheaper city breaks, Estonia’s medieval capital offers Scandinavian, Russian and European experiences. But is it already spoilt?

Architectural diversity: the sublime Russian architecture of the Alexander Nevsky Cathedral

To older generations brought up on city escapes contained to conventional western tourism hubs such as Paris, Barcelona and Rome, my weekend break to Tallinn seemed to cause quiet derision – a bizarre adventure into the forgotten, alien land of the soviet bloc. Yet in recent times, rich and undiscovered capitals of Eastern Europe have unveiled themselves as provocative historical and cultural attractions. A new generation of Brits looking for cheaper and more exciting alternatives, have increasingly aimed their sights at Eastern destinations such as Prague, Budapest and Krakow.

Tallinn offers something unique: a modest city of 400,000, its Baltic position sits at the epicentre of Russian, Scandinavian and central European frontiers. Such geography establishes an eclectic legacy of history and culture both contemporary and antiquated. All at half the price of Western Europe.

With its jaunty chaos of medieval buildings, sublime Russian churches and narrow cobbled streets, Tallinn’s Old Town is the crown jewel of Estonian tourism, becoming an UNESCO World Cultural Heritage site in 1997. The enclosed streets are awash with strange and wonderful architecture, magnificently archaic clocks and stained glass windows. At night, silhouetted lager guzzlers giggling in dark alleyways, interrupt a feeling of silent surrender to the ever-bourgeoning number of curious arrivals.

 ‘Raekoja plats,’ the city square, though surrounded by overly priced cafes, remains a beautiful space. Tallinn’s new pedigree as ‘cultural capital 2011’ has meant determined acts of national celebration - an erected stage adorns the square as part of the ‘Old Town Festival.’ Its variety of performances ranged from the confusing to the questionable; a stumbling duo of youngsters dressed as jesters preceded the headline act of what can only be described as a series of old woman group dance-offs.

Old woman dance-off – the strange entertainment of the Old Town festival in Raekoja Plats

The Old Town’s sights and activities are viewable in a single day. Climbing St.Olav’s tower (the tallest building in the world in 1549) is perhaps the highlight. Well-worth the claustrophobic ascent its wondrous panorama of the tumbling, rooftop skyline reaches all the way to the sea. Excursions outside the crowded Old Town streets are distinctly refreshing with trips to the Kadriog palace park and the brilliant nearby art museum.

Tallinn holds a strange contrast between the diverse depth of its culture, architecture and cuisine, and its modern tourist identity. Its genuine charm is often submerged by an overly twee masquerade defined by patronising foreigners coming out of grander and livelier home cities.

Its small scale should vitalise a community atmosphere, whilst in fact meaning tourism is concentrated. You can sense the cobbled streets ever-eroding beneath the waddling processions of middle-aged tour-goers and old continental couples. Its atmosphere, while perfect for friendly late night partying, is stagnated by hostels, surprisingly expensive cafes and such superficial but amusing pageantry as dining in ‘Ye Olde Hansa,’ served by waitresses in tacky medieval attire.

Having said this, whilst true cultural discovery can prove an endeavour, the joy of Tallinn is in its diverse, alien beauty and obscure fun: as historical information often gives way to modern pastiche, visitors are left trying to figure out what exactly is going on. Tallinn offers a relaxing sleepwalk into an unknown melting pot of history, restocking your cultural fix with ample chance for rest and contemplation in its spawning cafés. For those seeking a lively cultural veracity, other Eastern European city breaks such as Budapest or Berlin would offer greater fulfilment.

Machete

I had fun re-watching the infamous Grindhouse film 'Machete' the other day - here is a review I wrote from when it first came out:

Seagal's hilarious role as Columbian drug lord and B-Movie villain.

There is no dispute that the ‘Grindhouse’ genre, masterminded by Quentin Tarantino and David Rodriguez, has utterly failed commercially. ‘Machete’ - directed by Rodriguez along with Ethan Maniquis - is its newest exposition. Based on a faux trailer for a B-movie that generated internet buzz in 2007, the feature-length result deserves more than just a cult following.

It would be a feeble euphemism to describe this film as ‘over the top.’ It is all-out sex and head-chopping, or to simplify it as the original trailer did: “Machete – he gets the women and he kills the bad guy.’ Shot with grainy Grindhouse cinematography, the film is refreshing because it is completely aware of itself as part of Hollywood genre, which it deconstructs. In fact it mutilates it. The casting of 63 year old Danny Trejo in the lead role, Jessica Alba and B-movie action veteran Steven Seagal typifies the films autonomy as stylised pastiche.  

The film is not just meaningless hyperbole, it satires real contemporary issues. By using a graphic, comic book stylisation, it aligns the film with comic book's method of exaggeration of real social, political and moral discourses to highlight real issues. The distance from realism generated by employing a mock genre - the 1970s B-movie – reveals a powerful satire on American political ideology when we realise the politics of this exaggerated fantasy-space actually correspond alarmingly closely with real American political immigration policies.

The B-movie is a perfect example of a film that follows a set aesthetic scheme that the audience has encountered numerous times before and which he or she knows exactly how to react to.  By dislocating this dated genre in a contemporary film, Hollywood conventions are brilliantly laid bare revealing how an audience needs genre to feel comfortable in its understanding and expectations - to achieve a moral base in the film. An audience needs stereotype because it needs to recognise who to support and renounce, what is right and what is wrong.

The film's power comes from its mirroring of the composition of ideology in the film with politicians’ construction of social fantasy for political gain.  The way in which genre controls audience expectation and reaction parallels the effect of political propaganda which projects ways of thinking often through images of a cultural 'other' or stereotype. A jingoistic Yankee right-wing politics which portrays the Mexican as a border-crossing, sombrero wearing, moustached peasant, is hilariously ridiculed.