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\u201cThe osteria is the finest refuge from the all-encompassing pneumatic hammering of today\u2019s pseudo-social, media-driven disintegration and counterfeit togetherness.\u201d
Prof. Jean-Baptiste-Cyrille de la Mondeuse-Musigny – EHESS \/
\u00c9cole des Hautes \u00c9tudes en Sciences Sociales, Paris<\/p>\n\n\n\n
They say, Take our pickpocket here. After parking his car, he slung his laptop backpack over his shoulder, unaware that the first thing one notices upon stepping inside this establishment is a sign screaming in block letters: \u201cDO NOT LEAVE VALUABLES UNATTENDED IN YOUR VEHICLE.\u201d<\/mark>
\u201cOpportunity makes the thief.\u201d<\/strong><\/em>
No.
Let\u2019s get rid of that clich\u00e9 at once: a true thief \u2013 a professional \u2013 must<\/em> invent occasions, one after another. Otherwise, he puts at risk the very thing that sustains him: his reputation, the credibility of his ancient Craft.
<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Irony, case in point.
It\u2019s the last<\/em> place where one would expect such a warning: a roadside refuge along State Highway 755, just before the road launches itself across the eight iron spans \u2013 early 20th century \u2013 stretching over the Great River.
This is the Ponte della Gerola, between the Lomellina and the Oltrep\u00f2.
\u201cVampire in the vineyard\u201d and \u201cpilferer in the kitchen,\u201d as Vinicio Capossela would put it, this weasel of a man has just laid eyes on the right kind<\/em> of Osteria.
A voice echoes in his head:
\u201cThe Osteria\u2026 is you.\u201d<\/mark><\/em>
No \u2013 \u201cis you<\/em>,\u201d<\/mark> in that guttural, Northern Italian second person.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
To make the impression all the more vivid \u2013 that of someone who looks more like a barnyard thief than a regular patron (meaning: not one of the workers from the colossal ENI refinery in Sannazzaro, nor a technician on lunch break from the sprawling agrochemical plant in Mezzana Bigli, nor even a traveling salesman) \u2013 he silently recites this small prayer of gratitude to the God of Fortunate Tables, intentionally choosing that Northern pronoun.
A way of underlining, to himself, the sensation of being a fish out of water.
A freshwater fish, certainly \u2013 though here, without doubt, polluted.
Or, at most, he is simply someone who has ended up exactly where he was meant to end up.
Because there are still those who wander like this, for the sake of wandering.
Fugitives, escapees, deserters from the small prisons of the everyday.
\u201cI think we\u2019re in the right place,\u201d<\/em>\u00a0<\/mark>he tells himself, this odd, makeshift disciple of\u00a0Papillon.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\t\t\r\n\t\t\t\r\n\t\t\t\t\r\n\t\t\t\t\tWant to keep reading this article?
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