Rach’s Bikini Shot
Capitolo, Italy
A friend’s request for what is stated in the title inspired today’s post. Read on only if you dare!
Bikinis there are aplenty on Italian beaches. The little girls just wear bikini bottoms, but once they grow up, they do not seem to favour the French idea of continuing in the same vein – Italians don bikini tops. This does not necessarily mean they are any more covered. To quote Frances Mayes, the swimwear is decidedly “inadequate-to-the-task”. Bikini bottoms, certainly not designed to cover cheeks, achieve their intended goal, which would seem to be to provide something for females to spend their days adjusting.
In contrast to Holland and France, where we saw not a single one-piece costume, some of the Italian Mamas….or Grandmamas actually….squish their years of good pasta into swimsuits that barely contain the bulges, rippling instead with each movement they make. When I say *some* of them wear one-pieces, I mean we have seen maybe half a dozen in all the beaches we have been at, most of them here.
So when in Rome…..and not yet being a grandmama…..
Well, before you get the picture, we’ve got to deal with the men.
Here you will find, along with the selection of the smallest white speedos you have ever seen, a pair of red and white striped tights – not longlegged ones, but to call them shorts would be misleading. Rob reckons they’re worse than the speedos.
Up and down the beach these skimpy outfits prance, at the water’s edge they bounce about lunging into the ocean after straying volleyballs. Or they lie on towels or recline on loungers soaking up the sun’s rays.
All the bodies are brown. A deep golden-hued rich brown. Watching the hordes worship the sun god, our historical understanding deepens.
Then there’s us.
In apparent contempt of the blazing sun, I will always have make-the-Chinese-jealous-fair skin. On a beach of bronzed beauties, I will always be the lighthouse beacon. When I’m not cowering under a shadecloth, that is, recoiling from the ancient ritual, avoiding the threat of death by cancer. My children will also be safe. They are the only ones running the beach in board shorts and rash shirts. I don’t think they’ve noticed; maybe there are enough of them to create their own fashion statement, to be a new trend! Maybe they are just too busy enjoying the waves and trying to catch the fish and avoiding sea urchins to notice. Maybe being different just doesn’t bother them. I’m sure they’d have commented if they felt out of place – they have no qualms about sharing their observations, no matter how obvious – like Mboy6, who stated matter-of-factly, “The men are fat. Their stomachs poke out like this.” And he balled his arms to produce a pot in front of his own sticking-out ribs. And he was right.
Most of the older men DO have big stomachs, which look quite funny ballooning out from their stick-like legs. The women have good legs too. They can have the roly-poly-est stomachs and wobbling, flapping upper arms, but their legs are beautifully shaped. No pear shapes in this part of the world.
Anyway, you’re waiting for a picture, aren’t you?
That’s me, white me, proving I went in the water. Actually, I went in much deeper than that and as the children had promised, it was beautifully clear and lots of fun, but in spite of the temperature being above thirty, I still got cold! Said kids, when they were tempting me to join them in the deep had lured me with the thought that, “There are even fish out there, really tame ones”, a line they changed to, “But they don’t come near you” when they discovered I really don’t like fish getting up close and personal (unless they are on my plate dressed in lemon juice) – and it turned out they WERE tame and, like the Italian bodies on the beach who have a much closer personal space than we are accustomed to, they did not object to brushing fin on skin. Too close for me. I lasted half an hour. I can only imagine what a short dip it would have been, had I been wearing a bikini.
But I will not don a two-piece until Rob sports speedos.
For his part, he argues we are no longer in Rome so the adage is irrelevant (or to quote him more directly, “No budgie smugglers in this van.”)
Tags: 2008/09, children, dress, postcard: Italy, recreation, tradition, weather
rayres
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