La Festa d'Uva

During my semester in Rome two years ago I attended the famous Marino wine festival. Marino is a tiny town about an hour outside of Rome, but on the first weekend in October it becomes inundated with thousands of people from Rome and the surrounding areas.  All of these Italians gather to witness the 'miracle of the fountain that gives wine' and to enjoy the festivities in a way usually more befitting of American college students.  This festival is one of the few times I've ever seen really drunk Italians.  


You would drink too much as well if instead of water, the public fountains emit wine.  Yes, wine instead of water.  They call it "The Miracle of the Fountain that Gives Wine."  


Unfortunately, two years ago I did not get to see this miracle because I was too busy taking a nap in a piazza.  That is an entirely different story and not the focus of this post.  A few months ago I realized there was another chance for me to take on this wine festival. 


The festival lasts all weekend, but Sunday (yesterday, 3 Ottobre) was the main event.  I worked in the morning (a tour of all Aussie's, my favorite!) and then Fran and I left on the 2pm train to Marino.  After a beautiful trip through the Italian countryside, we arrived at Marino Laziale.  A quick hop over a 7ft fall to avoid the queue and a run up some stairs and we were there.


First off, we bought two of the huge 1.5 liter bottles of wine for 4 euro.  The seller handed us a bunch of cups to go with them, and we giggled. No m'am, just need two.


I'm back Marino.  


The town was packed, almost impossible to move.  My friend Andrew had come earlier and met some fun Italians, so we went to join them.  Problem was, the streets were so packed we could not get anywhere!  Then I noticed the parade of traditionally dressed Italians marching up the street with thousands of people crowded around to watch behind barriers.  To solve this little problem I grabbed Francesca's hand, found an entrance in the barriers, and joined the parade. We did not fit in. I did not wear my Renaissance outfit today. We tried to ignore the exasperated yells of old ladies and parade workers (and an icy stare from the Queen of the parade when we stole her spotlight) while searching for a way to get out of the parade.  This seems to be the one place Italians are thorough - parade blockades - because we could not get out.  
Finally we made it to the main piazza and hopped out of the parade.  After a traditional panino di porchetta (which was way better with ketchup, even if it was trashy and American), we found Andrew and his new friends.  
For the next couple hours we drank and sang and danced with a mix of Italians, Americans, and Scots.  We met so many new and fun people, including an Italian woman living in Chicago who I may meet up with in the States.


Finally at 5:30 it was time for the miracle.  Everyone gathered around the fountain like dogs at feeding time.  

Sorry for the shoddy camera work, I was getting jostled around.

When the wine began flowing, we all rushed forward.  Madness.  As we neared the front, I began to lose Francesca to the mob.  She was being dragged to the ground and trampled, and I was seriously nervous about what was happening.  I tried to pull her up and get people off of her, but there were just too many people in such a small space.  I looked at the fountain not more than 5 feet away, at Fran sinking and crying out in pain, and at my bottle of wine.  With a sigh and the realization that there was no other option, I opened my bottle of wine and began pouring it on the people trampling Francesa. Not on their heads or anything, just enough to get them to move away.  The mob broke up enough that I could pull Fran back out of the crowd.  Then I realized that I was at a wine festival, and I wanted my wine from the fountain. So I ran back into the crowd and fought my way to the front.  Success - I got the wine-man's attention and received some vino immediately.  Being a girl has advantages, especially in Italy.  

After everyone had their free fountain wine, we all gathered around singing along to "Volare" on the loudspeakers (ironically the version from Lizzie McGuire) and dancing. After a while of this we realized one of the last trains was leaving soon for Rome, so we ran down to the station.  Hundreds of people were waiting to cram onto the tiny train, so we faced another battle getting on.  One smashed into the train, everyone became fast friends.  We shared wine, orange juice, and inappropriate Italian songs.  That evening we wandered around the city with a new Italian friend, met an Italian soap opera star on the bus, and enjoyed some delicious tropical hookah at my neighborhood hookah bar.

I love Italy.