The Tale of the Balcone

The Tale of the Balcone

Today the men were to come at 8:00 to work on the balcony. Of course they came at 7:30. This is the way it is with every worker we have ever had in Italy. They had a large truck with scaffolding and proceeded to unload and set that up outside our door. They were very careful and clever and soon the scaffolding was up. The next step was to remove the louvered doors and next the railing. 

They used a circular saw to cut the railing away from the walls while sparks flew and then took it inside the house. It is shocking large once it is inside. It always seemed quite small outside. 

Now for the scary part. Using a small mallet Antonio started lightly hammering on the cement. There was not need for the big jack hammer. Cement fell in huge parts. It was obviously on the verge of a disaster. Meanwhile, Omaro turned the truck around so that the back of it could be filled with debris. In a short amount of time all the rebar was out and the balcony was on the ground. It was not even 9:30. Omaro and Antonio left to dump the debris of the balcony and to get a tabalo ( we will see exactly what that is) to put up the new balcone. At 9:45 they were back. I will never understand where Italians got a reputation for being lazy or trying to cheat people. All the work on houses here involves demolition of stone and cement. It is heavy and dangerous. The temperature is so high I do not know how anyone touches their tools or the metal that is needed to support the structures. I have spent a lot of tie up in the earthquake zone where men are working. Mostly they are singing and talking while they work. It is hard and dangerous, but they are making the most of it. 

So far I have seen nothing that is pre-fab in Italy and it makes sense, because no two houses or balconies or anything are the same. The “tabola” or table is just what it sounds like.

Omaro built a wooden frame to pour the cement into. Each piece of wood is carefully cut to go around and between the capitals that hold up the balcony.  

The guy next door came out to talk to us while all this was going on. He writes poetry in the dialect of Castevecchio. He had written all his poems out in dialecto and Italian on distressed pieces of paper attached to burlap. It was pretty amazing. 

And here are some antlers that Vito found in the mountains.