On a crisp fall morning just after Ramadan, Hysen and Kimete Murrizi stood side by side in a Tuscan vineyard, snipping fat bunches of grapes into red plastic buckets.
They worked their way quickly down a sloping hillside, picking grapes for Chianti, after having spent days selecting smaller grapes for more refined wines. On the nearby highway, passing truckers honked in a harvest greeting.
The Murrizis are among tens of thousands of Albanians who arrived in Italy in the 1990s after the collapse of their country's Communist dictatorship and economy. That they should become skilled vineyard workers is somewhat incongruous because Mrs. Murrizi is an observant Muslim who fasted for Ramadan and does not drink alcohol.
She acknowledged the culture clash. "Yes," Mrs. Murrizi said with a warm smile in fluent Italian. "But that's the way it is. Unfortunately I have to work. Life is like that."
Mrs. Murrizi, 46, has wavy light brown hair and green eyes. She left factory work to join her husband in Italy in 1998. Mr. Murrizi, 52, a former truck driver with a tanned face and close-cropped gray hair, left Durres, Albania, for Tuscany in 1993.
Mr. Murrizi is not so observant as his wife, and over the years he has become a wine fan. "Especially the 'vino nobile,' " he said, as a smile lit up his face. "But also the Chianti."
Mrs. Murrizi said: "I tried it once because Hysen said, 'Come on, you've worked here for so long, try it.' I liked it." But for religious reasons, she said, she did not plan to make it a habit.
In the Italian popular imagination, Albanian immigrants are more often depicted as scofflaws than as upstanding members of society. Anti-immigrant sentiment runs high, and many Italians blame foreigners for what they say is a rise in crime. In recent months, there have been several highly publicized cases of violence against other immigrant groups.
But amid the turmoil, families like the Murrizis are quietly integrating into middle-class life in ways that Italy is only beginning to acknowledge. Like new shoots grafted onto an old vine, they are fast becoming an essential part of the country's most valued traditions, including winemaking.
(more)
Source: NY Times (English)
They worked their way quickly down a sloping hillside, picking grapes for Chianti, after having spent days selecting smaller grapes for more refined wines. On the nearby highway, passing truckers honked in a harvest greeting.
The Murrizis are among tens of thousands of Albanians who arrived in Italy in the 1990s after the collapse of their country's Communist dictatorship and economy. That they should become skilled vineyard workers is somewhat incongruous because Mrs. Murrizi is an observant Muslim who fasted for Ramadan and does not drink alcohol.
She acknowledged the culture clash. "Yes," Mrs. Murrizi said with a warm smile in fluent Italian. "But that's the way it is. Unfortunately I have to work. Life is like that."
Mrs. Murrizi, 46, has wavy light brown hair and green eyes. She left factory work to join her husband in Italy in 1998. Mr. Murrizi, 52, a former truck driver with a tanned face and close-cropped gray hair, left Durres, Albania, for Tuscany in 1993.
Mr. Murrizi is not so observant as his wife, and over the years he has become a wine fan. "Especially the 'vino nobile,' " he said, as a smile lit up his face. "But also the Chianti."
Mrs. Murrizi said: "I tried it once because Hysen said, 'Come on, you've worked here for so long, try it.' I liked it." But for religious reasons, she said, she did not plan to make it a habit.
In the Italian popular imagination, Albanian immigrants are more often depicted as scofflaws than as upstanding members of society. Anti-immigrant sentiment runs high, and many Italians blame foreigners for what they say is a rise in crime. In recent months, there have been several highly publicized cases of violence against other immigrant groups.
But amid the turmoil, families like the Murrizis are quietly integrating into middle-class life in ways that Italy is only beginning to acknowledge. Like new shoots grafted onto an old vine, they are fast becoming an essential part of the country's most valued traditions, including winemaking.
(more)
Source: NY Times (English)
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