As part of my year abroad, I went to Sicily to study at l'Università deli Study di Catania. Eternally hot and with COVID signing my non-attendance letters for me, it honestly felt like the holiday of a lifetime (in which I probably could have started my year abroad research project, but here we are). The food, culture, and people are all fiery and passionate, and their sport is no different.
In typical Durham fashion the sport I do is rowing. For better or worse for my reputation, I’m one of those people that rowed even before Durham and so my personality is now irreversibly consumed by the sport, much to the displeasure of those around me. However, I think it’s important, if we’re going to discuss the differences I found in Sicily, to mention the reputation that the sport has here. You rowed before uni? Well chances are people will imagine you at a private school, in a lot of cases that isn’t true, including for me, but it’s normally what people will assume. In any case, rowing certainly has an elitist air about it and I know people in my secondary school that would never have even considered rowing a possibility as a sport because of the pompous atmosphere it can exude. If we think of the pinnacle of the highbrow British rowing scene, no event is more synonymous than the Boat Race. Two extremely wealthy university clubs exclusively racing each other before getting out in their blazers for Pimms. Whilst it does bring attention to a fantastic sport it also highlights what was so different and special about the club in Catania.
Although a university club, in actuality, there were no university students in attendance in Catania. The members were split entirely between 8–16-year-olds (although you wouldn’t know it from the size of some of them…) and sexagenarians and beyond. The club is situated at the furthest point out to sea of the port (a 10-minute cycle to the port and a further 15 minutes along the “Molo di Levante”). For rowers this may cause alarm bells. Rowing on the sea is generally considered a harrowing experience in Britain, we much prefer the refined and calming rivers. Suffice to say it was a shock for my Durham sensibilities, riding the rough waves and dodging crabs as I put my boat in the water, it was the closest I’ve come to falling in for some years.
When I first arrived in the height of summer, I was invited to the club, expecting an interview with the head coach but instead he greeted me with a booming “Ciao Ed! Get on your sports clothes and we’ll get you a boat”. I was stunned, to be thrown straight in was not what I was expecting but nevertheless I got in a boat and he just told me to start rowing. I couldn’t ask for a more welcoming experience, especially for one of the first days of my year abroad.
The club itself boasts none of the elitism that you can get in high-level rowing in Britain. It was economic and efficient with boats and equipment, which were shoved in every available corner, and sharing the space with canoes, kayaks, and even some sailing gear. The boats were being stretched beyond their life expectancy in Britain, but all the kids seemed thrilled to take a ride in any of them. But there was a pride in their frugality. Additionally, shock horror, we were allowed to row topless, something you would be excommunicated for at a club such as Henley or Leander in Britain (perhaps helped by the scorching climate although many of these kids were reaching for their hoodies when it dipped below 25°). The atmosphere was comical and jovial but also had undertones of a quiet and powerful determination embodied by the, not so quiet, head coach Diego. Diego was typically southern Italian with an in-built switch that turned him from welcoming host to fiery, passionate leader who had no problem picking kids out individually to swear at and reprimand. I was shocked at first, learning a whole new vocabulary of Sicilian abuse but the rowers all accepted it welcomingly, not looking phased in the slightest. There was a mutual understanding that Diego just wanted them to try harder to push themselves to their limits. This, for me, embodied what rowing should be about, too often people believe it is about blazer parties and hedge fund comparisons.
Along with an economical but resolute atmosphere, the club was also constructed of an entirely different composition of demographics. In British rowing, there is an ongoing problem with a lack of minorities, in my opinion, missing out on an amazing sport because of the reputation that rowing portrays, especially in some of the more traditional institutions. There is also a deficit in women participating and people with disabilities too. In Catania however, this did not seem a problem in the slightest; girls far outnumbered the boys and many of the members I spoke to came from wildly different backgrounds. From some wealthy families living in Catania centre to first or second generation Tunisian immigrants that cycled twice a day every day from the villages encircling the city to take part just the same as everyone else. There was even a blind girl who occasionally came to train with the help of a ‘seeing coach’. Regardless, they were all best friends, giving each other lifts on their motorbikes (at around 14) and taunting and competing with each other constantly. Even the old guys, who sometimes looked like they might be older than the sport itself, were the absolute heart of the club, having races against the top squad of 16 year olds while also exchanging ripostes with them. A real comradery that brought me back to my time at club rowing in my hometown, the happiest years of my life.
This little club, rowing on the sea in battered old boats with members as young as 8, training as hard as they could each day with workloads that made me question every time I had ever been tired in my life was nothing short of inspirational. They didn’t have much money, the conditions of the water were abysmal (seriously I don’t know how the youngsters can learn to row on it) and it was SO HOT but this was their lives and they were getting so much back from it. This is why, given some training on the river and a loaned boat from British Rowing I’d like to see an “Oxford, Cambridge, Catania Boat Race”… even if the boat would be made of 8-70 year old. Although not quite as catchy a name and certainly not as traditional a race, I reckon those boys and girls could give them a run for their money at least in heart and spirit, proving that rowing is, and always should be, about the determination to push what you think you can do for anyone and everyone.
Ed Bowman
コメント