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PEOPLE OF THE PO VALLEY
Toward the end of its course,
after gathering waters from the Alps and Apennines,
the Po River becomes navigable.
These are convoys of flat-bottomed barges
loaded with agricultural goods from the region.
It's not an easy voyage.
It's only for those who've spent a lifetime on the Po.
Their homes are on the barges.
The barge is their work, their home, their love.
Up and down the great river,
between the banks of Emilia and Veneto,
in their home they journey toward the sea.
A man...
a woman...
a little girl.
Aided by the current, their journey takes a day at the most.
From the banks the water looks as flat as asphalt.
There are washerwomen on the bank.
Beyond the banks
are the melancholy facades of country houses
where someone's always looking out at the river.
It's a hard life that never changes.
Perhaps those watching the convoys go by think about happiness,
about leaving, traveling, starting a new life.
At the end of the voyage awaits the open sea.
But it's been years
since anyone watched from this ancient water mill.
The convoy's arrival is always cause for celebration.
The barges make a wide turn to get upstream and moor.
Later the woman goes ashore.
It's almost evening.
"A poor village where life passes as slowly as the seasons or the river"...
that's what the bells are saying.
At this hour, the people gather on the embankment.
Look at that boy with his bicycle.
He's going courting on the banks of the Po.
It's a grim life that never changes,
but further along, between the sky and the marsh,
life for the people of the Po becomes even bleaker.
Their beds aren't always safe when a storm is brewing.
They must interrupt their fishing
and quickly get back to their endangered huts.
The wind blusters against the thatched roofs.
The tide grows higher and higher.
The ground outside and inside their pitiful shacks
turns to mud.
The village is quickly flooded...
by fresh water from the Po...
and saltwater from the Adriatic.
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