Romancing Italy

In a couple of weeks, I will mark two years in Italy. I've spent most of my time in the north, with easter, summer, olive picking season and other odd weekends in the south. Today, as the sky thickens into a gray stew and the leaves remain ominously still, I found myself mulling over the acquaintances I've made, or not, on this little stretch of road.

The house directly across from ours in the north stands tall and mute, it's windows open but no life ever shows through. It's as unfriendly as it's owners who never greet us unless they are unfortunate enough to have eye contact. Their dog once came sniffing around our courtyard and as A chased it away, it stopped on it's exit run to look at him, I swear in defiance, while it raised a leg to leave its parting shot. The nerve!

Thank goodness for Gianni and his pet who take their daily walk past our house. Without fail there will be a wave or small conversation as he passes by our gate. I will again be reminded of his age and how fine his 10 year old dog is doing, all due to being on meds.

And Bruna, a short distance down the road, is the life force behind her strange family. She is as robust and friendly as her husband is thin and timid. I once told her I liked one of her plants in her yard and that afternoon, I was presented with a potted version of the same plant.

Her husband tends to his goats in the surrounding hills and often walks past our house, large wooden basket strapped to his back and pint sized Bessie barking at his feet, to their forest plot to gather food. Even with Bessie announcing my presence, he managed to ignore me for months. Now, I get a nod in response to my enthusiastic wave and ONCE, he even spoke to me. I'm making progress.

Their son Sandro is a kick. He rarely leaves home for any reason but for work, and never takes vacation. That works for us as we rely on him to take care of our Macchia and Argo when we go south. He bought a fine looking motorbike and all the protective armor that a responsible rider would have, but hesitates at taking any ride longer than 15 minutes. He too is spare with words so it is no wonder I caught a moment where he and A sat on the ledge outside our house and shared a beer in silence.... comfortable communion.

I've not yet met Damiana who is the artist with a reputation for collecting morbid artwork. A skeleton hanging on the wall near the entrance is her form of welcome. She lives adjacent to Bruna but goes inside when I pass by.

Two years and so little connection with the people who live right around me. Part is my fault for not being more outgoing, but the north is known for being cold and aloof. When a rafting guide heard that I'd stayed in nearby Alagna for some time, he didn't wait for my story, he just immediately apologized.

By contrast, in the south I've stopped to ask for directions and walked away with the info I needed, their life story and a sense of connection. And for a stranger, because two years still makes me a stranger, that behavior is very welcome.