waiting

In my little chunks of Italian life over the last two - now nearly three - years, when I was living here without a car, I enjoyed waiting. Waiting for the bus, waiting for the train, waiting for a lift with friends, just waiting. It was legitimate down-time, something I had never allowed myself to have before. In that time I listened to the language, I marvelled at my surroundings, I enjoyed the sun or the mist swirling around the castle ruins. Eventually I became brave enough to try to speak to others who were waiting. Now I have a car I miss that kind of waiting.

Yesterday, when I went in to get things done at the picture framers, I could have excused myself and gone off and done the other chores I had lined up for the evening. My New Zealand self would never have spent that time just leaning on the counter, just waiting. Just waiting? No. Chatting to the charming owner and her nephew, the jobs taking considerable time as we were joined for parts of the conversation by her husband who was doing my work in the back room. Rushing to the next chore would not be living this Italian life. The expectation is that I will wait while the work is done. Waiting, taking time, is part of what it is all about.

When I go to the Post Office to pay an account (electricity, internet, water, garbage, rates are all paid at the Post Office) I allow at least an hour. If I don't have that time spare I choose another day. Yes, at all these places, you must wait. But when you get to the counter you are not rushed, you have the undivided attention of the clerk. You are treated as though you are the only customer there. And, behind you, others chat, decide whether to stay or go, and generally are content and patient. Just occasionally, someone asks to be let in ahead. And just occasionally, when you make this unexpected offer, the reward is a huge smile. So when I am waiting to be served in a shop, and the conversation seems to be little to do with purchasing merchandise, I try to remember that soon even I will be able to join in and make the most of my shopping time too.

To begin with, when I tried to shop alone, often armed with dictionary and pre-written list, I could see the panic in the eyes of those who had to try to serve this oddity, this English-speaking woman who had chosen to live in this village. Now even the women serving in the supermarket butchery and the delicatessen, who don't see me so very often, will joke with me, as they did last night when I overheard them doing a take-off of "Life is Now" from a television advertisement, or offer to help if they see I am dithering over the prices of pre-packed or off-the-leg prosciutto. It feels good to practice, to learn, in the shops while you are waiting.

But it is a work day, so back to the paintings... mmm... thinks to herself... I enjoyed breakfast outside so much this morning I think I will have lunch outdoors too. Because, away from the computer, the sun, and my Italian life, is waiting...