Impressions

Cortona is an interesting little town though it’s perhaps not a typical Italian town as it does have a fair number of tourists which influence the types of businesses it contains and, to some small extent, the hours the shops operate.

I crawled in bed several days ago at 9:30 PM and as I tried to sleep I wondered why my heartbeat was so irregular, a bit like a drum roll. My goodness, it WAS a drum roll….from a snare drum like those in my high school marching band! When the bugles horned in, I quickly realized all hope of sleep was lost for the moment. Cortona is, apparently, a happening place. One night I will have to wander up the street to the piazza at 10 PM rather than crawling in bed wearing fuzzy socks and face cream like an old lady. I might be missing some excitement…or drums and bugles!

There was a wedding in the piazza last weekend. The bride a vision in her happiness, her satiny hair done up, decorated with tiny pearls. I cannot fathom the joy she was feeling. I can’t imagine ever having it.

I live just a small distance from the main piazza, Piazza della Repubblica. People gather in the piazza around the 5 o’clock hour to visit and share news of the day. The sun is just softening a bit around the edges and the lights of the shops cast a golden glow on the rough stone paved streets. People stroll about window shopping or slipping in to a wine bar for a crystal glass of something lovely and ruby red. Sometimes I sit on Le Scale, the steps, to feel a part of it all. No one talks to me, but I am not so alone there. The pigeons poking around, looking for scraps, keep me company. I am an observer.

Sitting on the steps I noticed a hair stylist, David e Francesco’s, across the piazza. Maybe I’ll visit them in a few weeks, when my hair is in need of color. Through the open door, I noticed a young woman sweeping the floor wearing a drape with foils in her hair. Perhaps all clients are required to clean up the shop while waiting for their color to develop. Or maybe there’s a discount offered if I am willing to wash the shop windows with my hair in foils. I believe I shall ask.

Yesterday, while waiting for the bus, I chuckled at the sight of a portly little man, in an olive green business suit, riding a Vespa with his helmet, a size too small, perched high above his round head.

The driver of the bus back to Cortona with his mane of luxurious black curls seemed to know each passenger who got on or off the bus. He chatted non-stop to one or another, telling them the latest news and stories of his parents (genitori). Sometimes the bus was delayed leaving a stop while he finished his conversation with a departing passenger. Here, people are more important than bus schedules.

Generally people seem appreciative of my efforts to speak Italian, although they often switch into English immediately after I say something, sometimes even before! I was greeted by cries of “Brava!” from several middle-aged ladies at a grocery in Montepulciano the other day when I asked for something in Italian.

I’ve done laundry today and have it draped all over the apartment-no dryers here. My neighbor has a clothes line which she can reel in and out with her freshly washed clothing, but she prefers to thread her husband’s socks through the decorative iron balcony railing like tiny woolen flags drooping forlornly, awaiting a breeze to bring them to life.

I think I will go out for a walk as I’ve not left the apartment all morning. I need to let Cortona introduce itself to me.