The Park

Saturday mornings is market day in Cortona. A small market sets up stalls nearly at my door step. Vendors sell pork, seafood (frutta di mare), linens, household items, purses and shoes.

The piazza is busy as is via Nazionale, the main shopping street. I enjoy walking here, listening to the sounds. A girl of about 7, long hair bouncing, skips along in her silver shoes barely heeding her father’s pleas of, “Claudia, aspetta” (wait). Let her dance in her magical silvery slippers!

I went out to lunch for the first time here in Cortona, to Fuflun’s, a pizza restaurant I’d eaten at on the bus tour with my mom. I had a “quattro stagioni”, four seasons, pizza with artichokes, olives, prosciutto, and mushrooms. It was very good!

Yesterday Maria and I went to a café for coffee, and then she showed me where the park was. It’s right at the end of via Nazionale and I’d never noticed it. It goes back about ½ mile and is flat, with a wonderful view over the valley. It’s a perfect place for me to walk when my knee is bothering me as it was yesterday.

I walked back to the park later in the afternoon and sat on a bench which I now consider “mine” and listened to music. Eventually a pair of young women stopped to ask me, in English, directions to Bramasole, the home of Frances Mayes. I didn’t know, but we started to talk. Both women are from Canada, one here to study Italian for nine months and the other here to visit her for two weeks. They’d caught the train out from Florence for the day.

I really enjoyed talking with these beautiful, kind, young ladies, and we walked back to town together. When we reached via Nazionale, men actually stopped what they were doing to turn around and watch these two gorgeous women. I’ve never seen, and certainly never experienced, anything like it. They took it in stride and ignored the extra attention they were receiving. I am interested to note that I receive as much attention here as I do at home. Men just look past me to look at the next woman as though I were completely invisible. Maybe I am invisible…..or maybe they’re blind. Beauty is more than a slim figure, firm thighs, and a pretty face. I admit it still hurts a bit though.

The Italian has written several times to say he is planning to visit this weekend. I try not to think about it or I’ll be a nervous wreck!