Saturday night John and I decided to cap a wonderful day in the city of Florence (which included a stop at the beautiful and impressive Piazza Michelangelo and a walk down the glitzy Pont de Vecchio) with some small town pizza here in Settigano. There is a tiny restaurant just up the road whose name I still do not know because, in true small town Europe fashion, there is no sign over the door. You have to already know that it’s there. Our RA, Pietro accompanied us, and thankfully his Italian both eased the ordering process and got us a lovely little discount on the pies.
We brought them back to the Villa and set up shop in the kitchen, thanks to the kindness of one of the workers, Aureilian, a wonderful man from Cameroon who speaks both French and Italian with a smattering of English. The four of us proceeded to spend the next hour eating delicious pizza, drinking Italian made Spanish wine, and speaking in three languages. Okay, speaking might be a stretch for John and I, but we were definitely communicating and that’s something.
At one point I set down my knife (because restaurants believe in letting you be responsible for how much pizza you put in your mouth by not pre-cutting your pizza) and looked at my dinner mates and smiled. Where else in the world would this be happening to me? Not a lot of places I can think of. I am so thankful that I am in Italy right now, having these kind of experiences. I may not be fluent in Italian or even French (a language I’ve been trudging through for about six years now) when I leave, but I will have had experiences communicating, and isn’t that what this is all about? We are here to see the similarities just as much as (if not more than) the differences, and laughter (and wine) mean the same thing across the language barrier.
So here’s to language, culture, and the love for tomato sauce and melted cheese that ties us all together.
Peace.
No comments:
Post a Comment