Remembering to Slow down

the lure of la Dolce Vita

I am 50% 13^th generation Maine Yankee and 50% international roamer. My mother was born and raised in one small town in Maine with generations behind her. Whereas like me, my dad grew up in a multitude of foreign countries in a few different languages. Neither one of us lived in the US our native birth country until we were 15 years old. My Maine Yankee side is stern, frugal and stoic. They stayed where they were born, played by the rules and worked hard (well ok maybe there was a little seafaring and prohibition bootlegging but generally I think of them as dour and strict). My Maine half makes it so I actually do enjoy working hard and I don’t like waste but my other half which was especially influenced by the Italian culture of always making time for pleasure just for pleasure’s sake- my other half loves pleasure, pleasure at the table, social pleasure, visual pleasure, the pleasure of fine craftmanship. Most of my working life has been in the US and I have loved working in restaurants which is good because it’s hard work and if you don’t enjoy it, it’s not really worth it. With all that American drive to work hard for works sake sometimes I forget how chill Italian life is (this is not to negate all the stress Italians have navigating life in Italy). The first time I really reflected on this, I had just graduated college and landed in Rome. I dropped my bags at my dad’s apartment and immediately headed down the block to grab a coffee at our favorite local café which just happened to be Tre Scalini on the Piazza Navona. Both the café and the piazza were touristic icons of Italy then and they still are. But it was also just the place we grabbed a coffee or a gelato or my dad sat and read his morning newspapers and enjoyed the pressed to order orange juice and a cornetto on his way to work.
I sat down at the tables facing the square which was a luxury as in Italy the price to consume standing up at the bar is a pretty reasonable and standard price, while sitting down is always more and at an iconic location like the Piazza Navona can be stratospherically more expensive. I sat and I waited, drumming my fingers and fretting “where’s my waiter and where is my coffee?” in full impatient I want it I need it now American mode. I took a breath in and looked around and exhaled. In front of me slightly to the right was Bernini’s 4 rivers fountain in all its glory gracing the center of the oval piazza. The golden walls glowed in the summer light as people milled about- Romans and Italians distinctly chic and fashionable, tourists whose nationality one could identify by their shoes- sandals and socks for Germans, sneakers for Americans, sensible and ugly leather shoes for the British. Why was I in a hurry, I asked myself, jump starting my brain back into Italian mode as the realization washed over me- you are sitting in one of the most beautiful squares in the world and the people watching is magnificent. Service and coffee are cream on the top not even the most important thing and they will happen when they happen. It’s a story I tell people often to try and explain the attitude shift you need to make to really enjoy Italy.

Don’t fret at the amount of time it takes you to get something done (a chore, pay a bill, find someone to fix something) take your time and enjoy the process. But also take the time to enjoy life. Stop work at 10:00 am, take a break and have a coffee, chat with friends or acquaintances feel the sun on your face. Sit down at the table for your meal with friends and family even if it’s just half an hour, take the time to walk in the park before or after dinner, admire the sunset, breath in the scent of whatever wildflower is blossoming or the scent of herbs crushed underfoot along a country road. And while it’s true that modern Italians work longer hours and spend too much time on their phones and are less socially and family oriented then they were, they are still so much more present in their daily lives then Americans. They still make it a priority to spend some time during their day just simply living, enjoying where they are which is definitely much easier when you are surrounded by stunning beauty. Even the Italian slums I encountered growing up-the Jewish Ghetto in Rome, the bombed out Kalsa in Palermo were physically beautiful and layered with historical architecture. I live in a stunningly beautiful place in Maine but when I land in Boston and begin the ride home on rt 1 coming up out of Logan airport it is so depressingly ugly and devoid of any beauty I am slightly crushed. In the US I do American things like eat in my car, work all day dashing from activity to activity without taking time to breathe, to stop to look around and see and enjoy and feel whether it be the tang of salt air, the glimmer of sun dancing on the sea, the majestic swoop of an eagle. One of the reasons I love coming to Italy (and of course I am on vacation when I do) is the reminder to stop and really relish the pleasure of life. It’s not so much about where you are because there is plenty of pleasure to be found anywhere, you just have to take the time to feel it.

I am aware that life in Italy is very hard for most Italians. Unemployment is high, the amount your average person earns is pathetically low and the bureaucracy could make a person with a buddha like personality turn into a serial killer. All this is true, but I do believe Italians are more tuned into “being in the present” than our American culture despite all the endless chatter about it.

When I land in Italy I stop, sit down and have coffee usually by the seaside next to the airport, just to kick off the smell and sense of confinement from the plane. I relish the chatter of Italian around me, the sun and warmth on my face, the delicious taste of the coffee which will be good anywhere. I’ve learnt not to race up to the house in Tuscany (a three hour drive away on the nerve racking autostrada del sole) and while I am tired and jet lagged I plot a scenic trip up part of the way, ideally with a few provisioning stops or lunch on a gorgeous volcanic lake. The American in me wants to go to Ikea and load up on cheap crap we need for the house but the sensualist in me cannot possibly waste time in a giant factory store when there are olive orchards to view, gelato to be eaten and just the sheer pleasure of puttering along on country roads, marveling at the beauty of it all.

Where I live in Maine and own a restaurant, I am constantly racing to get things done, pressured by myself and the society to do and achieve- achievement being the only metric of success recognized. In Italy where I also do need to get things done for the house, the culture encourages me to enjoy life along the way. Alone at the house my neighbors will insist I come over for dinner where they all sit down and eat a 2-3 course meal every night. The tv will be on but they ignore it as they tell stories and share their days activities. Wine will be drunk and the meal will finish with coffee. A trip to find a carpenter will involve sitting down at the café and listening to the owners’ story while you wait for the carpenter to show up. A visit to a wine shop to stock up will involve lively discussions with the salesclerk about the merits of stratospherically rare and expensive wines versus the ordinary everyday wine most people drink. I’ll take my cup of tea in the morning down to the pic nic table and drink in the view setting the tone for the day to come.

Sometimes I feel my two influences make me tick, the dynamic of them keeping my life interesting and other times I feel like they might pull me apart.