What is possible?

I drafted this post more than a month ago, when I was still in Florence.  The idea of "possibilities", though, is relevant in many circumstances. Often, I have to remind myself that I have a choice, that there is more than one possibility. I recall that on my first trip to Italy, a hotel manager in Rome explained this--"Americans think that there is only one possibility, for instance 2+2=4.  But, Italians understand that there is more than one possibility, that 3+1 also equals 4."  Here is how I came to more fully comprehend and admire how some Italians interpret a rule.

In the late autumn, when the restrictions in Florence increased to "zona rossa" or "red zone", most shops closed and the movement of residents was curtailed. Some of the restrictions were vague, which made me nervous.  What exactly was meant that a person could exercise on foot or bicycle, but "near one's home"?  Could I go for a jog in the park or not?  What was I supposed to write on the required "declaration" form?  Would my reason for being out be accepted if I were stopped by the polizia? 

The first day of the restrictions, I decided to stay in except to get groceries a block away.  I discussed the situation with my neighbors. Ursula printed out copies of the required "declaration" form, and Sergio explained how to fill in the information.  They each reassured me that I could go for a jog and take walks.  Sergio elaborated, "Basically, no one cares." 

The obvious choices of shops to be open were the food stores, pharmacies, banks, post offices, shipping agents, newspaper stands.  Additionally, stores selling children's clothes could be open, which applied to The Disney Store, even though its clothing section was limited. Also open were shops selling intimate apparel (underwear, socks, pajamas) and self-care items. Sephora (make-up and more) was open, as was Jo Malone (expensive fragrances and candles).   So, one afternoon I took a walk to Sephora.  I was beginning to understand. 

Included in the food stores were also shops selling gelato and chocolate. Close to Sephora and the breathtaking Duomo is Venchi, with its dramatic wall of flowing chocolate.   I stopped to get candy for Christmas gifts, and also a gelato. Perche' no?  Why not?   I asked for a cone.  The saleswoman replied that she could not put my gelato in a cone, but she could give me a cone.  Here's how it worked-- my two scoops of gelato (two different flavors) were placed in a cup and another cup was placed on top.  This went into a bag... followed by a small spoon in its own bag, a cone in its own cellophane bag, and a paper napkin. I paid, found a place to sit outside, removed my mask, and disassembled the bags.  Instead of having the gelato piled on the cone, I used the cone as a scoop.  I have to confess that my first reaction was to be pleased about the creativity of the shop to insure that each customer would still get a cone.  My second reaction though, was concern about the additional garbage and cost of the bags within the bags.     

Each day, I figured out somewhere to walk, and filled in something vague on the required form. (I was never stopped.) A particularly fortuitous incident occurred on a walk on via Santo Spirito.  I passed an art shop where I had previously purchased a print, that was still in a poster tube at my apartment. I noticed the lights were on and the owners were inside.  I knocked and the son unlocked the door to let me in.  I commented that I was glad they were allowed to be open.  The son hesitated and said, "Well, we are here, and if someone walks by and wants to come in to the store, then we let them."  "Ho capito," I replied.  I purchased two more prints, and the owners mailed my previous purchase and the new prints to the US for me.  

There were numerous other times that we all found ways to live within the rules in a creative way-- getting a coffee or Prosecco in a shop and drinking in the open-air piazza, finding a place to hike that was technically inside of the city limits of Florence when we weren't allowed to leave town.  Quindi, therefore, the hotel manager from my first trip was correct, Italians know there is more than one way.  

Neighbors

When the electricity in the apartment fails, the immigration appointment is cancelled, and you have wonderful neighbors who say, "Take the bus tomorrow and join us at the beach",  you pack immediately.  

During the first month in my apartment in Florence, I met my next door neighbors-- first I talked with Ursula over the garden fence, then a couple of weeks later,  she and Sergio invited me for dinner. We quickly formed a connection and have shared many local activities, meals, and travels. They met my kids on Christmas Eve, and we had lively conversation over a holiday aperitivo. 

The beach that my neighbors frequent is in the Maremma, the coastal area of Tuscany that borders the Tyrrhenian Sea.  At one time the area was marshland and infested with mosquitoes carrying malaria.  By order of Fernando I de'Medici, the area was drained.  Now, centuries later, the hillsides are beautiful with many agricultural fields.  To reach them, I took two busses and they met me at the bus station in Grosseto. We ate a wonderful seafood lunch, stopped at a winery, and did some exploring before going to Il Pino B&B, near Vetulonia, in the municipality of Castiglione della Pescaia.  This is the Tuscany of post cards-- pine and cypress trees, sunflowers, rolling hills, and the sea!

The B&B was up a dirt road, through a grove of olive trees. ( http://www.ilpinobeb.it/en/#home)

We were greeted by the friendly owners and their equally friendly dog, Leopoldo, or Poldo for short. The grounds are filled with flowers and giant agave plants. My accommodation was a two-floor small apartment, with a kitchen and a patio, pictured below.  For my first night, Ursula suggested that we eat dinner on the patio, so we could watch the sunset over the hills. (NB- The pool in the photo is about a dozen steps from the patio- just a bad perspective in this photo.  For the two mornings I was there, I got up extra early to swim before breakfast, which I think the owners found amusing. But, the second morning the cover was off the pool before I had to ask.) 

We had two warm and sunny beach days.  There are different beach areas-- the public area where people bring their own beach gear, and the private area where you pay for chairs and umbrellas.  That's the side my neighbors chose, and it was very comfortable.  We brought lunch with us, though there was a cafe to purchase coffee, salads, pasta, snacks, gelato.  Before we ate, Sergio bought three small bottles of wine to accompany lunch.  Italy, right? 

For dinner that evening, the choice was either seafood or meat.  Since I don't like most shellfish, my neighbors decided on a favorite place in the area-- a farm that produces all their food, and serves dinner several nights a week. ( https://www.biotodo.it)

Golden light on the fields before sunset. 

Antipasti.  Not for vegetarians!! 

Our dinner on the grill! 

Dinner was a feast-- antipasti, zucchini salad, eggplant, tomatoes, bread, wine, mixed grill (pork for me and Ursula, steak for Sergio), dessert and grappa.  The total cost was 20 euros each.

After the second beach day, we returned to the B&B to shower before the two-hour drive to Florence.  We stopped for dinner at the medieval, walled village of Monteriggiani.  Another fascinating piece of history!  In the car, I said to Ursula that she and Sergio could start a tour company.  She replied, "So far, we've only shown you 1% of what we know."  Sign me up for the other 99 percent, per favore! 

Across the Courtyard

My apartment in Florence is on the ground floor by Italian standards and the first floor by American standards.  Instead of a balcony, there is a small garden area and patio.  Outside of the living room is a cafe table and outside the bedroom are two wicker chairs and an umbrella.  There are roses, an olive tree, and bamboo that covers the back fence.  My garden faces the back of another apartment building.  There are walkways between apartments, what my mother called a "catwalk". Sometimes I see my backyard neighbors sweeping, or more commonly hanging laundry.  One woman and I wave to each other whenever we are both outside.

Last week, I saw someone new cleaning the catwalk. She's petite, young looking, with very short blond hair- almost a buzz cut. She doesn't resemble anyone else I've seen in those apartments. I saw her again the day after.  I wasn't sure if she saw me, and we didn't look at one another at the same time.  Then, two days ago, she was leaning out of a hallway window and our gaze met.  We waved and shouted an enthusiastic "Buongiorno"!  And, that was it.  (The window is on the left with a green shade.) 

Today, I was sitting outside eating lunch and reading the newspaper on my phone.  You know how you get that feeling that someone is looking at you?  Well, I glanced up from my phone, and there was the woman with the short hair leaning out of that same window and waiting for me to notice. We both smiled, waved, and shared the customary "Buongiorno!"  That moment got me thinking about how much I like that greeting. As with most Italian words, I love the way it sounds. It's widely used, both informally among friends or to complete strangers. To me, the phrase is always said with warmth, as if the person truly wishes you a good day.  The American greeting of "Hello!" does not achieve this depth.  Forget, "Hi! How are you?" which doesn't necessarily signal any interest on the part of the greeter.  Even worse, is the awful "Hey there!" which seems especially distant. 

Will I ever meet the new woman across the courtyard?  My Italian is still limited, and we would have to shout to converse.  Allora, for now, we'll stick with wishing one another a good day.
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