Sunday. The indecisive sky creates a shadow over the town. Caffé d'Italia and Commercio are the only businesses open, stretching their awnings like umbrellas to shade their capuccino-sipping, gelatino-licking customers. A serious ritual is in progress. For almost two weeks now, I've watched each Cagliese man, woman, and child.... many routines, many styles. Morning... Working men and women sipping cappucinos on plastic chairs in the piazza or at the bar, chatting to an acquaintence. Afternoon... the casual strolls down the cobblestone streets. Unexpected and unrushed conversations with another store owner closing for pausa. Evening... elderly men leaning against the town hall stones. Silent. Staring. An art old as the distant city museums...dolce far niente...... the sweetness of doing nothing at all.
Now, in the light of Sunday afternoon, the rain pours down making it difficult to see across the piazza to the Tabaccheria. Some people will probably sit here for hours, even after it stops raining. An American in Italy. I will have to leave soon. I am bored. This art, like any art takes practice. This town keeps whispering, "Slow down, Katie." Dolce far niente, I realize... is much harder than I thought.
Dolce far niente is known to Americans as "doing nothing," an art the Italians have mastered.
The men on the wall practice the ancient art of doing nothing every afternoon at the town hall.
The morning cup at Caffé Commercio. Latte, per favore?
