Assimilation

Assimilation

I want one. I think if I take out a couple of shirts, dump the jeans and half of the electronics, I just might be able to fit one into my very small suitcase. I might have to buy another bag but it would be well worth it. The Fiat Cinque Cento is the smallest and cutest damn microscopically tiny car I've ever seen. I tower over its roof by at least two feet... It could double as a coffee table in the living room and you wouldn't need a garage. A mere trinket. I would absolutely have to have one if I lived here. It would be the equivalent of having a vintage VW Bug in the States, probably without the cultural implications.

Although I doubt having a Cinque Cento (say: “Cheen-qway chain-tow”... no, not like that... say it like you mean it) will make me anything like the Italian women with their incredible fashion sense, high boots and the faces of goddesses, the confidence in their walk (probably because of the amazing shoes they wear...see Ruby's Road: If the Shoe Fits at http://www.cbweekly.com/page.cfm?pageid=8660 ) it would be like a fun bumper car to drive, although I'm not sure the boots will actually fit into the car.

Italian women are out shopping here every night. I think now that the evening passagata (stroll) is only a ruse for a nightly spree. After three days, I'm seeing the same faces in stores. There is a plethora of shoe stores, clothing shops, specialty cosmetics, lingerie and stores dedicated entirely to socks and hosiery. The only constraint I have is knowing none of the things I may buy here in a vacation fashion frenzy are going to be suitable once I get back to the Butte's eight feet of snow (yes, this is a wishful affirmation for this year's ski prediction...) With the euro strongly higher than the U.S. dollar, everything I see becomes a choice... those awesome Dolce & Gabbana glasses, or those amazing knee high leather boots for the next month traveling here. Shoes pretty much trump anything (except maybe the Fiat) and I salivate over every pair. The boots I wanted to replace are no longer available anywhere because the Italian Fashion Police would never let a woman wear last year's style let alone a model from four years ago. As the shoe clerk said to me, "Why do you care if you can replace the sole? You will not wear these next year." She would snicker in that Italian snarly way if I confessed to keeping favorite shoes for twenty years.

Nevertheless, I cruise the streets gazing into shops and dodging cars. Let me explain why it's so difficult to avoid cars. The sidewalks are practically up against the buildings, only one and one half foot wide virtual lines painted on both sides of the already harrowingly narrow streets where cars zip by at warp speed. Italian women are skinny and can navigate these straits with grace even in heels. It's almost like ballet or tight rope walking. I don't know how Italian women stay so thin since the typical cuisine is very rich and heavy and the population eats late into the evening. Restaurants don't even open until 8:30 p.m. or later.

The Hotel had recommended a restaurant of local flavor. The young waiter actually spoke English and took pity ( or disgust...) on my attempt to butcher his beautiful language. The menu read like a romance novel to me. I ordered the papardelle with porcini and trufalo (yes, truffles) and grilled eggplant and zucchini, and of course, a glass of the house red. So much for the gluten intolerance... I was willing to suffer for the thick ribbons of homemade pasta, grated truffles and fresh porcini with olive oil so rich you could drink it as a fine wine. Life falls into place. The waiter brings another glass of wine which makes me believe I can think in Italian. Language through osmosis. Everything is a song. It doesn't matter that the dollar to euro exchange is at 1.45 (or that the money changer at the Roma airport charged you 1.58 euro for your dollar...) It doesn't matter that a pair of boots will cost about 45 percent more or that you have no travel agenda. Hey, wine is cheaper than water, what more do you want from life? Besides, as a young archeologist I met today commented about the earthquakes that devastated his city of L'aquila, three times over a couple of centuries... “What can you do about it?” Nothing. You enjoy life's sweetness (la dolce vita).