#63: Italian “Opening” Hours
Ciao Nonni,
I hope you are well!
We are surviving here. Which sounds dramatic and a bit ungrateful, but with David away for a few weeks it does feel a little like it at times.
He's away in Australia for almost three weeks. Which he would say is two weeks, but I count travel time, and I also round up. Whereas he does the opposite. It leads to some funny conversations with friends!
Technically it is 18.5 days. I'll let you decide how you would communicate that.
The past week was a bit much. Leo was sent home sick on Wednesday. I could tell both the kids were teetering on the edge of proper illness. So I kept them both home on Thursday. Forgetting that on Friday there was another sciopero at Raffy's school.
As we learned last time. An announced strike is only a possibility, not a certainty. This time, like the last, no one seemed too bothered. So I took the lead from the other parents and assumed that it probably wouldn't be observed at our school.
It wasn't.
A message went out at 8am that morning that the teachers were in attendance at the school, and so the children were fine to be dropped off.
It's going to be a rude shock on the day when it actually goes ahead. There's some real boy who cried wolf conditioning going on here. Which is maybe the point?
In any case, this week I was very glad to be able to pack them both off again on Friday morning.
This morning I walked back through town after school drop off, and found workers stringing up all the Christmas lights. Apparently they will be lit this coming Saturday evening. The town makes a bit of an event of the lighting, which is fun. It really does look beautiful on those cold and clear winter evenings.
Side note: I’m also taking it as a green light to officially commence panettone season.
The other thing I noticed on my walk was the lax observance of opening hours by Lucca's shops.
Most of the stores here (supposedly) open at 10am on weekdays. It would come as a surprise to no one that this appears to be quite a loose suggestion, rather than anything to rely upon.
At 10:05, walking down Via Fillungo (the main shopping street), only about 10% of shops had their doors open and looked like they were actually ready to welcome customers. Another 50% were still being prepared for the day. This includes washing down the steps in front of each store. A task that is clearly relished by no one, and so is left to the last possible moment. Which of course then means that when people finally go in, they walk wet footsteps all the way through the premises.
The remainder were completely closed. Lights off. No sign of human life.
Obviously no one is going to perish if they can't buy a handbag or woollen sweater at exactly 10am on a Monday morning, but it is a shock to my subconscious expectation that opening hours are, well, the hours that a shop is open for business...
It's even looser after the post-lunch pausa. I speak often of our butcher, who I love, mainly because to me he embodies so much of Italian culture in one perfect human example. The sign on his door says that he reopens in the afternoon at 4:30pm. I have NEVER seen him at this time.
He often wanders back around 4:45pm, and then spends 5-10 minutes preparing before finally unlocking the doors to allow people in. Why doesn't he just change the hours to 5pm? I have no idea. But no one is ever mad at having to wait, so I guess it all works.
After almost 18 months here, I still have to take the odd deep breath and relax when confronted with these situations. After all, the only person who suffers when I get all weirdly wound up about having to wait (when I’m not even in a hurry) is me. Sometimes also Dave.
All my love,
Kate
PS. Last week I was at the butcher with the kids. He ignored the long line behind me and carefully hand sliced some beautifully soft prosciutto for them to enjoy while they waited, before even asking what I wanted to buy. It's these little things that make how long everything takes feel very worthwhile.
