An excerpt from my upcoming memoir
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Pasta with shaved black truffles |
I’ve eaten, and now it’s time to pray, something I've always done, albeit in silence, in private and with regularity. Travelling alone—my viaggio da sola—has given me the time and the opportunity to pray, but also to think, to observe and to understand the world and how it works in a clearer way, from a different vantage point.
I’ve noticed that those of us with a mainland North American mindset, as a rule, do not hold hands as we walk together. We don’t, as a rule, engage publicly in warm, loving exchanges. We say very little to one another at the breakfast or dinner table. For some cultural reason, we look for an occasion or reason to touch one another affectionately. We tend to express ourselves in a few curt words to get the job done. In contrast, I’ve observed Italians being expressive as a matter of course, who are so physically connected to one another, not just to partners, lovers, husband and wives but to children, parents, grandparents and friends, male and female alike. It’s in the way Italians touch, in their hand gestures and in the expressions in their eyes as they smile and share glances.
And so I pray. I pray that the world will take a page from the loving and innate ability of Italians to connect and shamelessly display affection for one another.
Interesting, especially as I am in Italy for the fourth straight year, cycling!
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