I remember handing my meticulously written postcards into the care of the Italian post office in Venice. I realized that my postcards would very likely never make it to their intended destination, but I put extra stamps on just for good luck's sake.
The woman behind the counter chuckled at me when I asked how long it would take to arrive in the United States and signaled an Italian hand gesture. Thumb to forehead, she laughed and said to forget about it. Then, clearly looking starved and parched, she signaled me to a little Osteria around the corner. Settled into my corner table with my half carafe of Chianti, I drank and watched locals pass the windows as I soaked up the day for all it was.
It was the little intricacies that made me fall in love with every city, town, village, street, restaurant, bar, and most especially, the people of the fantastically colorful country of Italy. Enjoying life could be a variety of meanings. Standing on a street corner sweeping off a your storefront, fixing your mothers car, whistling at every female tourist passing by, sometimes all at the same time. The Italians really seem to get it. And they do not have to try.
My high-strung mind buzzed. "Will my postcards arrive in time? What if my purse gets stolen? Will I find a hotel for the night? Can I catch the train to Florence on Thursday? How much does a water taxi cost?" My people watching became significant to me when I realized that they, too, were observing me, especially in my clearly worried state.
Here I am, in the middle of one of the oldest, most beautiful and historical cities in the world, worrying and pondering some of life's much less important questions. I inhaled a deep breath, took my hair down, and merrily poured myself another glass of wine.
Sometimes, I really have to remember the significance that the Italians taught me. Worrying does not seem to be a part of their culture. Whatever will be, will be. The train will be late or may not arrive, but there is always another train. The food service may not be speedy, but you will eat amazing food for three hours.
I returned to this same Osteria every day. On my last day in town, I decided to extend my time in Venice since the owners of the restaurant offered to take me on a personal tour the next day. I booked a train for a day later. It arrived on time. And guess what? The postcards arrived safely to their destination. Two months later. Ah, Italy :-)
Sometimes life requires patience. When you have done all you can, hang on to hope in one hand, and a glass of wine in the other.
