August 3, 2008
It’s August, it’s really hot, often humid, and we are heat wimps from Seattle. Rachel’s birth in Texas, and summers in Galveston and Las Cruces has not provided her any innate heat tolerance- and my East Coast childhood and young adulthood has also proven worthless. Or perhaps, it’s our 30+ years living in Seattle that has knocked it out of us. We have become housebound hermits during the day, grateful for our fans, shutters, and our cool floor tiles. When we have to go out to get bread we practically draw straws to see who will go. (okay, we don’t draw straws, Rachel usually goes. Of course if we could get up earlier in the morning, when it was still slightly less hot, I’d go. Really. Well maybe one of you believes it).
All the Italians have headed out for their vacations- off to the coast, the lakes, or to the mountains. The only people left are the Turkish, Albanian and African immigrants- and us. Most of the restaurants are closed, the bakeries have had signs out for weeks announcing the weeks (!) in August they will be closed, and many other shops as well. Thankfully I have numerous gelaterias to choose from but if they were to all close at once, I’d be out of here. (uh oh, I bet that DOES happen in the winter, come to think of it. Guess I’ll just have to eat more now).
We went to one of the outdoor community piscina to swim when Siegy was here. (Here we are relatively well off Americans and we can’t go too often because of the expense- 9 euro on the weekend and 7 during the week- these days that’s almost $11-14/per person). It was a very nice, large pool, very well maintained with umbrellas and lounge chairs; unfortunately we’ll have to put it on our list of weekly or bimonthly treats rather than as a way to cool off each day. I was thinking of how the cost would prohibit many of the poorly paid Italians and immigrants from going (which may be the point. The woman who cleans our apt. complex only makes 4 euro/hour, for example).
Yesterday we went off to buy a fan for our Turkish friends in our neighborhood kebab and pizza place. Ibrahim and Ibrahim are two very sweet guys who work all day, every day in this shop (not theirs) that is hot as hell. They make the bread for the falafel and kebab fresh each time you order- and of course pizza- so the big industrial oven is running all the time. They look so uncomfortable and sweaty but they are always friendly and uncomplaining. They can barely speak Italian, having been here just a few short months and speak no English; we speak no Turkish and only a little Italian. Still we talk- out in the neighborhood or in the store (on Rachel’s night off from cooking), they’re always there with a handshake, a big Ciao, and “va bene?” (One of the Ibrahim is who turned Rachel on to the soccer finals and encouraged her to watch Spain beat Germany). They were so genuinely touched by our gift of the fan which, to us, was such a small and practical gesture. But as so often happens here in Italy, we walked away with the bigger gift, their grins and smiles etched in our minds.
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