"Horns do it, dogs do it, even roosters cockle doodle do do it"

     Of course when I say we all "do it" I mean that we all send messages. There are several roosters and chickens here at Villa Boccella, who give us their daily eggs... Not to mention daily concerts. There is one extremely large rooster. I mean massive, who competes every day for the last word. Any time one of the other roosters crows, it is immediately followed by his. One black rooster in particular seems to ruffle his feathers, so to speak, and if the big guy can't get be louder he can at least be higher and bigger, so he hauls his ample girth onto the perch and puffs his already enormous body into a gigantic ball of fluff and wails. Is that what we humans look like when try to get the last word? He looked familiar. 

      Our villa comes complete with an old hound dog, ancient it would seem, and at first I thought he was deaf. Coming up behind him, I told him he was beautiful and a good dog and to come so I could pet him. He continued on without even a glance back. Perhaps, he did not speak English! It wasn't until a face-to-face meeting that I bent down and really poured on the baby-dog talk. I said gibberish, but cooed and oohed and clapped my hands. He thrust his happy, wiggling body into mine. He may not speak English but tone and good body language is universal.

     Daily, we are treated to a concert of the mountain horns. The villa is perched on a mountain- locals would probably refer to it as a hill. The road leading to our villa is extremely narrow with severe twists and turns. The seemingly single lane allows one small car relative ease, while two must pass with extreme caution. One particular turn is so severe that visibility is limited and drivers honk their way around, alerting others of their presence. I’ve noticed how the driver’s personality is conveyed in his or her beep-style. One long, steady honk is strong and confident and sometimes, just annoying, as if daring anyone to try and stop him. I heard timid, rapid beeps, almost apologizing for their presence and seemingly friendly honks and one musical interlude. I heard this one daily and assumed it to be a courteous neighbor who realized how disturbing this may be to the quiet. And every so often a prolonged silence would lead to a battle of the horns, leaving me to wonder who was going to back up or down or who would pass on the “outside?”  Not me. 

So, I am left with the idea that once again it not the beep that counts but how you beep that sends the strongest message. 

Happy Chickens, Villa Boccella, Ponte A Moriano, Italy 2012

Who Needs English in Italy?

I am writing from the front yard of the Villa Boccella in Ponte Moriano, Italy, just outside of Lucca. I am awaiting lunch and positively salivating over the delectable aromas wafting through the open window.     Because this is a small village- not at all a tourist stop, the villagers either speak very little English or a lovely, halting version, where words and actions are well- planned and executed. Even when the speaker is mistaken ( I shudder to think what I am saying sometimes with my fragile Italian) I am able to understand the gist by the purity of their intention, facial/ eye contact- both with me and with their emotion- and wonderfully expressive hand gestures. Even buying a bottle of shampoo becomes a ballet of words and movement leading to the positive conclusion of both shampoo and conditioner!  

     Upon entering the farmacia ( or any establishment ) I typically start with my own Italian phrase of which I am confident, "parle englaise? This is truly for unselfish reasons as I am trying to save my dialogue companion from working so hard to try to make sense of my bad pronunciation of such a lyrical language. 

       I find that even locals in this tiny village who swear they speak no anglaise have a remarkable grasp of phrasing and pronunciation. From my clerk's first question, "how to help you?" to the conclusion of our interaction, she took my request for shampoo into an in-depth search for just the right product that would wash not just my hair, but body as well, to the conditioner for after the shampoo, to make the wash "more good." My praise for her excellent assistance was not only understood but greatly appreciated by her nodding head, brisk hand rubbing and huge grin as I left the farmacia exclaiming "grazie, grazie" followed by a small shrug and a "prego" as if to say, "what do you expect? It is only shampoo!"