Upon returning from my August vacation, like so many of my compatriots, and having witnessed yet another frenzied rientro, I feel battered and buffeted by that which plagues nearly all Italian cities of a certain size: noise. Or rather, NOISE.
After the almost eery quiet of Michigan suburbs, and the orderly and hushed procession of American street traffic--the angry, impudent buzz of motorini and motorcycles and the penchant Italian drivers have of shouting and blaring their horns at every opportunity has me a bit green in the gills. Down in the mouth. Worse for wear.
It's quite jarring to see again the maniacal drivers bearing down on me and my poor old bike. I suppose the drama of Italian life is inevitably played out in revved-up decibels, speeding through the streets like hell-bent wasps from an upset nest. I am already craving and longing for that peace and quiet I managed to shore up during an all-too brief two weeks away--how I appreciated it. I breathed it in like mountain air.
Alas, if only it had lasted--at least in my minds' ear--a bit longer.
Yours, sognando di un po' di silenzio,