Pisa, briefly.

Today I navigated through a conversation with a seamstress, mostly in Italian. YES! My indispensable leather bag had developed a hole, and I followed a lead into "downtown" Pisa to do something about it. I went armed with a few scrawled phrases in my notebook, like "repara il bucco" (repair the hole) and "quanto ci vorra" (how long will it take?). The negotiations were choppy at best as I tried to figure out when she was telling me to come back to pick it up, but I was surprised at how much I was able to communicate with so little. As I apologetically emptied out the ridiculous amount of stuff to leave my bag with her, she assured me "es normale." Ah yes. I am officially a grown-up woman with an overstuffed purse. Sigh.

I wandered to the palazzo of the leaning tower and lay in the grass while I waited. An irate man on a cell phone was gesticulating wildly across the palazzo, as if his conversational adversary were 2 inches from his face, and I watched him for some time with amusement. I've decided that I love the physicality of this culture. The hand gestures, the smothering hugs of grandparents, and even the food. I'm not finding dainty, soulless, over-seasoned morsels wrapped in delicate paper, but fine food at its most elemental-- handled, loved, and owned. Life in general seems to be taken on with exuberant force and intention.

Back at the shop (I don't even know what they actually sell... there were fine tapestries and wall-hangings), I found my bag securely and neatly mended. Perfetto. The lady was on the phone as she handed it back, smiling. I offered her money, and she refused. This whole encounter made me inordinately happy.

Tomorrow... the old walled city of Lucca.