AT HOME IN ROME Part I Why Rome?
Chapter 2 Pace
Let’s first define our term. When you see Pace, you think, “pace yourself, keep up the pace, I was pacing back and forth waiting for the results…” . But, a Mediterranean would see the word, Pa Che, Italian for Peace. With this morsel of minutia under your belt, read on. You’re going to need it.
The tempo in Rome is slower, calmer, sometimes even non-existent despite traffic anarchy daily and mass exodus hysteria every August. Customer service is optional. Nobody honors the “who’s next” line up. Being late is not tolerated but expected. Money, income and getting ahead is not the driving force for these people. Most live with Mamma and get great meals every Sunday at Casa di Nonna.
Seriously though. They mostly practice this mantra:
Work to Live. Don’t Live to Work.
It took some time for me to assimilate, then embrace this way of life. America can sometimes be a place of capitalism on steroids. Everything is about your job, where you live, what kind of car you drive and how much stuff you have. Conversely, when Italians first meet someone new, their inquiries range from “Tell me about your family” to “How long do you boil your vermicelli”.
Lunch is 2 hours. Dinner is 3. Vacation is the MONTH of August. Deadlines are always pushed off until domani. When a holiday lands on Mercoledi (Wednesday) they need to take 2 days before to prepare (called the “ponte” which means “bridge”) and 2 days after to recover. That’s 11 days if you know how to work the double ponte.
They take all the holidays offered by secular and religious Italy as well. Especially the masters of “ponte”, the Romans.
From Peter and Paul Patron Saints Day, June 29, to a bushel of Government celebrations. (20 September/Unification of the Republic and 4 November/Armed Forces Day come to mind), Romans make separation of church and state seem like a suggestion. Not that the Romans are devout. Quite the opposite. Romans resent the Center of Christendom locking up land, buildings and dwellings while civilians function out of tiny condos. But, God does grant citizens all these feast days so they can enjoy the holiday-holy day, experiencing architecture, art, parks, ruins and the open piazza, not to mention Nonna’s cooking.
The pace in Rome warrants strolling around without timeline or agenda. This I do on a regular basis, sometimes including guest, visitors and referrals who desire my lecture-guiding company. Such was the case with two baby-boomer couples a while back at the height of the Iraq invasion.
We walked, talked, laughed, ate, drank, drank and drank. They were full of insight, questions and stories. It’s a joy when you can converse with people as opposed to serving them as a talking monkey. As we weaved through the back alleys, they notice a plethora of rainbow flags with the letters “PACE” on them. They asked me, “Tom, can you tell us more about the Gay organization called Pace?” Pa che, not pace. And the rainbow flag connotes racial harmony here. Ah, forget it. Let’s find an enoteca.
When you think about the rhythm of life, you begin to see that these Romans are on to something. Shop for fresh food every day, Take time to enjoy your meals. Walk to the bar for a caffe’ 8 times a day. Then walk to the gelateria for ice cream.
It has it’s frustrating side as well, this tempo alla romana. I saw one proprietor closing up his Merceria at 18:00 (6 PM). A group of enthusiastic customers stopped him and asked if they could purchase a few high-end items. He told them to come back tomorrow. They explained that they were flying home the next morning and begged him to take 5 minutes to sell the items.
He said his dinner was waiting at home and to come back some other time.
They fumed to themselves, “How could a merchant turn down paying customers”? He locked up and headed to his priority; home, family, dinner.
But the following story is the piece de resistance. A friend of mine, wife of the Spanish Ambassador to the Vatican, was at the grocery store picking up hundreds of euro worth of goodies for a reception at the residence that night. The cashier was ⅓ way through the checkout when the clock struck 12:00. Pranzo. She shut down the machine, impolitely blurted, “Come back at 15:00”, and went to lunch.
All in all, the Romans have this peaceful pace thing worked out. Kids running through the restaurant? That’s what they do. Can’t break your 100 euro note? No one has change. Need some customer service? Sorry, I am having a cigarette break and on the phone with my mistress, married lover or, almost always, Mamma!
They eat, drink, smoke and fool around, these Romans. And they are all thin, 100 years old and smiling. Stressed for them is truly desserts spelled backwards. Just ask them. But the inquiry must be at a bar, in the piazza or at the market as they pick out their perfect melanzana for cena (dinner).
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