Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
The fact that our village had been left behind as history marched onward was one of the
things that we found so attractive about it. We enjoyed the feeling there of being outside
of time. Every day, nothing happened. When we weren't off exploring, we would spend at
least a couple of hours every afternoon sitting under the shade of a towering chestnut tree
along with other villagers who came and went. Some played cards, some smoked, some
sat and talked, some just sat. Sometimes there were silences of five minutes or more be-
fore someone introduced a new topic of conversation. Sometimes the rally petered out with
nothing more than a “Sure is hot” to which someone might reply, “Darn right,” followed
by several more minutes of silence.
There's something wonderful about sitting quietly with others, passing the time and feeling
no obligation to speak. It's not at all like the silence at a “spiritual retreat” where you are
not supposed to speak. And it's totally unlike the silence you experience in the dentist's
waiting room or on the city bus late at night; there's a feeling of plenitude rather than void.
People speak when the spirit moves them and not from any other motive. You find yourself
experiencing the fullness of the present moment in a very pleasurable way without needing
anything more.
I experienced something like this for the first time when I was traveling up the Nile twenty
years earlier. Sudanese traders on the riverboat sat squatting on the deck in a semi-circle in
their white robes. Every nowand then, someone would say “Aiwah!” and one ortwo others
in the group would respond by repeating the word. Whatever it may have meant, it served
as a simple affirmation of presence, like a cluck or a chirp. Some years later, in my early
days of homesteading in California, we would often sit around the cook-fire in the woods
after dinner, just watching the fire. My friend, Bert, would strum wistful, improvised riffs
on Villalobos on his guitar while an untiring chorus of crickets pulsed in the background.
But that was long ago in a universe that had disappeared. It was a joy to discover that this
dimension of experience still existed in another part of the world.
Two of the locals, Ugo and Narciso, bachelor twins who had grown up in Montesantini,
took us under their wings and helped us to slowly learn the language. They taught us indi-
vidualwordsforthingswithinfinite patience andhelpeduslearntopronouncethem.When
theyexplained something tous,theyspokeclearly andsimplysothatwecouldfollowwhat
they were saying. When they saw that we had completely lost the thread of ongoing con-
versation under the chestnut tree, they would throw us a lifeline and help us back into the
game.
Everywinterwewouldlistentolanguagetapesandtrytoparticipate inItalianconversation
groups. Some years, we'd feel as if we had made real progress. In the summer we'd take
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