Music to the Ears

It is a popular notion that French is the world’s most lovely language; and, indeed, it is beautiful when spoken by just about anybody but me.

But, in my life’s travels so far, I find that, from the mouth of an Italian, the native language might be the most melodious of all tongues. Phrases delivered with a descending and then rising pitch…..and if with a patient pace…..are music to the ears.

Even as we struggled to recite an item on a restaurant menu, the Italian language somehow sounded pleasant. And out of the mouth of an experienced waiter, the menu recitation was pure poetry.

When loved ones greet each other in Italian after a period of separation – and it doesn’t have to be a long time apart — they talk over each other’s endearments with a passionate commotion that has harmonic dissonance befitting a modern musical masterpiece at its climax. It’s not Italian opera which is so world-renowned, of course, but the hugs and kisses of Italian greetings certainly combine drama and symphony.

For Italians themselves, however, it’s cash that’s music to the ears. In a country where everyday people pay a 70% tax rate, the unrecorded cash transaction is lovely.

On two occasions during our recent travels the hosts of our accommodations surprised us with cash requests — to pay the bill for two nights at an ancient sea-abutting apartment in Scilla, and to pay for an enchanting evening meal during a farm-stay located down three miles of rocky, rutted two-track road through vineyards to the southwest tip of Sicily near Marsala.

The Italian artist from whom we purchased two dinner plates in Ravello, and who offered a deep discount if we would pay by cash rather than credit card, complained that taxes in Italy are too high and the public services too few in his dysfunctional country.

One of the obviously lacking  government services is law enforcement. Laws prohibiting parking here and passing there are ignored almost everywhere, as are speed limits. Stop signs and traffic signals appear to be open to individual interpretation by Italian drivers. And the rude and repeated blaring of their horns, well, that was not music to my ears.

In Sri Lanka, drivers tooted their horns lightly to inform me of their location and intentions. In Italy, drivers laid on their horns because they thought I was a horse’s ass…..“stupido” in the lovely local language.

JER