Deserted back streets of Bologna, Italy.
Yesterday was the Italian festival of Ferragosto or Assumption Day, and as I wondered the streets of Bologna, visiting churches, admiring the buildings, the back streets, I reflected on this festival, of how friends were getting together, in their homes, the beaches, the mountains, any where other than the hot streets of Bologna, and how I was alone with my own thoughts.
Interior of Convento Padri Agostiniani, Bologna, Italy
I also noticed other people walking by themselves, and wondered why they were alone, what was going through their mind, and decided just to smile at people as they passed.
I was happy as I got a reaction, they smiled back.
I walked on, and what little Italian I know, I decided to use.
I gave a smile and said “Buongiorno” (good morning), and that also created a reaction, a reply of “Buongiorno“.
Perhaps I was raising the spirits of the others like me, walking the streets alone.
But that was as much as I conversed in italian, until I got to a gelateria, an ice cream parlour, seen on nearly every Italian street corner.
I love my gelato, my Italian ice cream. (see the articles on Jack Frost, Milano), and in the 35 degree heat, I decided on buying a cup.
Walking slowly down some of the 42 km of arched walkways, I savoured every spoonful, my mind concentrating on not missing one mouthful of the gelato, when two very beautiful young ladies overtook me, then stopped and turned back towards me, speaking in Italian.
Via Zamboni arches, Bologna, Italy
My heart jumped, two wonderful young Italian ladies, by boat had arrived.
Then my heart hit my shoes, I did not understand a word. My attempts at talking Italian gave a bewildered look on their faces, “Non parle italiano, sono inglese“, (I don’t speak Italian, I am English).
With a shrug of their shoulders, they turned, and walked away, leaving me alone again, but happy with my gelato and my own thoughts.