Passing Fancy

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The barista at a little café told me that, yes, of course Eboli has a passeggiata. When the restoration started in the square, the passeggiata shifted to the nearby Corso Umberto, a street lined with pizzerias and clothing shops (no Missoni here, but lots of maternity clothes), whose main adornment was a newly installed bronze statue of Carlo Levi "in appreciation," its plinth noted sardonically, "of notoriety conferred." Within a few hours, it was full of strolling people.

I stood near one end of the route (a nondescript stretch of pavement where the flow doubled back on itself) and watched. After a few laps, I realized that I kept seeing the same people, but in different combinations. Here came a blond woman pushing a stroller. Next lap, she was arm in arm with a younger woman, and the stroller was nowhere to be seen. Later, they’d been joined by an old lady who was pushing the stroller. Next, the three women were surrounded by men, jackets draped over their shoulders, smoking cigarettes.

I couldn’t manage the dignified saunter they all affected with such grace. I would speed up involuntarily and crawl up the heels of a pair of lovers or overshoot the end of the passeggiata course. But when I just stood and watched, I appreciated, as I never had before, that the Italian verb passeggiare––to walk—contains the root of the word passage: an oceanic journey, a royal progress, the ebb and flow of time.

From Civilization (Aug./Sept. 2000). Subscriptions: $20/yr.(6 issues) from Box 420352, Palm Coast, FL 32142.

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