Quiet Civility

    I think it's safe to say England is a country without a soundtrack. Unless the gentle patter of rain on your bedroom window counts. Which it doesn't. Because that's nature, not man. 

   It is so quiet here after Italy I can hardly believe it. How can one of the biggest cities in the world -- a sprawling metropolis of some 8 million people -- be so much quieter than the side of a hill in central Italy?

   Because the Brits wouldn't have it any other way. They wouldn't want to impose.

   When I woke up this morning just after dawn, I couldn't hear anything except the distant white-noise drone of planes starting to take off from London's Heathrow airport. And it's not like we're out in the country here. We're in London, only a five-minute walk from our local "high street" and less than ten minutes from the nearest Underground station.

    It's a busy area. But we're on a residential side street of terraced houses -- like most of the rest of this town. And nobody would dream of making any noise until at least 9 a.m. And then only if they really couldn't help it. 

    I thought of my neighbor's dog in Italy, who barks at the slightest noise any time of the night or day. In Italy, people mostly keep their dogs outside, as guard dogs to protect them from robbers. They're supposed to bark like mad. That's their function.  

    On my street here in London, lots of people have dogs. I've seen them, but never heard one of them -- not even once.

    In Italy, life is punctuated by routine. Pretty much everyone still closes their shops at 1:30 p.m. for the afternoon where I am, so every day at about that time, it's a crescendo of shutters closing. 

   Here, people don't do things en masse. There's no national routine.  

   The Brits are quieter, unassuming people, who don't interrupt. They keep their emotions in check (unless they've had too much to drink  --   more about that later). They think a beautiful day is one where the sun comes out every now and again.

   In Italy, a beautiful day is when the sun blazes all day long, the sky is acquamarine blue and you get to top up your tan. Italians talk loudly. Everyone talks over each other. They complain about anything they can think of, the second they think of it.

    Americans are loud too. 

    So, here I am, back in the land of quiet, stoic people. 

    A loud Italian-American from Naples who loves her summer tan. Emotional as can be. Someone who wears her heart on her sleeve. And has no problem baring her soul.

    Mt. Vesuvius is back. And it's raining. 

    I feel sorry for my husband.