(PHOTO ABOVE: Our ‘Local’ Barbershop. Closed Mondays.)
Some people have to go long distances to get a little glimpse of culture (As defined: “…the customs, arts, social institutions, and achievements of a particular nation, people, or other social group.”) Some travel far and wide to go to Cathedrals, to Museums, Vineyards. Some take hundred mile magical walks across vast expanses – and such. Me? I took a walk about two hundred meters from my apartment to get a haircut from Patricchio. I paid 18 Euro (about $18 ) and got all the culture I could take in for a month.
It’s a two chair set-up. Thomasso, his son and partner, was not there at the time. The music was Vivaldi – at least I think it was Vivaldi. Halfway through, Patriccio got tired of whatever the music was and changed it to a Brandenburg Concerto – very nice). He asked me when I was going to have my hernia operation. I had no idea how he knew I needed one. My Italian is not fluent enough to banter on about things like that. But in this town it seems everybody knows about whatever is going on with everybody else. A few minutes later he told me his wife had been sick for a long while, and had recently passed away. He said she was now in a nice place and out of pain. Then he told me he was not afraid of death but was afraid of suffering. I told him I was afraid of both – at least I think that is what I said. Across the street there is the town’s church. The big bells started to ring. loud bells ringing a mournful sound. The bells were ringing in the news of funerals taking place that day…Four of them. “It is the Season”, Patriccio said quietly, as he clipped away. A man, a “Local”, came in and said something to Patriccio – about the bells, I think it was – and they hugged and the man went on his way. After he brushed me off he said he thought my wife would like the result- but if she did not – I could come back and he would fix it.
Who needs to go to Rome and see a Colosseum? Or go the the Louvre and see Mona Lisa? I’m learning a lot about mankind just sitting here in my barber’s chair
