First Week

I've been here on my own for one week now, well done me...

Living in the North End is not living in Italy.  But it is - in some ways - rather like living in Italy.  I would imagine.

There is a man who lives down the street who, every Sunday, takes a plastic lawn chair and sits on the corner and listens to Frank Sinatra while watching the world go by.  There are Catholic churches and shops that sell handmade leather shoes, and thinly sliced meats, and cafes where you can buy a latte in the morning and an espresso after noon.  Laundry hangs across the back streets (although why, when it rains every other day, I'm not quite sure).  I went into the local supermarket and asked where I could buy a mezzaluna and a passatutto, and not only did the checkout girl know what I was talking about, she knew where to direct me.  Turns out the hardware store across the street had what I was looking for, in addition to terracotta flower pots and potholders with little Italian flags on them. 

And while you're just as likely to hear a tourist group speaking English - or French, or Japanese - as you are Italian...and while it looks like it's going to rain six out of the next seven days (and not rise above 65 degrees even once)...while it seems like it's primarily the over-fifties that are immersed in the recreation of Old Country lifestyle...well, va bene - I am crossing back over the Atlantic by degrees.