Week 4 – Image 2

 

Postcards, greeting cards with funny cats, cheap toys for children line the walls of the souvenir shop at Piazza Mercato.  I choose several of the hill in front of the Archaeological Museum.  I tell my friends and family I stayed in an apartment one block downhill from the view on the postcard.  It’s hard for even me to believe.  Spoleto’s aesthetics seem frozen in time until a trash truck rumbles by or I spy a parent correcting her child with “pasta.”  The word for stop in Italian is basta, but my ears hear pasta.  I have never eaten pasta on a daily basis before coming to Italy.  For the past several years my fingernails have split, staying short and messy.  Since I came to Spoleto and have had the great pleasure of eating at Bar Duella regularly, they have flourished long and strong. It has to be the pasta.