On the day we left Sorrento last spring, I took a moment to breathe in the Mediterranean from our hotel room one more time. Twenty-two hours of travel time laid before us, and soon enough we would be back to the mania that is modern life.
The drive from Sorrento around the coastline to the Naples airport is a mere 33 miles, but locals advise allowing two hours for traffic. Our 7am departure precluded the complimentary breakfast buffet, but my husband nicked two cornetti al cioccolato in a paper napkin for us to stuff down before our car arrived.
We were both mid-bite when our driver pulled up. Immediately, we both turned away to hide our eating, not wanting to be those Americans. But instead of judgment, the driver simply said:
piano, piano . . .
He gently encouraged us to take our time with our croissants before setting off on the long car ride.
I saw the word piano several times in Italy, often referring to the floor of a building. But I also overheard others say it, and usually as two words: piano, piano. More than one waiter uttered the phrase. (I could’ve died of old age before a server would bring a bill unbidden.)
In Italy, piano, piano is a directive to slow down.
But in real life I only have one speed, and it is not slow. Even when I have no good reason to rush, I struggle with resisting the urge to speed through life.
Even the scooter set hums on a different vibration in Sorrento
But I do go slow on vacations. Perhaps this is why I am not the first person to wish I could just chuck it all and live in whatever land I am visiting. But finances and family and all manner of practicalities prevent that from happening.
This time, the souvenir I wanted to bring home was not an object but an orientation. Now that I am back in the daily hustle, I have taken to repeating piano, piano whenever I am feeling particularly speedy. And in that moment, I am reminded of a place and a people not constantly running at 1.2X speed.
More views of Sorrento