Standing in my skinny kitchen, washing the dishes, I heard a couple of women talking. I looked out my kitchen window and its security bars, across the long, common courtyard and saw two women chatting, five floors up, at the corner elbow of the building.
This must be the Italian city equivalent of “talking over the fence”, like I do with my neighbors back at home.
I ran to grab my camera, leaned over the sink of sudsy water, shot between the bars on the window and caught a couple of images of women that have likely been telling stories from balcony-to-balcony for years.
I pushed my camera to its max and caught what might have been a moment of shocking news.
Do you think they also get together for a coffee or snack, in the same room, now and then?
Living in an Italian apartment, a “casa”, I’m privy to moments of “real life” that I wouldn’t be if I were isolated and insulated in a traveler’s residence or long stay hotel. I just go about my day like “the rest of the Italians”.
