Lots of photos to post. Put some on my personal blog by mistake.
Here is info I wrote by sitting and watching people on a corner in Viterbo:
Smells are of food, gasoline smell and
coffee. There are the day tourists dragging their suitcases behind them as they
enter the gates of Porto Romano. A local man in his 60’s dressed in a striped
shirt and jeans and non-descript black athletic shoes is intently talking on
his cell phone and pacing the street. He has his cell phone in his ear, and
another device in his hand while he is texting with the same hand that is
holding the cell phone. Many motorcycles enter the gate with two smiling young
people on it. There is a conversation between a mama and two men in the middle
of the street, next to a car that is parked in a no parking zone. Most cars are
parked in no parking zones. People walking in are Italian. Their clothes are
modern, their shoes are pure leather and sandals look new. I hear the clash of
coffee cups being stored in the coffee shop next door. People are walking
around with purpose, on their way somewhere, but not in a rush. More teenagers
roll in on their mopeds, wearing tank tops, shorts and sandals with a helmet on
their head. A middle aged bald man walks by with his wife and a large red, long
haired dog on leash. One lady is strolling into the café with her shopping bag,
and greets the barista. Most cars have bird droppings on their hoods. A three
wheeled truck rolls by. It is green with an old man inside who has white wiry
hair and a red checked shirt. Most cars and trucks are very small, carrying one
or two persons. Larger cars are rare. A VW just passes, and I recognize the
silver car by its Winney the Pooh sun shades. It is the same man I saw
yesterday. His family was not in the car today. Here comes the Polizia. There
are two men in the vehicle. They look stiff and still as they drive by. The old
man with the two devices is now typing on one device and then switching to the
other one. He looks a bit frustrated. He paces back and forth in the empty
parking space. American music is coming from the café door of the coffee shop.
The bells chime at the church, a regular sound for the hour and a higher pitch
bell for the quarter hour. The old man lights a cigarette and smokes it
nerviously. He is fumbling on his pockets. He tries his phone call again, while
he taps his cigarette. He reaches his
party and talks while he paces the street in front of his house.
Caio
is heard as an older lady wearing a log dress leaves the cafee and walks
with her bag up the hill toward the Porta Romana gate.
Two cars drive by that look sparkling
clean. Their drivers look well shaved and clothes are finely pressed. Here
comes the city bus. And a smartcar with a lady driving who is smoking while she
is driving. She looks at me. Her black hair is pulled back and she has a white
t-shirt on. Her face has hard lines on it and she looks quite tan.
The mama lady now opens the back of
her car and the two men with her peer in to the back of the car. One of them is
carrying a box in his arms.
A breeze blows by and tosses the plant
branches on a potted plant by the door of the café. Two boys wearing bright
orange t shirts run by, chasing each other, enjoying the hills of Viterbo.
I smile, most smile back.
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