After having lived here in Italy for over 10 years, we’re familiar to the locals. We are known. Often, we’ve wondered if many Italians are really shy, since they seem reserved until they get to know you. Then, once you’re familiar, predictably present and pleasant, you get the true Italian “touch.”

Generally speaking, Italians are “touchy.” No, I don’t’ mean fragile or prone to emotional outbursts. I mean they love to touch you as they speak.  This “touch privilege” takes many different forms that I’ve either observed or experienced. It starts with hello.

“Buon’giorno, good day!” A hand reaches out to clasp yours and then they lean in for a kiss on each cheek. As conversation continues, there may be a light touch to my elbow, as if to indicate that I’m about to be told something important or perhaps a piece of “insider information.” There may be a pat to the forearm to get my attention, as though I might have mentally wandered off and need to return to the here and now so I don’t miss something interesting. Our friend, Giuliana, takes hold of my forearm and leans in when she speaks—even though we’re sitting together, side by side and I’m clearly going nowhere.

We ask the brothers, Manuele and Fabio, at the hardware store if we can take their picture and one wraps the other in a quasi-embrace for the camera. They work together, spend hour after hour in their cozy little shop, but when they stand together, they come into contact with each other.

Fiorella, our favorite bank teller comes from behind her glass enclosure for double-cheek kisses. She jokes with us about returning like spring birds after a long cold winter. We laugh as we imagine tellers at banks in the US offering such greetings and levity. It’s a real treat when we have some bank business to take care of.

Today, our friend Giuliano was visiting a local restaurant where he collects day-old bread that he will give to the local shepherd for the flock. He’s glad to see us and his eyes twinkle. Then he touches my elbow and invites us inside to prendere un bel caffè, take a coffee with him. As we stand at the bar he tells us of a local pizzeria that he thinks is especially good. He takes hold of my forearm and adds that their seafood and pasta dishes are good too. That simple touch is the physical equivalent of an underline, or an exclamation point.

The other day, we went into Florence for a little visit with our dermatologist, Dr. Mastrolorenzo. He reached over to Emerson’s forearm several times during our 20-minute visit to emphasize what he was saying. He also patted Emerson’s hand as a gesture of reassurance and comfort. Not that he needed comfort, it was clearly Dr. M’s personal style, which was sweet and caring. We later chuckled together as we thought about our very capable and efficient doctor in the US. A pat on the arm? Never. How could she? She’s busy entering facts into her laptop. Science first.

During an impromptu lunch at the trattoria around the corner, I watched a young couple enjoy their meal. Then at one point in their conversation, he reached out and tapped the center of her forehead. She smiled and his finger lingered, pressed into her bangs. That gesture is a new one for me and I can’t begin to imagine what it might have meant—apparently a good thing.

Then later in the afternoon, which begins at 3 pm, we stopped by Torre al Sasso to talk with Luciaabout an upcoming dinner. As we got out of the car, she practically ran to greet us, with double-cheek kisses. As she talked, she touched. She gestured and laughed. She shared some details of her life with sighs and shrugs. Her heart was on her sleeve. Then she reached out and held my arm. And for that moment, we had a connection that can’t be described. It was as though communication had become something profound, and much more important—through touch.

Yes, Italians are definitely touchy people. They are touching people.

I am touched.

Posted on May 14, 2011

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