An Italian Daydream: Dancing In the Stillness

We were starving, tired and seeking shelter from the rain. The further we wandered from our usual territory around the duomo, the darker and narrower the streets became. After rounding a particularly sharp left corner with Italians zipping by on scooters like flies I saw it in the distance.

A small building glowing with warm light, emitting laughter. I strained my eyes and could barely make out a single empty table toward the back of the restaurant. When our ragtag group of four crossed the threshold, we were instantly surrounded by the lyrical hum of rapid-fire Italian. 

At this point, we had only been studying in Florence for a few weeks, and our Italian was rusty at best. The hostess tried not to grimace as we butchered her melodious language. The wait staff wasn’t exactly warm at first. The restaurant was jam-packed with Italians, and they clearly weren’t used to a group of American students wandering through the doors.

After we were seated, our waiter seemed to deliberately serve all of the tables around us and didn’t approach us to take a drink order for nearly 20 minutes. Initially, we defaulted to our typical-American perspectives. “Why is this taking so long?” and “Should we just leave?” bounced around the table. 

We decided to stick around, and I’m so glad that we did. 

After the waiter walked over to our table, he became visibly warmer when he saw that we were attempting to learn his language. He gently guided us through the menu and asked us about our travels. While the food and wine were incredible (as they often are in Italy), it was the slow-paced, delayed-gratification, hard-work-paid-off experience that made this my favorite dinner in Florence.

We drank and talked about everything from love to books and religion as our fellow restaurant-dwellers trickled out. We laughed and nodded and eyebrow-crinkled and, eventually, looked up to realize we were the last people in the restaurant. This night revealed to me my very favorite part of life in Italy, the leisurely waltz of dinner.

Once the waiter noticed our glances around he came back up to the table. We quickly began apologizing and peppering the air with “mi dispiace,” which the waiter met with a smile. “Non c’è fretta,” or no hurry, he said, and I could instantly tell that he truly meant it. Here, three-hour dinner debates are commonplace. No waiter trying to rush you out or a long line of reservation-listers tapping their toes in your direction. The dinner table in Italy is a business transaction. Once you sit down, there’s an unspoken agreement that the table belongs to you for the night. 

When I think back on my time in Italy, my mind floods with fond memories. Through the sound of echoing cathedrals and the magical rolling Tuscan countryside, the memory of this night rings the clearest.  

One of my favorite books of poems is T.S. Eliot’s “Four Quartets.” In the first of four poems, Eliot writes, “At the still point, there the dance is.”

As someone who prefers to live her life in constant motion, the message that I learned from this dark, wet night in Florence was simple. Take a minute to slow down and take a deep breath occasionally, it's the only way to enjoy the breathtaking dance of life in all of its entirety.

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