Tradizione

In my last post, I alluded to Naples being a place with Other Ways of Doing Everything. This is true on both a macro level — Italy in general runs differently to the United States — and on a micro level. Naples has its own rhythm and architecture to the day that make it different to the other major cities in Italy. As much as the city can feel like chaos, with time, certain patterns emerge, and they all boil down to one thing: Tradition, tradition! la la la la la la la la la TRADITION!

Naples is governed by a series of local traditions that seem as inevitable and immutable as the tides: coffee is drunk in a hurry standing at the counter; dinner doesn’t start before 8; restaurants are typically closed on Monday nights; nearly everything closes on Sunday in the early afternoon for family time, sacred to Italians; and every weekday, nearly every store and restaurant — and even the ferry services — close for the riposo.

The riposo is the three-hour period, usually between 1-4 pm (or so) during which the small businesses, and even some of the large ones, close for a long lunch for their employees. Gates come down, the streets empty, and even the traffic slows.

Before we left for Italy, I felt confident that I would adjust to the change of pace here. It will be easy, I thought. I just have to change my expectations, I thought. But even knowing the riposo existed didn’t mean I was actually…prepared. The first weeks after our move, I kept forgetting that stores would be closed, and would bounce out of the apartment, full of energy for an afternoon of pointing and miming at things I wanted to buy only to discover that even large electronics stores take the riposo (pro tip for newcomers, save your chores for the afternoon so you can do them while everything is closed). Eventually I learned to look up store hours before I left the apartment to avoid disappointment. I also discovered it was a good time to go grocery shopping (specialty vendors tend to close but the larger stores like Carrefour and Sole 365 stay open). Grocery stores are practically deserted during the riposo. You can park your shopping cart and weigh your fruits and vegetables as slowly as you want!

My opinion varies on whether the riposo as an institution is a benefit or a hindrance. Is the riposo a reminder that slowing down and spending time with family is the real priority? Is there a point to trying to fight through the hottest hours of the day (in summer, anyway) or is it more sensible to concede to the sun and spend time in the cooler indoors? Does slowing down the economy for three hours during the day contribute to Naples’ staggering unemployment rate? Would there be more jobs available if there were more working hours? Are Italians less stressed because they take more breaks? (The incessant smoking would suggest not.)

I initially started this post by describing the riposo as one of the biggest things to adjust to, but frankly, it’s ALL the biggest thing to adjust to. Language. Grocery stores. The driving. The unbelievable amount of dog sh*t. Leaving a familiar community. The change of identity that occurs when you leave a successful job that was the cornerstone of how you spent your days and become a housewife (maybe more on that in a different post). Some days are sunny, and the stove works and I can do two loads of laundry and have a successful conversation with la mia insegnante. Some days I confuse the waiter by asking for a “bicycle of water” at the coffee shop because I’ve mixed up all my Italian.

I’ve gotten used to the riposo now. I know what’s open — cafes, or bars, as they’re known here; aforementioned grocery stores; that weird dollar store where you can buy a toilet seat, electric kettle, art supplies, and fake flowers all at once — and what tends to close, so I don’t get so frustrated. There’s a romantic streak to the riposo, imagining families gathering at midday to eat nonna’s pasta and hear how the day is going before scattering again til the evening; something in the refusal to give into the go-go-go, never-stop-working attitude that characterizes 9-5 life on the East Coast. A kind of beauty in accepting life without certain conveniences because the local traditions still rule, and appreciating the quietude that descends while the city takes a collective breath.