That Little Voice
That Little Voice
As I walked my doglets this morning, I was struck by the everyday routines people in this peaceful city enjoy.
On one street we passed a woman sweeping the sidewalk and the street in front of her casa. She is there every morning, dressed in a robe, and this morning a light jacket to keep her warm as she swept.
Daily washing and sweeping the walkway bordering your residence or business is customary, but cleaning the street is usually not. This woman, though, is dedicated to her morning ritual.
Young children, dressed in school uniforms and holding the hands of parents, wear masks, as they head to school, chatting away in that uncomplicated way that expresses excitement, anticipation, and eagerness a new day brings.
Sometimes the trek to the classrooms is a family affair: a mother and father, one carrying a baby, while the other has a hand wrapped around the youngster’s smaller one.
Dog owners leading their pets are prevalent on early mornings, giving their mutts the morning constitutional tour around the neighborhood, a colored plastic ‘poop’ bag tied to the leash. Most of these canines are street dogs, adopted by residents, neutered, collared, and restrained. However, it is not unusual to see strays that are not cared for. Thank goodness, many of the expats volunteer at the animal shelters hoping folks will come and adopt.
Construction workers arrive early for a day of labor, pounding brick walls with hammers, putting stucco on buildings, painting, laughing, but seldom grumbling. They are glad to have an income, even though it is minimal.
Several businesses are open before 8 a.m. including the small mom and pop bakeries tucked into the front room of their living quarters, and fresh fruit juice vendors serving just-squeezed oranges, mangos, and other tangy treats not from a can.
Cobbled stone streets make walking difficult for those of us who didn’t grow up balancing ourselves on the uneven ground. Natives stroll along talking, texting, seemingly oblivious to the dangers of twisted ankles or broken bones.
I learned early it is mandatory to watch where my feet are and where they need to be next. The rough terrain and my inattention caused a broken kneecap that landed me on a surgical table 3 years ago.
That was an interesting experience beginning at 10 a.m. when I hit the pavement knee first, got to the hospital, was xrayed, met with the surgeon, had surgery and was back in my hospital room by 10 p.m. I left the next morning after learning how to maneuver on crutches.
That is how lessons about cobbled street walking are learned. This town is known as the City of Fallen. Women, and I’m one of them.
The everyday routine of my life is enhanced by my early morning walks through my neighborhood, savoring the sounds, smells, and idiosyncrasies of my neighbors.