It is not hard to realize that Spoleto is unique; within its architecture, its culture, etc. Though it is the people, the craft of their beings, that make Spoleto truthfully remarkable. The architecture here was created by humans thousands of years ago. The kindness to be found in those willing to converse with, and to study further about, Americans is exceptional. Those who make our food with such delicacy, curating fresh elements of nature to compose their delicious craft are sent from heaven. It is each inspiring moment, each piece of generosity, of creativity, that composes the delight of places like Spoleto.
Downtown has to be one of my favorite places on Earth. Little stores, owned by people who have been there, celebrating their craft for centuries, fill each road. It is not only the quality of the pieces, yet the quality of the people; the quality of the experience, the ability to adapt to life here, that truthfully makes this place unique.
On one of my first days here, I found myself leaving the group to go shopping for jewelry in the main square downtown. My eyes were instantly caught by the table of silver jewelry, sitting outside of this small, slightly hidden jewelry store. It did not take long for me to engage in subtle conversation with the owner. I told her I was from Massachusetts, not too far from Boston; I watched her expression entirely change. She then told me that she had studied the speech of an island about an hour ferry ride from my hometown. Eagerly, she enlightened my friend and I about the different distinctions in the speech between the northern and southern halves of Martha’s Vineyard.
Though it was only my first day experiencing life in this small town, I had already found a small piece of home. It is the comfort of the locals, the kindness and welcoming nature of each shop owner, that allows for those passing through Spoleto to feel at ease. Their generosity, their willingness to engage with us tourists despite their limited English vocabulary, will truthfully leave a lasting impression.
The next day, I found myself out shopping with a group of the girls. After trekking uphill for half an hour, we stumbled upon a leather shop. The second I walked in, a wallet, with a horse engraved on it caught my attention; I needed to buy it for my father. It was 40 euros, which was fairly cheap; seeing as though something of that quality would have been triple the price in America.
“45 years I been here.” He told me, as I complimented each item in the shop.
“I started in the 70s.” He said.
He tried to describe a life’s worth of tribulations, of which led to his devotion to his craft through broken English. Though we could hardly communicate, he took the initiative to try his best to tell me his story. For the rest of the day, I showed off my new purchase, receiving compliments left and right. I encouraged my friends to go and check out his creations. I carried the weight of his story, the story of which I could hardly understand, in my heart as the night continued.
It is hard to find such warmth, such authenticity in a world like today’s. The United States’s profit is composed of imported goods. There, people work for a living, rather than for their being; for their soul. Meeting so many artists who have found such hope, such prosperity within their crafts gives me inspiration for the future. It is those who I have encountered here that ultimately have shown me that it is more than okay to pursue my passions; that life should be spent worthwhile, rather than by the dime.
Being in Spoleto has taught me the benefits of slowing down. The effects of taking time for yourself and taking each day as it is. We Americans are often rushed; we have always been told to focus on what’s next. Though stepping out of my comfort zone, I have realized that that is not what is important. It is the beauty to be found within each moment, the interactions we have, and the experiences we face that truthfully determine who we are. I hope to not be the same person I was before I left. I hope to venture home from my journey with the same appreciation I now carry for the little things. I hope to one day, truthfully, live like the Italians.
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