At 8 kilometers from Casa Lanzarotti, Borgotaro is our closest town with those convenient conveniences such as banks, stores, and coffee shops. We piled into the snow covered Renault Kangoo, each with an agenda of what Borgotaro could promise.
Gian-Luca wanted new work shoes; Hans, the father-in-law, wanted an espresso; Maria, my fellow wwoofer, wanted fancy facial soap; and I wanted postcards and postage stamps. For a town supporting a population of 10 thousand, I was certain this wouldn’t be a problem.
Looking down the main street of Borgotaro, patrons walk with umbrellas giving an occasional burst of color to the otherwise brown faced buildings and white covered streets. I sneak into a pastry shop and am bombarded by sensual delights: the smell of fresh baked goods, the candy treats on display, and the warmth of the heated air. Next I’m lured into a deli that is lined with cheeses and cold cuts, cookies and crackers, wine and grappa, olives and today’s choice of cooked items; the presentation alone is bellissimo and I stand staring embarrassingly long. This is Italy!
But duty calls and I make my way to the post office. While I am pleased to see that the building is of a distinguished size, there is one lone post office employee and the line moves slowly. And because the lone post office employee works alone, he frequently breaks - perhaps to recuperate. Eventually at the window, I show him my postcards but am told to return tomorrow. They have no stamps.
“What do you mean they have no stamps!? It’s a post office!”
“I believe they are doing inventory.” Maria suggests.
“I believe they forgot to order them.” Gian-Luca corrects.
And so we go get a coffee instead.
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