Baci Baci

It is a strong misconception that Italians kiss everyone they meet on both cheeks. We think it is their custom. My experience is that an Italian will not unless they know you and have some sort of relationship with you. Most Italians do not actually put their lips to your cheek unless you are dear to them and/or they trust you. They kiss the air and cheeks never touch let alone lips on the cheek.

This story is told specifically about a man who has become my friend…ever so slowly. Our friendship has been developing for about a year and it has had some very clear and definite stages. The way this friendship has progressed is indicative of how most friendships go between Americans and the Italians, I think. They grow slowly, take firm root, and blossom into a mighty oak that will endure into the ages.

Antonio is probably in his early 50s. I have never asked. I don’t want to offend. He is a small man, perhaps 5’4” tall, slim, dark olive skin. He is always immaculately dressed; his outfit always finished with a sport coat. His voice is a deep bass, smooth like viscous oil that flows around and envelopes you. Antonio and I see each other every day in the parking garage as we are coming to work and as we are leaving work. We are both creatures of habit and park in the same spot every day. We arrive at about the same time & we depart at about the same time.

Stage 1: Staring. Yes, I did say staring. Neapolitans are famous for this. They are very curious about things and look…intensely. I never know what to do when I am faced with the staring so I just smile which is usually met with a stern look. This stage may never end. Frankly, it gets old.

Stage 2: Acknowledgement. You can expect a head nod, no smile. That’s it. This stage can last several weeks or even months. If you get this far, you are getting somewhere.

Stage 3: A word. Out of the blue your paths will cross and you will expect a head nod (without a smile) but instead you will be graced with a Buon Giorno AND a head nod. Honestly, when I hit this stage with Antonio I really felt I had made some progress.

Stage 4: A Helping Hand. Daily I walk to my car burdened with some box or bag. I knew my friendship with Antonio had taken a new step when he grabbed my box from me and carried it to my car admonishing me the whole way about us Americans and all the bags and boxes we carry. "Why do we need so much stuff?" When I opened my trunk exposing two old rickety beach chairs, he laughed. I couldn’t understand why so I asked what was so funny. He said that I am so typical American. We ALL have beach chairs in the backs of our cars. I laughed to and then I wondered…do we? Every time we see each other since that moment there is comfortable discourse about jobs or life or his wonderful vacation with his family on the Island of Ischia. We have been building a foundation of friendship and trust.

Stage 5: A touch. Italians are funny if you touch them without being invited. The friendly American touch of an arm or a hug is not really welcomed here. Antonio and I hit stage 5 yesterday as I was leaving work. I got to my car as he was pulling out of his parking space and of course, I stopped him to say goodbye. As he was leaving he put his hand, palm up, on his windowsill. It looked like he wanted my hand so I put mine on his. He squeezed slightly and said see you tomorrow. That was that.

Stage 6: Baci Baci. Today I arrived in the parking garage as he was walking away from his car. He waited for me to gather my things. I approached him with my normal “HELLO & GOOD MORNING!” and I was greeted with a gentle kiss on each cheek.

I have arrived; I have finally arrived. Why? How? I don’t know. Apparently I stepped over some invisible line of trust. Perhaps it happened during this week when I had a cart full of boxes to haul to my car and the parking garage elevator was out of order. I was taking the boxes back up to the office when he stopped me and insisted he carry them to my car. I said no, over and over, because the boxes were not light, there were many of them so it would take more than one trip, and I was parked on the 3rd level. He kept insisting so I told him he was stubborn. He did not understand that word so I explained as best I could. He said, “NO, I am not that way. I just want to help you. I just want to help.” He walked with me part of the way back to my office and as we were parting ways he said in his thick fluidy accent, “At the end of the day when you need help with those boxes, I will not help you,” and promptly stuck his tongue out at me. I laughed. Hard. Perhaps that was a test and line that was crossed.