It is always busy here during the warm summer nights. Old men and women stroll together; street vendors sell knock-off goods on large gray bedsheets so they can easily make a sack from the four corners and run for it when the Guardia Finanza (the financial police) show up; gypsies peddle plastic flowers to diners in the outdoor cafe and beg for money; lovers are draped across one another on the cement benches and pressed along the seaside wall.
The shoe parade alone is worth the visit: girls and women teeter along the cobblestones on the most impossible platform heels, looking for all the world that they hardly notice the beribboned, strappy, leather and vinyl torture devices they've strapped to their feet. They seem equally deliberately oblivious to the fact that their makeup is perfectly applied ("I just woke up looking like this"). The men still comb and spray their hair high, Fonzie style. Their pants are like some badly-conceived costume from a B-grade sci-fi movie: high waist, tight on the calves, baggy on the thighs, and a crotch that rides towards the knees. From behind, they look like penguins. I would have to be all kinds of desperate before I began seeing this as an attractive display of masculinity.
Then, there are the children. Of all ages. It's Neverland here: night activities last well until 2 or 3 AM. Tonight, there were pint-sized footballers. They absolutely cracked me up. All ages seemed to be involved: from four to twelve years old, playing their hearts out on an open stretch of pavement. Fancy footwork, and equal effort regardless of gender. One cheeky ten-year-old girl with an enormous gut overhanging too-tight pants huffed along after the ball with as much enthusiasm as the slimmest boy. No real conversation. Just concentration, and cheering with every goal.
There was one anomalous fellow of around 30 (wearing penguin pants) who was probably the father of one of the kids. It would seem that he should be mediating - ensuring that everyone got their fair play. But was he being a grown up? Absolutely not! He was playing his heart out, too. Taking the ball from the people half his size. He wasn't pulling any punches! At first I felt indignant. How dare he do this? He had an obvious advantage. But then I noticed that I didn't have anything to worry about. The little ones were holding their own just fine against him. Maybe there was a method to his madness: no coddling. Just play the game.
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