One of the most enjoyable aspects of living in central Parma is the late afternoon ‘promenade’ that seems to involve all of the city folk. Thousands of people take to the streets and amble along, chatting and smoking, and window-shopping (which makes it easier to check out their reflection in the shop windows). Older people, dressed to the nines, holding hands or arm-in-arm, amble along and stop to chat to their friends and relatives. What makes it really wonderful is that there are few cars – the whole of the inner city area, as in most large cities in Italy and France, is restricted to residents’ cars. (There is not much off-street parking either, and parking on the street is prohibited in the central area – we had to park our hire car in a private garage about five minutes walk from the hotel). What little traffic there is carefully negotiates the pedestrians and the sidewalk cafes, and does not assume right of way. It’s wonderful.
The main hazard is the hundreds of bicycles. Everyone rides a bike: we saw great-grandmothers, businessmen in suits, women dressed to the nines (even in high-heels and short skirts), some with a child on the back, some with a child on the front as well, all pedalling along, balancing bags of shopping, mobile phones and cigarettes.
I felt completely safe wandering around, even at night on my own. Periodically we would hear a bunch of approaching teenagers and brace ourselves for the kind of yobbo aggression that we have come to expect from that age group in Australia. But instead they would invariably be chatting or comparing clothes and sometimes even bursting into song – with harmonies!
Meanwhile, at dusk the sidewalk cafes were full of locals taking aperitifs before continuing the journey home or to a restaurant. There was no intention to get drunk or compete with each other, no ugly sexual overtones. Just gentle people enjoying each other’s company. It was so relaxed and therefore relaxing. We thought this ambience was something special that coincided with the Verdi Festival (and the Caravaggio exhibition), but everyone we spoke to said that Parma was like this all the time – lots happening and very cosmopolitan.
Under our window, on the steps of the Baptistery or at the corner of the Piazzo Duomo, we were serenaded every day by a rotation of two busking piano accordionists. One, in particular, was so talented that I raced to the window every time. He had a dazzling repertoire, which included a Bach fugue, several Gershwin pieces and, most gobsmackingly, Flight of the Bumblebee – at top speed. His accordion was massive and must have weighed 20+ kilograms, but he wielded it like a flute. Each piece was played with a base line and chords using his left hand, and at least one melody and harmony line with his right. As far as I could tell, he was note-perfect. I don’t know what his average daily takings were (he collected it in a battered taped-up yoghurt container) but I hope he was well compensated. We donated a small superannuation over the two weeks.
Competing for our attention on the steps of the Baptistery most evenings was a couple of young lovers, canoodling and snuggling in the romantic late afternoon light. It was just too, too perfect.
To be continued...
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