Evening star., 1953-10-25
BY Mary McGroy

| A'hS
About all you have to do to
enjoy yourself in Italy is to go
there. The Italians will take
care of the rest. Ignorance of
the language is no particular
barrier-a drama-loving people
act out street directions with an
operate wealth of gesture,
sketching in fountains and
churches on the way. You don't
have to worry about the proper
-------~-~------~
Miss MeGrory, guest columnist this week
for the Travellers Notebook and one
Of The Stor's book critics, hos just
returned from the Lnnd Of Virgil.
Donte and Roberto RosseIlini.
attitude to assume toward the
natives, which is currently a
problem in some European coun-
tries. Through the centuries
Italians have gotten used to hav-
ing strangers around and deal
with them on person-to-person
basis.
And if you should unaccount-
ably weary of looking at the
blue skies, punctuated with
dark-green cypress trees, or the
fabulous art treasures, you can
always retire to a sidewalk cafe
and take in the street scene. In
spite of everything the tempo of
life is still strictly "allegro vi
vace."
Overpowerine Crowds
In fact, the vitality and VOL
ume of the crowds that boil
through Italian squares from
early morning until late at
night is slightly overpowering
to the visitor from quieter climeS.
It is also unnerving, at first, to
watch them talk. Italians con-
verse, apparently about the
weather, with an intensity that
we reserve for war or murder,
and you are sure that every en-
counter is going to end in a
nasty scene. But if you watch
long enough you will see that
these exchanges, carried on with
upraised hands and flashing
eyes, terminate swiftly in
lightninglike exchange of smiles
and fierce handclasps.
Finally in Rome, after witness
ing waiter and a chef threaten,
as I thought, to kill each other,
and discovering that the waiter
was just asking for hot coffee,
I asked an EngliSh-Speaking
Italian girl how you could tell
when her countrymen were really
upset. She smiled and dis
missed the question, and a few
days later I found out why.
Highway Incident
We were in sightseeing bus
coming from Tivoli, and our
driver, by leaning on one of
those hunting horns that add so
much to the din of Roman high
ways, had edged a truck driver
to the side of the road. The
truck driver, plainly furious,
leaned out of the cab, shaking
his fist and shouting. AS he did
so, he spotted a lady in the back
of the bus who caught his fancy,
and the clenched fist f1oWered
into gallant wave and daz-
zling smile burst through his
scowlS.
The response of Italian men
to the sight of any woman be-
tween the ages of Is and so has
been quite widely advertised, but
for once publicity fails to pre-
pare one for the fact. The
plainest American woman after.
a week of being scrutinized and
followed around begins to feel
like Rita Atomica," as the
Italians affectionately label the
lady who at this writing is Mrs.
Dick Haynes. Junior walters
in the best-run hotels are always
lowering over the table of the
lady tourist, brushing off nom
existent crumbs and unnecessar-
lily rearranging the salt and pep
per to ask her what she's doing
after dinner. The headwaiters
are kept rushing around ner-
vously, sternly calling out, "Gior-
gio!" Giovanni"
My first morning In Rome I
observed an Italian riding BIZ
cycle down one of the busiest
streets of the city. He had a
six-foot ladder over one shoul-
der and a pail of cement over
the handle-bar, but these bur-