'The air chilled in the early evening. As shopkeepers pulled their heavy wooden doors shut, the streets grew crowded with villagers on their way home for supper. This was the time of the spassiaturu, dialect for passeggiata.
Every city, town, and village in Italy has an unstated but universally understood time during which the entire population emerges from their houses in their evening best. No one discusses it; no one makes appointments to meet anyone; they all just converge to find one another out on the street.'
from Stolen Figs by Mark Rotella
