Without Using Our Words
COLLISION 00023
Dodging fat, heavy raindrops, I finally poked my head into the small shop I’d passed a few times while taking in the sights all around me. After a quick survey and scan, I immediately knew I’d be popping into this neighborhood gem often during my short stay in Vilnius’ Užupis neighborhood. Užupio had a little bit of everything I love – except skin-contact wine it seemed – an antipasti deli counter, a small but impressive assortment of cheeses and a fantastic selection of charcuterie and pâté. I could even buy a leg of Jamón Ibérico for 120E.
The shop offered other provisions like sweets, spices, Portuguese and Spanish teas, tinned fish, homemade pastas and crackers of all shapes and nationalities. There was also a solid lineup of Old World wines from Spain, France and Italy.
My mission the day I dropped by was simple: to stock up on little nibbles that could sustain me for the few days of writing I still had ahead. On this particular day, it had been easy to write tucked away inside without much guilt. I had slept poorly – again –
the night before. Ever since writing Tessera Ed. 76: Lessons in Jet Lag, I had feared I offended the powers that be. They were determined now to terrorize precious and taken-for-granted bedtime routines that had always run across my travels like pristine clockwork. The nights had not been kind to me.
Grumpiness and grogginess aside, the weather had given me permission, too, to stay indoors that day. Since arriving in Vilnius, its grey and gloomy sky had served up a lot of the same. Drizzle and more drizzle. It was either sunny drizzle or always-on drizzle interrupted only every now and then by a mad-raging downpour or a misleading and fleeting ray of sunshine.
The woman behind the counter at Užupio had a warm, approachable way about her. I’d been struggling since I got to Vilnius to make a connection with the city again or even the people around me. And I sensed something familiar with her that made me realize in our exchange how unusually homesick I had been feeling. I suspect this discomfort was more a function of the condition I arrived in and my not speaking the language than it was an indictment of the hospitality of the lovely Lithuanian people.
She patiently answered my silly questions as best she could, apologizing for not speaking much English. As if she had to apologize to me for that, when I was in her country without having learned as much as a thank you or goodbye.
What followed was the typical and humorous pointing, miming and gesturing. No, not that one. Up one. Now one over, toward the window. Nope, the other way. Yes! Yes, that one! Two pairs of smiling eyes locking in unbridled achievement.
It’s funny how much satisfaction and joy we can share with someone else simply by communicating what we mean without using our words. Using body language, facial expressions, posture and especially our eyes.
By the time she had rung me up, I had two different kinds of olives, a soft cheese, two cured meats, stuffed red peppers and Marcona almonds. When I had ordered the almonds, all she had to do at that point was wink and point at the truffle option. And so, I naturally took the truffle.
There was something about the limitations of language here, with her behind this deli counter and me hungry and open-minded on the other side of it, that made this experience feel both everyday and special.
A shared love of taste underscoring it all.
#ACollision
