CHANDLER: When parting is such sweet sorrow
The social act of visiting one’s friends at said friends’ home is fine, courteous and civil. However, there are rules to be observed and they vary from place to place.
It’s the arrival and departure, rather than the in-between, that gets sticky.
When I was a newcomer to life in Lima, a Peruvian friend invited me to lunch. The invitation read 2 p.m., so I was on her doorstep on the dot. Quite surprised to see me, the lady of the house was still in her bathrobe.
After effusive apologies and explanations, she left me to cool my heels on the couch while she finished her preparations. Enter the majordomo with a silver tray. “Senora, please to drink the purple corn,” he said.
Surely not. My Spanish was below par so I probably misunderstood. The drink was indeed purple. And fruity and tasty. Then I dozed off for a bit.
A couple of decades later, more guests arrived, the hostess descended in full bloom and lunch commenced. I was not in best form after my nap. My hair was as flat as a pancake, my mascara was a running river and my cheeks were pillow-marked.
This tale is true, mostly. Forty years is ages for total recall. But some facts are indisputable: I did arrive way too early, the drink called “chicha morada” is made with purple corn and I did get sleepy from waiting so long.
Fashionably tardy is the norm in Lima and punctual Americans are the ab-norm. For a person obsessed with the clock, this was a painful adjustment.
I soon caught on. Always arrive late, according to “la hora norte-americana” and you will be just right for “la hora Peruana.”
Now to Texas customs. The departure after a soiree has its own set of rules, especially in our neck of the woods. (Could be Southern manners that we inherited — or perhaps customs from the rugged West. I don’t know.)
This scenario may sound familiar.
The meal, the after-dinner coffee and the chitchat are running out of steam.
“Well,” says the guest, “I’d better …”
“Oh, no, no, no! You must stay a few more minutes. You just got here,” says the hostess.
“If you insist …”
After a decent interval, the guest stands up again and looks longingly toward the door. “You folks have sure been great, but I reckon …”
“What? It’s still early. Surely you have nothing better to do!”
“ I’ve really got to run, but — but sure, well, fine.”
An hour later, the guest has made it to the door.
The chat continues as the guest and hosts inch like dripping molasses down the walk. “Don’t be a stranger. Come again soon and stay longer next time.”
“Yes, yes, thank you, thanks, much appreciated, well, now …”
A flurry of hugs and handshakes and then goodbye waves until the company is out of sight. That’s top-drawer hospitality. Exhausting, but what can one do? It is considered rude otherwise.
I wonder what the grand dame of etiquette Emily Post would say to such cultural differences, where Peruvians run on a different timetable and where we can’t bid farewell. She would undoubtedly advise, “When in Rome, do as the Romans,” which is about the only way to survive the shock, even if it involves drinking purple corn, alcoholic or non.
But for West Texans, we’ll stick to Shakespeare’s “Parting is such sweet sorrow” when company prepares to depart.
And now I must say goodbye.
I really must.
Chandler, a retired teacher and librarian, is a native West Texan.
