How older women rule the country

It’s the passeggiata hour in Lanuvio, a small town south of Rome, and everyone is out and about.

Kids play football in the square, teenagers sprawl by the fountain while their parents drink spritzes in the bar. It looks like the whole town is in the piazza.

My young Italian friend, Isabella, agrees, then tells me to look up. High above us, the shutters in the tall apartment buildings are flung open. At almost every window, older women sit chatting to each other or observing the goings-on below.

Illustration: Jamie Brown

“Nonna security,” Isabella tells me. “Parents don’t have to worry about what their kids are up to when the nonnas are on duty.”

Wherever in Italy, I see elderly women. In the oldest parts of Naples, I spy them sitting by the windows of their apartments chatting to their neighbours, preparing food, or making coffee.

The streets are so narrow, they can see into each other’s homes. Some of them shout to shopkeepers, lowering their baskets from above to receive groceries. For those living on the ground floor, everyone passing by is fair game.

In Ferrara, I wander into a pharmacy hoping to get information about how to find a GP. A woman, no more than five feet tall and well into her 80s, appears from behind the counter. She listens to my story with concern, nodding her head, and gives me the address I need. But that’s not enough, she then takes a piece of paper and painstakingly draws me a squiggly map, escorts me to the door, points me in the right direction and waves goodbye, watching my every step. I couldn’t be in better hands.

When I book a homestay in Tuscany for two weeks, I try to explain to my 75-year-old host that I prefer to eat mostly vegetables, but I can see straight away she’s dubious. The first night she prepares an exquisite pasta dish with zucchini.

“Pasta vegetariana,” she says proudly, then sprinkles fried pancetta “for flavour” on top. I eat every mouthful. There is no more talk of being vegetarian.

Nonnas are forever visible in Italy.Getty Images

Back in Naples, a woman twice my age and half my size gives me the best bra fitting I’ve ever had, even if we mostly communicate via gestures. It’s a scene cheeky British comedian Benny Hill would have appreciated, but her delight in my satisfaction is real. Before the fitting is finished, two more women come into the salon and offer their advice. Between them, they have about 250 years of bra wisdom to share.

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Now that I’m looking for them, I see formidable elderly women everywhere. Riding bicycles – perfect hair and upright as ballerinas – drinking coffee, taking their dogs (and sometimes husbands) for the evening passeggiata, or proudly flaunting bikinis at the beach.

I’m fascinated by their ownership of the streets and wonder why, in a country that is often singled out for its sexist views, older women seem so visible. Maybe it’s because Italy has the oldest population in Europe, or because when you travel you see things you never notice at home. Maybe it’s wishful thinking. In any case, nonna-watching is now one of my favourite pastimes.

Venice, in the middle of August, is peak season and as I and other tourists board a crowded vaporetto, I see respect for older women in action. Two young men hold everyone back until a trio of tiny, ancient women with their shopping is guided off the boat and safely onto the pier.

The crew of the vessel has little regard for timetables – nonna always comes first.

The writer travelled at her own expense.