The Neighbors Who Notice Everything

So the first time a neighbor asks a direct question, it can feel like a test.

By Neil Solomon · 3 min read

Picture a couple named Ruth and David. They move into an apartment block in a small town in southern Europe. On moving day, a woman from the second floor stands on the landing and asks where they are from, what David did for work, whether they own or rent and how much they paid. Ruth looks at David. David looks at the boxes.

I think most of us from the US, UK, Canada and Australia grew up with a different idea of what neighbors do. We nod. We wave. We keep our business inside. So the first time a neighbor asks a direct question, it can feel like a test.

What people describe

Across the stories I have read, the feelings run a long way.

Greece. One writer describes neighbors probing on moving day and feeling wary. Another finds the apartment block works like a small neighborhood court, where everyone has a view on the bins, the noise and the laundry. People joke about it, and I think the joke carries some affection.

Italy. A host's mother watches the guests. She does not hide it, and the guests find it funny.

Slovenia and Hungary. Villagers "spy," and some Americans keep their distance. In Hungary, one person says the gossip only becomes visible once you learn the language. Before that, it is just warm noise. Another person, an introvert and a careful guest, laughs about vineyard gossip and seems at peace with it.

Georgia and Armenia. In a port town in Georgia, one woman says everyone knows her. She sounds a little exposed by it. In Armenia, a person wanted to improve a shared courtyard, stuck with it, and the neighbors told her to go ahead.

Monaco. The odd one. One person describes it as a big city and a small town at once. You are known, and you are also surrounded by strangers.

How I read this

What stands out to me is that the same behavior is read two ways. A neighbor who asks your age and your rent may be sizing you up. Or she may be sorting out where you fit, so she knows how to help you.

I think much of the difference is in what happens next. In the stories that end well, the watchfulness turns into a casserole, a spare key or a warning about the plumber. In the stories that end less well, the person never answers back, and the neighbors never learn who they are.

Here is a moment I could imagine.

"She asked what we paid for the flat," Ruth says.

"What did you say?"

"I told her. Then she told me what hers cost, and what her sister's cost."

"So now we are even."

"Now she brought me soup."