In a Certain Kingdom, In a Certain Land...

This post is two stories, two adventures at which I invite you to laugh, gasp, and cry (don't actually do that, it would be a weird, disproportionate reaction).

Some of the events in these stories I was not present for, thus I can only relay them as they were told to me. I therefore humbly beg forgiveness if I have gotten some details wrong and/or (unintentionally) altered some details filling gaps in my mind. 

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This story begins a long time ago.

Our first week here, Megan and Maya went to a bar near the bus stop, where they met a dude who apparently took a shining to Megan. He wanted her number. Megan doesn't have a cellphone, but she does have a boyfriend back in the States (who looks an awful lot like Michael Cera). She was not particularly interested, but remember, it's the first week in this country - none of us speak Italian that well, we've be uprooted, and are still trying to find our footing. He insisted that she take his phone number, which she did without any plans to ever use it. She put it out of her mind - she'll never see him again, she thinks. We had yet to realize how small Siena really is.  

Saturday, the day we went to the Opera, she ran into him again. But she was rushing to meet the for the bus ride to Florence. Monday after class, she and Maya ran into him a third, in the same piazza. He pressed them to go for a coffee with him. She said Maya had to catch her bus, but he suggested just the two of them have coffee. When she paused to come up with an excuse, he urged her to meet him in the Campo at 6, and before she knew what had happened, it was all done - he was gone. I'm sure you know how it is when that happens.

Megan appeared in the school lounge, extraordinarily flustered and dazed. She doesn't really seem to know how she ended up with this agreement. She had no real desire to meet this guy, but had a (very natural) negative reaction to just standing the guy up - he seemed like a nice enough guy, and clearly there was just some communication issue. Maybe it could just be cleared up, and everything would be great. You sort of get used to that here - it's easy to say, "Well, just lay down the law then!" when we're in the States and familiar with the customs, expectations, and are capable of articulating ourselves clearly. It's not so easy here. There's an acknowledgement that European dudes are more forward, more pushy - but if you judge them for that, you're not being particularly culturally sensitive. Plus, I for one feel like there's a pressure to make friends with Italians - in that, if you have Italian friends, that's a sort of badge of honour. I generally just ignore that, since it's not really my style, but I'm occasionally aware of it.

Anyway, Libby and I decided to go with Megan - she didn't want to go alone, and we were apprehensive about watching her wander off with a dude we didn't know, and who barely spoke English, by herself. Plus, we knew it would be easier to bow out early, harder to fall into that nice trap, if there were three of us. We waited at the fountain in the Campo, and it was a good thing Libby and I did go - the dude came with two other friends. Maybe he would have left them behind if it was just Megan, but still. They said they were all in the vicinity of 24, but I would have believed closer to 30. The guy who talked mostly to me (hereafter referred to as 'my dude' for clarity's sake) asked if we spoke German. He explained that he and his buddy were Croatians who lived in Germany (I want to say he said studying at first, but that doesn't mesh with what he told me they do later in the evening), and were visiting his cousin (the dude Megan met first), who was half-Croatian and half-Italian. This cousin introduced himself as Danny from somewhere outside Siena (we'll get back to that later...).

So whatever, it's all fine. We go to a nearby coffee shop, and they very kindly buy us coffee. The way it shakes down is that my dude speaks English the best, and a bit of Italian. Danny only really speaks Italian, and the dude who took a fancy to Libby only speaks Croatian - well, and a bit of Italian, but Libby speaks the least Italian since she only started taking it here. The three of them all speak Croatian, and the new guys speak German. That is a lot of language for a group of 6 people. But it's mostly okay, we're warily enjoying ourselves - in that, it's not horrible.

But I have a couple issues. First, my dude had cut his finger - catching a glass or something, he said. He'd accidentally gotten blood on his shirt, and began saying how it made him sad, he liked the shirt, etc. And I happen to know how to get blood out of fabric. So I get really excited and go, "Oh, it's just cold water and soap and don't wash it in warm water because that will set it and you can totally do the soap and water again if it doesn't work the first time as long as you remember not to wash it in warm water!" as I do. To which he responds, with much more enthusiasm than necessary or warranted, "Oh my goodness! You are so clever!" To which my response was, "What?" I sort of let it fly, but I would just like to point out that knowing how to get blood out of fabric does not make me clever. It's a skill that anyone can learn, regardless of mental capacity (some of you have heard a similar rant regarding knitting - yes, I can knit. It's not a talent, it's a skill).

Second, they told us about this island in Spain that's "a 24 hour party" - which is nice, except that they were telling exactly the wrong girls. If we do enjoy the occasional soiree every now and then it's definitely not for 24 hours. More specifically though, it was just the totally wrong way to impress us. I, for one, would be much more impressed by some nerdy, intellectual comment or quoting a favourite author of mine.

But my dude mentions that he's been to a bunch of places in Spain, and I can't help it because I have to know - "Have you been to Grenada? Have you seen the Alhambra?" I ask, excited as all get out. Not surprisingly, no. So I begin to explain - see, there was a (sort of rogue) Muslim caliphate that ruled in southern Spain from 711 until 1492 (when Columbus sailed the ocean blue, and Ferdinand and Isabelle, new rulers of Spain, kicked out the Jews). Grenada was a big, important city and the Alhambra is a palace complex built at the peak of the caliphate's power. It's extraordinarily beautiful and mathematically complex - because, if you didn't know, it's because of the Muslims that we have awesome things like our number system (instead of Roman numerals), the writings of greek philosophers, and some mathematical things. This is all a sort of random bit of knowledge that most people don't know.  So that's not my problem. My problem is that, once again, he began to praise my intelligence -  I am so smart, so clever, I must have fantastic grades, etc. And whether or not any of it is true, knowing these factoids about Spain does not make me any of these things. It's just a thing I know - he knows it too now. By his standards, we are now equally intelligent. 

[For more info on Muslim Spain: Al-Andalus]

There is one final anecdote I'd like to share to cement my point. See, these dudes are going to Dubai in two weeks, apparently. And of course, the man-made islands came up. To which I responded, as I do with my obnoxious need to make a point/be right, "But those islands are so bad! They're bad for the animals!" (I said this in Italian). And these guys got very very excited and started laughing. "No you don't get it, it's bad for the environment!" But they just go, "Yeah, yeah, bad! Male, si si!" And I felt like there was something they were missing in the vital information I was trying to impart (don't get me start on my rant about why the building of islands that damage the ocean's ecosystems is not only deeply immoral but hugely arrogant). And I think that was the final nail in the coffin of any relationship with these dudes.

We all agreed we had no particular desire to do that again. We almost missed our bus, but being late got us out of the awkward refusal to give them our phone numbers. Danny clearly had a thing for Megan, which she had zero interest in. She told him she had a boyfriend - when he appeared to be completely unfazed by this, that was one warning sign. Then (I saved the best for last) Megan revealed that she was confused because Danny had introduced himself as Francesco from Siena and had written Francesco on the note with his phone number on it, but he only clarified that his name was Danny and he was not from Siena once we were all crowded into a tiny coffee shop. So that was warning sign number two. And then there's the fact that they said they were car and apartment salesmen... (that was a joke). But seriously - it wasn't bad per se, just not an experience I want to repeat hugely.

Disclaimer: yes, dangerous men or whatever. Don't worry about me. Really. I have a line, I won't let it be crossed - whether or not my line matches anyone else's line. This is just a fun anecdote/adventure story. We're all good, we're all strong, powerful women. No need for anyone to worry or fret. Promise. <3 
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So that's one story. The second (and then sort of third) occurred today. We had a lovely old man come and talk to our anthropology class today - he's written books, and lived through the war. It was extraordinarily fascinating and awesome. You know how I love 1. history and 2. war stories.

But the part that I want to mention happened near the end, when he started to talk about his wife. See, we've been reading about the veglia, which is/was a gathering of the family around the kitchen fire for story telling and sort of hanging out after dinner. It doesn't really happen anymore because people don't hang out around the fireplace anymore - now they hang out around the tv. Related to the veglia is the importance of food and the fire, and the fire in particular, because it's used to cook all the food and keep people warm. It sort of had to be tended eternally because you never really wanted it to go out.

Anyway, Bruno (that's his name) talks about his wife, and whether or not they're happy. And he says that they got married in 1954 (which makes this year their 66th Anniversary). When they go to bed, he says, they hold hands. They wake up at 7 am, and he reads to her for 45 minutes, because her eyesight is bad. Then, he gets up and makes her coffee, emphasizing that it is his pleasure to make her coffee in the morning. He reads to her for a little longer because, as he points out, the day is long. He likened their love to tending a fire - you have to keep working on it, not let it go out, maintain it. Which was the most adorable. But also, really interesting. Because love is often related to fire - "love is a burning flame, and it makes a fiery ring" to name the one that came to mind. But the second important part of love (and also fires) is often ignored - the hard work, maintaining it part. In our time of matches and lighters and online dating, where we can instantly create what we need... we forget how that works. So there is my bunch of wisdom for the day.

The next story is less... deep, but it has a much funnier punchline. So after my illuminating revelation, we met our language partners. Which I forgot to tell my host nonna about, so I had to call her and tell her I'd be home late. "What time will you return?" she asks, probably less plaintively than it seemed to me. But then my language partner was late, so I was concerned about catching my bus at the appropriate time. Turns out he was lovely (and he'd been to the Alhambra) - short, a bit of a hipster (I'd have preferred he didn't have the weird moustache, but he also had a bit of a beard, so I can forgive - he could grow such a lovely one, maybe I can convince him), but nice and vetted and intelligent.

But anyway, I had to run to catch my bus. Which isn't coming to the normal place, because of roadwork, but the temporary stop doesn't have the nice list of all the busses that will come and at what time, because so many of them are temporary. I missed the normal bus, so I asked a lady about the bus schedule (victory, I had a successful conversation with a random Italian all by myself) and she told me that I could hop on the 77 (which was right there) which would go near my stop. But it turned out the 77 goes the long way - I'm on the bus (after asking the driver to tell me when to get off), worried because I don't recognise where I am and I'm all alone and also because I'm not as worried as I feel like I should be. I know I'm going to be okay, because I've asked the driver to let me know, and I have a phone, and I'm perfectly capable of figuring things out even though I don't speak the language. That was an awesome feeling.

As I expected, everything turned out fine. I got off at a stop I didn't know, but followed a sign I recognised as being near my house (pointing out the 'tangenziale'), and it led toward my house, just from a back direction. So that was cool, and I was feeling fantastic. I though, "Oh, I'll just cut through this park and go in the back way, and that will save me a bit of time, and I won't feel so bad about being so late for dinner". But there was a fence - a weird, short, thin, pokey fence. And I thought about not climbing it. And then I was like, "What the heck, it's super short, and totally climbable". Which it was, not hard at all. Except that my back pocket got stuck on one of the pokey bits and tore a big hole in the butt of my jeans. My favourite pair. So that is sad, especially since I only brought 2 pairs. But gives me an excuse to go shopping! Please laugh at me, I totally did.

So there, that's your update for the week. Next week I will enter my twenty second year OHMYGOSH. So maybe some more navel-gazing about being a palindrome again. I'm sure there will be amusing escapades related to that day to pass on. Until then, lots of love. And remember to tend your love-fires.

<3