10th Installment: Don’t Whack Me, I Have a Family!

It’s our final full day in Italy and we have reached the midpoint of our time away. There had been predictions a couple of days ago of a deluge of rain for today, but just like in Canada they pick their prognosticators from the defunct T#%mp University of Liars. Of course we had made plans for a mostly indoor day playing cards and watching cars float down the hill from our balcony.

But our major plan was to finally get take-out from the world famous Da Pipeo Pizzeria across the street. They of course were closed on Sunday, so God wouldn’t strike them dead. And they were closed again on Monday because the Bible says on the eighth day God took a Pro D day because he’s old. So, that only left today which was perfect as we didn’t want to pack wet clothes for tomorrow’s mega travel day and were not going to stray too far. Well apparently God was taking a long weekend and the holy spirit was doing a day trip to Mars, so they were closed again! But they were scheduled to open one hour after we left town. How do you spell business in Italy? C-a-t-h-o-l-i-c, that’s how. Looks like it’ll be a €5 wine day to console ourselves (that’s 2 bottles).

We started the day with a hearty breakfast and then thought that we would get a closer look at our immediate neighborhood going up the hill in the area of Boarsville, which borders a gigantic forest. Just like back home where you’re likely to be killed by a bear and then eaten by a cougar, forests serve only limited purposes; a place to dispose of used oil and old car tires, and bring predators in close proximity to helpless seniors. We do tramp the woods quite a bit around home, often clanging pots and yelling threats to unseen carnivores while carrying a stick (also called a grave marker), because of course our killers might need a stick to pick their teeth with after they’ve gnawed off our clothing. Boars, like domesticated pigs, are thorough and will even consume bones (although not sticks), so its easier to find the body after a 10 day search by your heirs who have declared you missing (and wealthy), and not in Salmo B.C. for a day spa like was previously reported by the police (oddly enough Salmö Sweden IS known for its spas).

Anyways, the trek up the hill bore some fruit, wherein the narrow, winding, streets offered up snippets of local life, like having 3 small schools side by side. A primary school, a secondary school, and a day care all sharing a treed, hillside property differentiated by chain link fences. What a fantastic community builder it would be!

You would share your formative years together with your friends and be able to go home for lunches or be looked out for by grandparents and build a lasting legacy of memories. There were well-worn trees to climb, and nary a plastic jungle gym with padded surrounds in sight, so little Marco and Maria could actually skin their knees and learn some life lessons. It was so obvious and made economic sense and was tucked in amongst well looked-after older homes which had probably supplied generations of kids to the neighborhood where their kids would thrive. Plus the kids would be more concentrated together and able to rescue their siblings from the boars at recess. Run little Nico, Run! Win, win if I ever saw one.

On the homeward portion we mixed it up and walked on the opposite side of the street for a contrasting perspective of the curvy, busy street that we were fronted on. It was totally different. Whereas on the uphill version the narrow sidewalks had your face about 2 feet away from the small display windows facing the street, so it was hard to focus at 3 steps per second, and the signage was directly vertical above you. Now we could get the full on street view, like Google.

There was the Beatrix Beauty Bar, Giuseppe’s Gold Chain Emporium, 6 pizzerias, and a recessed opening with one lone window about 20 feet from the doorway, with a small overhead sign pointing towards the street so it was hard to distinguish, that simply said Illy. It must be a taxidermy shop or a shoe repair. Enchanted, we crossed the street, at a crosswalk so Carol could come too, and headed for the dark glass opening. It was a bar! In we went to check out the local neighborhood watering hole. Actually it was a coffee bar that served snacks, day-old leftover pastries, focaccia pizza slices, and wine. There was inside seating for about 20 and through a glass door in the back was a very nice outdoor, plant-lined patio which sat the same amount. Cool.

Behind the bar resided 2 males. One a normal-looking man of about 40, obviously a dad, dressed casually and he made normal movements like moving plates around and wiping the bar, he was Matteo.

The other was different. I immediately wanted to clandestinely take 10 pictures of his face. He was a classic. He had a perfectly-shaped glossy head with a large bush of salt and pepper facial hair which protuded about 6 inches forward, he was Bruno.

His upper torso was dense, not athletic, but not flabby. His width pushed out his arms below the shoulders like a bodybuilder, his elbows pulling his wrists and hands back towards his waist. His spine was fused to his skull so that his whole body had to turn if you called to him from the side. His pants were baggy, but the correct length, and his shoes pointed a bit sideways, not like a penguin’s, but close. The full-on view gave the impression of a large oyster shell with bow legs and a bearded bowling ball on top. And he smiled a lot. Today he was the busboy and counter shmoozer as a couple of regulars were leaning on the bar and hand-speaking,⁹ and he would gesture wildly and slap the bar with a towel and rear back and laugh.

I ended up going back by myself to have a glass of wine in the evening, but secretly hoping I would be able to get a photo of him. I stalled and feigned interest in other aspects of the bar but when I mustered up the courage to ask him if I could take his photo, with Paulie from the Sopranos, leaning against the bar, he looked perplexed. After all, I knew no Italian, he didn’t want to know any English, and Paulie was planning a hit for later in the evening. So when I motioned using sign language and he grasped what I was asking he threw up his hands in front of his face like you see on cop shows when the accused is leaving the courthouse after being acquitted because the star witness has gone ‘missing’, and the paparazzi is looking for the money shot (the other kind of money shot).

Paulie was motioning with his hands like who the fuck is this and we should find him a home with the fishes, while I was walking backwards through the door with my hands up in apology and wondering if Carol had my WhatsApp number. All the way home in the rain I was looking over my shoulder and re-imagining all of the mafia movies I had seen in my life, and none of the innocents made it home to their family, arghhh. I only wanted a picture for my blog! Dont turn me upside down in a vat of acid!

It turned out Paulie was a dentist and Bruno was actually Sydney, and had just moved there from Cincinnati. Still, it coulda been ugly. Just sayin’.

Tomorrow is a 4 train day to get to Nice and I better get my head on straight to manage the logistics. Arrivederci Italy, youve been a good friend.