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Published: October 5th 2010
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Yesterday, I went out around 5 pm to join in the afternoon, pre-dinner,l “passaggiata” and to get a piece of pizza to hold me over til tomorrow. I dropped in the McCafe (McDonalds) and found what looks like really healthy food, a tomato wrap with mozzarella and basil, also a chicken .Caesar salad. I may eat there before I leave so I can find out for sure. I also found a wine shop, bought a bottle of local wine to take back to hotel room to drink while watching an Italian movie. Wine trumps popcorn any day or night. The wine shop doubles as kind of restaurant with beautiful salads, so that’ll be another meal. So, the lesson I learned was don’t judge a place by your mood. Change your mood and the place takes on a whole new prospect.
I asked the maid hee if she liked the high heels women were wearing. Her eyes lit up, "O, si, molto." She then admitted she had bought a pair and had to give them away because she hurt her leg. she was very sad about it since no one she knew wore her size, so it was a total loss.
Between jewelry and shoes, Italian women spend a fortune. I save my fortune for expensive deoderant and camera replacements.
Today, I took a train to Polignano, a small town down the coast about a half hour with the intention of swimming, but the “mare mosso” (rough seas) prediction turned out to be true, sort of. Their “mare mosso” is calmer than a normal day on any beach on the west coast or Alaska. However, no one else was swimming and I wasn’t sure about how the currents might work, so I just waded. My main concern was getting out—the beach is all rocks, big and little, all round, all rolling around, and impossible to stand up on much less walk around on. The rocks made a clattered as small waves rolled them up the beach and back down again. So I lay in the shade of the high rock wall and read until my suit dried out—I wound up getting knocked down by a wave, not that the wave was so strong, just that staying standing was difficult. Once I was down, I found it easier to just stay down, my bottom being a larger area to balance on.
Before the beach event, I spent an hour or so watching a couple of guys fishing from high up on the cliff. They just drop a line down with a lead weight on it with 3 or so hooks. Everyone I asked told me they were fishing for “pesce di zuppa,” which meant any small fish they came up with that they could add to the soup pot. You can see in the photo how small the fish were. The one man asked if I drilled a hole in the ice to fish. I said yes and showed him how thick the ice is on our lake. He was impressed, or rather lost since it is pretty impossible to imagine ice on a lake when it’s 80 degrees F in October.
Polignano is the birthplace of Domenico Modugno, hence the huge statue.
It’s taken me a while to get the hang of how the train tickets work. You buy the ticket that is good for a month, usually, and then just before you get on the train, you stick it in yellow time clock box to get date stamped. (It's different for the high speed long trips
where you have a reserved seat.) The bus is similar, but the time stamp box is on the bus. A conductor, who came by to check tickets, really chewed out a Romanian guy for not having his stamped. At first, I thought the guy didn’t understand the process, but then the conductor explained that many people pretend not to understand so they can use the ticket again if no one comes to check, which sometimes they don’t. However, they can issue you a fine, too--pretty stiff one at that, about 30 europs. Besides the conductor checking, I also saw some police get on and check IDs when I was a little farther south where I guess they have a problem with illegal immigrants.
I got my hair cut--see photo with crotchedy old guy who didn't want to be in the photo but put himself where he would obviouly be photographed. I aske the hair dresser if getting your hair cut and leaving it in Italy was like tossing a coin in the Trevi Fountain, which meant you would come back some day. He laughed, said he like the idea, but that I was more likely to come back if
he gave me a good cut.
Everyone knows that Italians talk with their hands, but I was surprised to see they still do it even when they’re walking along the street talking on their cell.
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Liam N.
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Talking with their hands
Italy, the only country where it is illegal to _talk_ on a cell phone without a "hands-free" headset.