Today's MOSTLY SHORT STORY: If Even for a Moment.

While my stepson Jeremiah and I were exploring our new village in Sicily, Motta d'Affermo, we found ourselves in one of only two small grocery stores in town. They're kind of the equivalent of what we call a bodega here in the States - you can get a little bit of everything. In the case of Motta, that includes locally made pasta, incredible panini sandwiches, dish soap and toilet paper.

Motta d' Affermo, Sicilia, F LoBuono

We needed a cigarette lighter or matches to be able to light the stove in our new villa. Well, of course, the ONLY 2 items that they didn't have were those. No big deal, Jeremiah said, I saw some at the other store.

So, we turned to leave the store and head the flew blocks to the other bodega. As we did, we noticed that we were being approached by a local man. He looked perhaps in his 40's and was, quite frankly, a little unkempt. His clothes were worn and dirty and he looked as tired as they were. He had a shoulder bag slung around to the front of his body and one hand in it. With the other, he was gesturing to us with a vigorous wave.

We thought that maybe he was preparing to give us a pamphlet or brochure - surely something to sell. But, being experienced travelers, Jeremiah and I were prepared for whatever might come.

As he came closer, I began to realize that he was not a vagabond at all but was dealing with some type of mental and physical challenges that were affecting his appearance.

When he finally reached us, he removed his hand from his satchel, and low and behold, he had produced a used - by working - souvenir cigarette lighter. And, he wasn't selling it to us, he was giving it to us!

With outstretched hand, slowly, in Italian, from what I understood, he said, please take this and have a pleasant and safe journey.

We all smiled completely and with great joy, for it was one of those special moments when you realize that good people come in all forms and can be found all over the world.

I responded in my basic Italian, molto gentile, signore, molto gentile.

Then we went our separate ways to continue our different journeys knowing we shared the same path, if even for a moment.

Today's MOSTLY TRUE SHORT STORY: A Night in Trastevere

 

3/9/23

Well, here I am again, alone in a magical spot, not by design but by circumstance.

I'm drinking delicious red wine while sitting outside in a tiny, relatively quiet café, deep in the heart of an otherwise buzzing Trastevere. In an odd coincidence, great American Blues is playing in the background. I tell the owner, me piace la musica!

So far, Rome has been her magical self; full of surprises and contractions. She's dirty, rude, ancient, sublime, frenetic, frustrating, and fantastic. In just 3 days here I've already experienced so many highs and lows. It's definitely a love/hate relationship.

The Romans themselves are very much like their city: awful AND wonderful, both at the same time - much like we New Yorkers. I think that I may actually love the place. It may be a hell of a lot older than New York but one thing is for certain - their 'tude is pretty the same as ours!

They call it the Eternal City, and for good reason. The place seems to be mostly in an eternal state of mass confusion and decay. Yet, it not only survives, but thrives and continues. Around every hidden corner, I find another ancient vestige of long gone glory. They drive like savages and can manage to squeeze a car into a parking spot the size of a shoe box. And, everyone smokes cigarettes like fiends. Everyone. It's quite a turnoff for me to see an exquisite woman, dressed impeccably, burn one as she sashays by.

As I sit and sip, a couple of young women, speaking in their native German, take the small table next to me. The difference in the Italian language and German is of great contrast to me. Even when the Italians are loud (often), the sound and melody to their speech has a calming rhythm to it. On the other hand, the Germans, even when whispering, seem to be shouting.

I continue to sip, listen, and observe. Then, at one point, the bartender, waitress, and, obviously, a regular patron decide to come outside and stand near by table to have their conversation - and, of course, their CIGARETTES. They happily drag away, filling what was once sweet night air with a suffocating layer of smoke.

I quietly take my last sip, raise myself out of my chair, and make my way back to my hotel.

Ah, Roma, I love you so!