Wednesday, March 28, 2007

MANUEL AND ME

This post of Ellee's yesterday reminded me of what happened when I went from Modica to Siracusa [Syracuse] by bus - a journey of about two hours - during my first visit to Sicily in 1992. I was being rather British, minding my own business and gazing out of the window, for the scenery was all new to me then, when a small, fairly scruffy man got on and sat next to me, a little too close I thought. He resembled no one as much as Manuel from Fawlty Towers! After a few minutes, he uttered the conversation opener that someone of obvious Anglo-Saxon appearance gets used to here:
Lei non è di qua? ["You're not from here, are you?"]
Me: Non - thinking that a curt reply would silence him, as by now it was becoming rather obvious that he was not over-attentive to his personal hygiene. And that would probably have worked in Britain. However, he was not going to be so easily put off and before we reached Ispica [the next town] I knew that he was a widower not averse to the idea of marrying again and a blond foreigner, he thought, would do very nicely , provided she could cook and would tend to his chickens! I kept my replies as monosyllabic as possible but he kept on asking loud, quite intrusive questions [which is not, to be fair, as rude as it sounds as Italians will ask you about matters which are taboo to the introverted British, such as how much you earn, your age and how much rent you pay, very early in a first conversation] . In Britain you would get up and move to another seat [but they were all taken anyway] or someone would notice that he was edging up to you too cosily and ask if you were all right, but here if I'd told anyone the man was bothering me it would probably have provoked laughter and hands flung up in the air. Not until the first stop in Siracusa did he leave the bus and after I'd breathed a huge sigh of relief, I reflected upon the fact that Shirley Valentine immediately makes the acquaintance of a waiter in the form of Tom Conti abroad, whilst it was my luck to meet Manuel! [I do not judge by looks, by the way, reader, but hygiene and conversational skills do matter to me, yes! And I'd never have been any good at feeding chickens!]
Siracusa is a city that means a lot to me, not only because of its beauty, and if you have not been following the blog for long, you can read why here if you wish.

13 comments:

James Higham said...

Ooh, Welshcakes - you do attract them. Maybe he's a multi-quillionaire behind that charming exterior. Or maybe he knows your culinary reputation.

Shades said...

I seem to recall that Italian men feel it is their duty to flirt and pinch bottoms.

I suppose "Que ?" wouldn't work too well with a Manuel the waiter type!

Anonymous said...

I think you should try your luck again on another coach trip. I did like this story, can imagine how you were trying to be polite, yet distant.
Shirley Valentine is one of my favourite films, btw. If the boys and my husband cheese me off, I always threaten to go off and do a "Shirley Valentine." I think they are hoping.

Liz Hinds said...

My son's usually the one who gets the - to quote Jasper Carrott - nutter on the bus!

Most things are tolerable except a bad smell. But you could have changed that. Insisted on him washing while you were feeding the chickens ...

Welshcakes Limoncello said...

Hi, James. He probably was - a lot of people own a lot of land here. But I'd still run a mile from live chickens! Hi, delicolor. Yes, I do believe they think it a matter of national pride! I don't think a Que or Che would have worked there! Ciao, Ellee. I love that film, too, even after all these years. I'm sure your family are not hoping, though!

Lee said...

I loved "Shirley Valentine"...a fun movie. How we'd all like a "moment" like that! ;)

I'm sitting here eating spaghetti with a mushroom sauce I've just made, and a tossed salad with balsamic vinegar and olive oil, Welsh...so reading your blog while doing so, is very appropriate!

Some people do insist in getting in one's "space" and I'm one that always takes a couple of steps backwards...lol And there's nothing worse than bad personal hygiene!

I enjoyed your post, Welsh.

Anonymous said...

The story was fun to read. The link to where you were sitting by your mother's bed, was very nice and very sad.

jmb said...

Hi WCLC,

Not the knight in shining armor that time. Better luck next time.
Of all the times I've been to Italy, only twice have I ever been accosted as a pick up. Both pleasant men, both in Verona, when I was 66, for crying out loud. Those lonely widowers don't waste too much time over there.
Regards
jmb

Welshcakes Limoncello said...

Ciao, Liz. If there's a nutter on public transport he - or she - will find me! I must look gullible or something. Thanks, Lee. Your meal sounds wonderful. I can picture you enjoying it and reading. Thanks, Steve. I think my mum would be pleased I'm here now. Jmb, you're right - the men don't go in for time-wasting!

Whispering Walls said...

Syracuse is very beautiful, especially that lemon grove next to the Dionysus' Ear cave (do you know it?) They used to hurl prisoners of war into that grove from the cliff above and the matrons of Syracuse would walk by and watch them dying...

Welshcakes Limoncello said...

Buona sera, WW. Yes, I know the place you mean. This is another paradox of Italy: wherever there is great beauty you find that some tragic or horrid event has happened there.

Ballpoint Wren said...

Normally I'll talk all day to anyone and everyone, but I can't handle bad smells and would have been as monosyllabic as you.

I can feed chickens, though!

Welshcakes Limoncello said...

Bonnie, it was the bad smells that did it more than anything!

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