We meet so many people along the way and everyone is a story waiting to be told. We loose track of so many of these memories as each day is filled with new ones. So let's start at the very beginning.
Our hotel in Rome ,the two girls at the reception.one a twenty something fresh to work with all the exuberance of youth. Gets a joke when cracked,gives good advice on places to eat on shoe strings and always has a smile. The older girl probably in her early thirties is all busy and efficient. She won't get too friendly but will keep professional distance. She is always in a rush,smartly dressed,does about two jobs in a day and is responsible for all that happens in the hotel.
Our tour guide in Rome on our first tour. She looke like an ageing Sofia Loren all nutty brown tan ,skinny but with the confidence of one who has been a tour guide in ages. Ofcourse her strong Italian accent made the English next to impossible to understand and at the end of the day all that concentration to understand what she was saying took its toll. If the pope had any intentions of making saints of anyone that day I would have stood a very good chance.
The nuns and fathers in Rome. Coming from a country where we expect priests to be godly( not all but we like to delude ourselves that they don't drink or smoke and that makes them good) and nuns to sty in the cloisters it's may come as a shock to us to see Nuns wander the streets of Rome taking in the sights,checking the directions on iPhones ( what ever happened to vows of poverty),priests who can drink many of us under the table. One in particular started with beer,went on to wine and sampled quiet a few. Members of his parish seemed more than happy to stand him a few drinks and everyone was all jolly and happy at the end of it all. Some of the priests are so good looking it might be a sin to just look at them. I saw many a nun and priest stroll down the streets in animated conversations and if a picture of them were sent to my mother she may have plenty to say on the subject of church and morality. In the interest of peace I refrained from using my camera.
Tuscany has a lot more atmosphere than Rome. There is a certain vibrancy in the air and people look a lot more relaxed.
We are creatures of habit and will find a place like it and stick to it so tarratoria corneliius was home for the next few days for food. The place is manned by a surly twenty something with an attitude to match. He flicks his gelled hair at regular intervals speaks or rather mutters under his breadth and will shrug nonchalantly if he doesn't want to answer. Like twenty something's all over the world he is true to character but not rude and very decent,does a good job too. Once in a while he will pull our legs with some joke said with such seriousness that the husband took him seriously and we ended up laughing . But not our boy,a gleam in his eye was the only indication of any emotion. Our others well built tattooed waiter is the very opposite of our twenty something. He is all charm and passion. Practises his English on all the guests and is ready with a smile a greeting and something to chat about. An overweight American arrived and ordered a pepperoni pizza and our boy just couldn't help himself,he laughed charmingly and told the shocked American that in Italy pepperoni meant green peppers and not salami but all done with such charm that one couldn't fault him on anything. Of course after some six or seven meals in the same place he was our friend. Told me the panzanella was not his favourite food in face he disliked it and wanted to make sure I knew what I was ordering. Was terribly amused when I asked for a recipe and since thee chef couldn't speak English he got the Indian pizza maker to give me thee recipe (not that the boys English was any better) but the recipe is with me now though I was warned that the taste was all down to good Italian tomatoes and cheese.
Angelina our in house nona (she owns the hotel) is a class act. This hotel is run by a fairly typical Italian family. The parents do the afternoon shifts which means the father stays in his room watching tv,the mother talks to gues and boy can she talk. Of course half the time she forgets what she was about to do but a few exchange of recipes and she's won over. She thinks I need to stay back and make a curry and tandoori chicken as her beefy,English speaking son wants to eat it. He obviously is the apple of her eye. She tells me every day to look after the husband. According to her I know what I have,may it know what you willl get so look after him. She can talk endlessly about the TV serials and shopping and prices. Honestly how can I miss my mother when I have found a very similar one in Florence. She is very disappointing we are leaving because after a week she s now involved in our lives and waits to hear about our day when we get back in the evenings. Her husband is a smart Italian hotelier who looks like he is not all there but that's just a farce. He knows exactly what's going on. The son is a nice friendly chap ready to give advice on all things to look out for in Italy and his English is so good one could imagine he was English. The daughter in law like most of them world over is long suffering,does the breakfast in the morning,doesn't speak a word of English and is a bit of a mouse. The husband thinks she can get a bit mad if pushed but she seems to be in the shadows all the time.
Our little Cupid was the cutest of the lot. Lesson learnt in Italy. If one is standing in never ending lines to get into places,the most amusing way to pass time is to watch babies and play with dogs. The baby in question was a smart cookie. All of some one and a half years he had chubby cheeks and could understand every thing that was said to him. He could pull a happy face by shutting his eyes and grinning from ear to ear,then pull his mouth down to tell us he is sad. Adept at using the iPhone he would watch videos of him self and gurgle with glee. He watch the husband doing his stretches ( the husband was hungry and tired and had nothing better to do) and promptly started imitating him. He did this for quiet a while enough to keep us busy. Then the mother started her song...." The wheels of the bus go round and round".... The song stuck in our heads for the rest of the day as did the image of rosy cheeks,dimpled chin and all.
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