Breakfast with Rhode Island
When your hotel room faces the east, you better have your curtains drawn, or the glorious Italian sun will wake you 3 hours before the kitchen staff arrive to serve your breakfast. And so it was this morning, I rose, literally, with the sun. But, I busied myself with morning chores, and assisted my Mom with her morning business, dressed and went down for breakfast.
The best part of a vacation anywhere, but especially in Europe, is that you can smell the coffee brewing, you can hear the clatter of plates and utensils, you can feel the boards of the old hotel tremble as the staff hurry around with their morning duties; and you can sit by the lake and have “American coffee”. Translation: ‘NOT Espresso’. When you’re ready, you can take your plate in to the buffet and select your perfect fruit cup, your walnuts, your toast; and if you like, your eggs, your Italian salami, your cheese, and your juice. All while trying desperately to ignore the screaming baby, who is screaming a glorious opera of unhappiness, and driving her poor, exhausted mother and father insane. But, a crying baby at the table next to you is, as the French say, “C’est la vie”....not sure what the Italians would say, but they’ll probably shrug and say, ‘Prego…” What can you do…? The baby will stop crying when she’s ready to stop crying; but I can’t translate that into Italian or into French.
When you’re on vacation in Europe, you also get to meet Americans that you’d never have met if you'd stayed in your American state (literally and metaphorically); and so, here in the north of Italy, I got to meet 4 lovely people, two couples, from Rhode Island of all places, at breakfast this morning! I could tell right away they were from the Northeast of America, and they could tell right away that I was from the Southeast of America, when I asked them, “Where are y’all from…?” One said, “Oh wow! You're a Southerner…! My sister lives in Nags Head…!” Which is so far out on the outer banks of North Carolina that it’s almost in Bermuda and barely in the south, but it's indeed a part of the Great North State, so ok… And so we struck up a conversation.
One man in particular caught my attention with his straightforwardness. He had that “yankee” sharpness about him, (I think it comes from long, bitter cold winters, but it's only a working theory...there's no research data behind that statement); with a crew cut, black polo top; and black cargo shorts, black socks and black shoes. He was tanned and he was to the point! When my mother started talking to him about our French purchased car (really more of a short term lease), she apparently carried the story on a bit too far, because he said, “Is this gonna be a long story…?”
I almost dropped my fork.
But, I looked over at him and could see that behind that statement was a bit of a teasing face, twinkling eyes, and an amazing amount of charm...for a ‘yankee’. He suddenly barked out a laugh when my mom said to him, “Nope.that’s it.” Crisis averted...I blew out a silent sigh, as I didn’t want any American Wars in Italy on this trip. At that same moment, Earl showed up. Earl was wearing three sets of eyeglasses around his neck; one bi-focal, one for distance I supposed, and sunglasses, and a Carolina Blue polo shirt held in his khaki trousers by a belt with boat anchors stitched all along it. He stuck his hand out over the table and at me and said, “I’m Earl…!!” with such a kind of goofy confidence that I was instantly charmed. Earl was the 4th in this Rhode Island foursome, and boy, he could have been a double for my husband! White hair, a little bit of a paunchy tummy, reddish tanned skin and blue, blue eyes...like Santa Claus without the beard - but Earl did have a white mustache. Can you see him in your mind's eye?
Earl sounded like a New York street cop...with a hard accent but a kind voice. He’s a builder, like my husband (there were too many similarities to count with this guy…), and had that same tired but dedicated look about him that my husband has. He talked to me about his grandchildren and how they wished they could be with him on this trip, and about the builders unions up north.
“Do yous have those unions in da south?” He asked.
“No, we don’t have builder’s unions, I don’t think, or I would have heard all about it from my husband.”
We carried on this mundane and yet, delightful conversation for almost an hour, when I finally had to say to him, “It’s been such a pleasure to chat with you, Earl, and to think...you and I would never have met if we’d stayed in those United States! Of all places in the world, we end up meeting here, on a tiny island, in the middle of a big Italian lake...what are the odds we would have met??”
“I don’t know from odds…” he said, “But I’m so glad I metcha...and I’ll sees ya round da hotel before we leave, k?”
“Ok” I said, spinning on my heel and running straight into the waiter, and knocking his tray all over the gravel courtyard.
Damn, I thought, he had my American Coffee on his tray.
