THE ITALIANS

THE ITALIANS

Forget the series of governments that can't seem to govern, the museum times that can mysteriously change, the apparent lack of order or restraint in city driving. Italians, especially in the countryside and towns and villages, are kind, friendly, generous, helpful, and full of good humor.

Antonio at Ristorante La Braja, lacking English but filled with joy to seat us, the only patrons, who showed us his paintings, who explained (in Italian -- see Italian page) how he and his brother Giuseppe were going to "Meecheegan" because someone had seen his paintings on the Internet and had invited him to take his first trip to the United States, who led us proudly back to the kitchen to meet Giuseppe. (Click on Places to Eat for pix of the cafe and Antonio.)

The tow-truck driver in Florence who saw that Russ was nervous about finding the hotel again, who drove (with car in tow) into the municipal bus lot and up to the gate agent to get a proper map, who then marked it carefully to show us the route back.

The cab driver at the Florence airport who led us back to the hotel when Russ realized he'd never find it again, despite the map, who made sure we were headed in the right direction and left with a wonderful continental shrug.

The waiter at Stella d'Italia in Lugano who had the "most English" and was therefore subject to Russ' interminable questions -- "How deep is the lake? Does it freeze over? How many rivers empty into it?" -- who would dredge through his English vocabulary to answer, then leave with the promise "I be back for next question."

The father and son owners of Stella d'Italia, the second and third generation on the spot, especially the father who would grab an umbrella and take our car keys to move the car to the safety of the municipal car park and trudge back in the rain. The son appeared to be of the modern generation, preferring the indoors in all areas of hotel operation and whom the waiters dubbed "Signore Hotel."

The English owner of a leather kiosk in Florence who had come to Italy thirty years earlier and decided to live in this land of friendly and open people, who gave good advice about what to be careful of in the crowds.

The suave shirt salesman in Rome who studied Russ, after Russ had told him his shirt size, who cleared his throat solemnly and said carefully, "There is no way you are a 38, Signore," who whipped out his tape to prove that Russ had been wearing too small a collar for years, and who vowed to Kaye that he had not seen her birthdate on the passport she offered to show as back-up for a credit card.

The even more suave concierge in Rome. Russ had left his new wideangle 5 megapixel camera in a cab; the doorman had called the company and the driver had driven back with the camera, refusing an additional tip (Russ had overtipped him in gratitude for his charm and cheerfulness). Then Russ discovered he had left the expensive lens cap on the floor of the cab as well. He knew there was no way the man would drive back the next morning with the lens cap, but when he came downstairs that morning the suave concierge was waving it. Russ said, awshucksedly, "I overtipped," to which he replied. "I heard."

The maitre d'hotel at Cenobio dei Dogi in Camogli who refused a tip for supper after Kaye used a word to praise the food that "only an Italian would know," who was still on duty for room service in the morning and made sure that the young man delivering the food knew of her vocabulary discovery, so that he, too, refused a tip, explaining his refusal with the one word she had so happily discovered (but Russ thinks he was describing Kaye).

The film executive at lunch in Rome who, when Russ apologized for the violent films and terrible television the U.S. exports to the rest of the world, stopped him in mid-sentence and said, "We understand about that. You must understand that America is the one place in the world where anything is possible."

The doe-eyed lingerie salesgirl in a factory outlet town in Piemonte... the lovely blonde selling suitcases at Fox Town...well, those were Russ' favorite Italians, but for "cultural" reasons.

The grocery check-out woman in a supermarket in a factory town where Americans never go who clearly thought it was romantic and wonderful that we lived in Los Angeles and Kaye was in the movie business, who told the others in line, and who clearly wished she might someday go to Hollywood.

The ancient male citizen (slightly older than Russ) in Rubiera in our first hours of our first trip, trying to find a particular restaurant, who through shouts and encouragement of our first-day Italian and imaginative gestures for stoplights and other road objects got us to the precise spot. Bless him.

The also ancient citizen in Fiumicino who stopped his car and got out, seeing that we were lost and began to give us elaborate directions for how to get to "Hotels Roma (hotels in Rome)" but quickly realized that we were trying to find "Hotel Roma" five blocks away. Bless him, too.

The waiters at Hotel Cipriani in Venice who, went Kaye started to pour her own water, scolded her and said, "So now you want to be the water sommelier, Signora?"

The waiter at Camponeschi in Rome who, when Russ wrinkled up his nose at the rose wines on the list, said calmly, "They're for the French, Signore, not you."

And this from Janet Shelton of Wild Bird Shop in Cannon Beach, Oregon: On our last trip we met two men who were hunting mushrooms in the Cilento. They shared their fantastic lunch of sausage, greens, cheese and wine with us. Then they invited us for a tour the next day of the Amalfi Coast. We drove to Franco's house in Scafati (modern day Pompeii) where his wife Anna served us homemade tarts. Franco, who grew up on the Amalfi, then gave us a tour of the area. When we returned, Anna had made 15 of her favorite recipes for us! They came one at a time and we never dreamed there were that many. I had lived in Napoli and warned my husband never to take seconds of anything. The gnocchi was so fantastic that he did, never suspecting the nine other main dishes to follow. I have asked him many times if he regretted it, and he has never changed his story -- "It was worth it!"

Why did we rate this? Only because, like many Americans who spent time in Italy while associated with the Navy, I had studied the language. My Italian was sad, but adored by the Italians I meet because I am able to communicate with them. I doubt that there are kinder people in the world than the Italians.

Send us your favorite Italians.

This site is dedicated to all the Italians who reminded us that we live in the one country everyone wants to visit, to try their luck in, to see with their own eyes.

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