Senora's Monies

I had been living in my new posh (cough) apartment for about three weeks and was still getting used to the intercom system. Who would have thought a country that was just introduced the iPhone a few months prior would have a high class intercom system enabled in a 4^th century building, but that’s for another post. 

My apartment shared an entrance with my landlord and therefore also a doorbell (ah ha! I knew the backward-ness would catch up somewhere here)  One day, while prepping for my English lesson: downing espressos and catching up on the latest Gossip Girl, the doorbell rang. This just wasn’t any doorbell, mind you. This doorbell commanded you to jump up and swear the carabinieri found out your visa isn’t legit and they were coming to deport you. After convincing myself that returning home wouldn’t be that bad, hey I could keep up with Gossip Girl easier, I peered outside. I could see a hunched over senora, pulling a trolley full of plastic bags and staring three floors up at me.  Intrigued by what may happen, and how well my grasp of Italian would get me, I booked it downstairs. 

At the ancient entrance, the senora  gave me a serious up down (I may not have changed out of my sweatpants, practically a death sentence in Italy) she handed over 350 euro and bobbled away. I asked who it was for and she said, “just take it!” Unable to believe my seriously good luck, I was basically making out with the multi colored monies. I was basking in the fact that all my good karma must have aided in this serious blessing. I could already see the new rain boots I was going to purchase at Pull and Bear, the new coat I was spying at United Colors of Benetton. 

I got to my shared front door where my landlord graciously met me, scoop up the money and said, “Thank you for doing that!” hmph. Back to subject predicate readings, I mean…. what’s Serena Van der Woodsen up to these days…

The Ancient Door: Where I was given those sweet 300 euros

Months later I ran into the senora, and pretended to take a picture of the church ;)

Riding in Cars with Francescos

Fact: There are 27.2 million Francesco’s in Italy

In April, I was asked to teach English at a weekend camp in a hotel just outside of the city I was living in. They’d pay me 200 euro plus room and board and I get to see Paestum for free. Done. I was asked to take the train from Salerno and Francesco would be waiting for me in Paestum and take me to meet the kids at the hotel. I hadn’t met Francesco but was given his number and had come to accept the general “eh, it’ll all work out” attitude of the Italians.

So I boarded the train, exited at Paestum and texted mysterious Francesco “Sono qui I’m here!” No response. Alight. Let me plug in my iPod and start enjoying the much needed warm weather.

Shortly after, a small white car approached the station and a portly, balding, fat old man got out and gave me a smile, “well, this must be him,” I thought.

“Ciao, stai Francesco, si?” You’re Francesco, right?

“SI!” said Francesco, his eyes undressing me and licking his lips (which is sad to say, I really got used to and didn’t think twice about)

“Allora, andeamo!” Alright, let’s go! I loaded my things into his car and away we went.

“Where’s the hotel?”

“Hotel? Oh wow, you want to go to the hotel? Let’s take a walk around the Paestum ruins first, then we can go to the hotel.”

“umm.. aren’t there kids waiting to learn the great language of English?”

“Kids? What kids?”

Crap. Crap, crap, crap, crap. Tell me I had not just gotten into some strange man’s car and he now thinks I want to go to a hotel with him! Please tell me this isn’t real life.

Oh, it’s real life.

“Who are you? Why were you at the train station?”

“I’m Francesco, I was at the train station to pick up a friend but then I saw you and left with you!”

“Take me back to the station now. NOW!”

He starts giggling and I start realizing that I might have to make an escape by rolling out the door. He turns his impossibly small Fiat around and brings me back to the station.

“Creep,” I spat at him. “Bella,” he crooned at me.

I’d like to say that I got on the next train and headed home. But I didn’t. I approached the only man at the station and asked if he too was Francesco. He was. The right Francesco.

maybe the ruins were worth it

where it all went down. not literally.

ok, it was worth it.