friendly, helpful and informative
Capitolo, Italy
One of our dear friends suggested that a line should be drawn across Italy at Rome and the southern half left to float away.
If that had happened we would not have had any friendly encounters with Italians. All the following scenarios occurred south of Rome.
The Grape Ditch Man
Down the narrow lane we drove. The black on white campervan signpost insisted this was the way. Too soon we came to a fork in the road, neither direction signposted, both merely loose metal on brown dirt. Working on the “go straight until told otherwise” theory, we took the slightly-more-major-looking road, which very quickly became not major at all. In fact, it became only just wide enough to fit on. And it was the wrong one. The Bear Cave, having missed the original turning had gone on, turned round and returned to us – and at our suggestion tried the other route, which they discovered to be the right one. Reversing back up the road as wriggly as a snake was not an option. Fortuitously, an even narrower track appeared to one side. Narrow, but wide enough to back into. It was flanked with grape vines….but before the vines on each side was a ditch, deep enough to get stuck in should we be so unfortunate as to miss the road. Reversing onto the track was no problem (OK, so I, a non-sweater, was sweating profusely, but the worst was yet to come!). Turning back to the “main” road presented the problem. It was simply too tight a turn. If there were a curb we could have dragged the back wheels up over it – but there was that ditch! Fall in that and we’d never have got out! Straight ahead was a stone wall – not much grace in that direction either.
An immensely proportioned Italiano Grandmother with two young grandchildren and a dog appear. I’m not sure if she’s mad at me, warning me, helping me, threatening me. But she’s making a lot of noise, and a slight breeze with her waving arms. She says something about water. I fail to make the connection – maybe “Don’t fall in the ditch, it’s for irrigating our prize crop of grapes.”
Grandpa jumps out to assist the manoeuvring. Together we struggle, not quite rounding the corner.
To add to the stress, a car pulls up. Now we’re in the way, and there’s no easy escape. As eloquent as the Grandma who has now strolled on, this driver starts shouting at us too. I’m very apologetic and somewhat flustered, until I realise he is not complaining, but offering to help. I inch backwards.
“Vai vai vai,” he shrieks. Is that *go* or *stop, you’re about to fall in the ditch*????
His hands indicate the former, so I tentatively push on until his semaphore stops me. He runs to the front of the van and guides us up to the stone wall vai-vai-vai, giving permission to stop only when the bumper has made contact! At least I now have an inkling what vai means. Over the next two weeks this will be a priceless piece of information! He guides us back again, and forwards again, and back one more time. Looking in my wing mirror I fear the ditch side will crumble under our weight, swallowing us forever, but Mr Helpful is urging me to come forwards, more confident than me, or perhaps just more impatient.
By the time we have turned, his is not the only car waiting for us to disappear. He waves us on, and the Grandma waves as we pass her up the road.
The Beware Of Thieves Man Men
We, in The Other Van, pull over on the side of the street. Rob has taken The Bear Cave further along to make enquiries about a camping spot. An elderly man emerges from his gated compound and wanders over to us.
”Bonjourno”
”Bonjourno”
I’ll have to tell you the rest in English coz the only word I knew I understood correctly was borsa – bag.
You must be careful. There are thieves and pickpockets round here. They will take your things from your bag, from your camper. Not secure. You must be careful. Make sure you lock your doors and close your windows. It’s not good. tut tut
We thank him for his concern.
Well, we say, “Si si, kopista, grazie.” (yes yes understand thanks)
The night before a young man speaking reasonable English had helped us. We had been looking for somewhere to stay – we had the address of a camper place, it was even on the signposts, but was impossible to find. For quite some time Young Man tried to be of assistance, but eventually had to, with us, admit defeat. He warned us not to stay where we were, because of thieves, but it was late and dark by the time this advice came, and we did not fancy driving on to another town he was recommending in the blackness on these unpredictable unlit Italian roads with wild Italian drivers (this was the day of the two road accidents) and less-than-adequate-headlights, and so we had stopped where we were, and driven on in the morning. Where we met the other thief-warner.
The Basilica Man
We can only imagine that all the people – and they are plentiful – who say driving in the south is abominable have done the stretch from Rome to Naples and on to the Sorrento coast and then gave up. Certainly that bit was no piece of cake, but the further south we have ventured the better the driving has become. Southern drivers are both more polite and less eager to overtake madly, and the roads are the best we’ve encountered in the whole country.
That doesn’t mean you don’t get honked – we do. Every time we’re on the road!
It doesn’t mean the roads are empty. In the urban areas they are as mad as any Asian city – but now we just join in, triple parking and sliding into spaces that really do look too small for us.
We’ve already written about our arrival in Alberobello. Just as mass was finishing. With cars everywhere. And us trying to go against the traffic into a space that would not take us. That was when the Basilica Man emerged from his car to take control of traffic proceedings and competently direct us out of the madness. Good thing we knew what vai vai vai meant!
The Circling Bari Man
Out of the carpark and up the road, round a corner and back into the carpark. Going nowhere fast, a strong deja vu feeling setting in. The main exit from the carpark has a 2metre high low barrier so there’s no question of us going that way. There must be another way. Rob had found it easily enough earlier in the day when he went on an unsuccessful explore, leaving the rest of us napping/journalling/playing cards in the shade of a motorway overpass in the carpark (where, very excitingly, we witnessed a guy break in to another parked car and then take off in a fast getaway car when his efforts were disturbed)….but this evening we are stuck. At the judder bars a man approaches Rob and they have a prolonged conversation. He had seen us coming and going and wanted to help. Our lack of Italian and his lack of English meant the conversation went as far as we had already come, and no further. But he was friendly and wanted to be helpful, and little encounters like that give a place a good feeling.
The Two Couples At Dinner
Usually we eat in the van, or just outside it, and in doing so we non-deliberately isolate ourselves a bit from “real Italians” – it’s certainly different to returning to the same establishment night after night as we became accustomed to doing on the Asian leg.
But on Grandpa’s last night we ate out. We lingered over the meal, reminiscing over various events, discussing favourite places, and two older couples on opposite sides of the restaurant watched us, *fairly* discretely, but obvious enough for conversation to turn to, “Remember when everyone counted how many kids there were and asked if we were all one family?”
Half the tribe exited to use the toilets. One of the ladies caught my eye, which was permission enough for her to come over and ask something about are they all yours or how many are there or are you one family or something like that. My linguistic strangling “Si si grazie otto” did not dissuade her from asking more questions and we managed to discuss where we are from, how long we are in Italy, how beautiful the bambini are, that the old man is Grandpa. Eventually, she let go of my arm, which she had been clasping and returned to fill in her husband on the details. At which point the other couple, buoyed by the first lady’s obvious success, started on an identical conversation! Then both couples discussed us as we waited between them!
Two more positive encounters south of the capital.
The Not This Beach Man
We’re looking for a beach. The kids are disappointed Grandpa has just gone, but we hope to raise their spirits with a swim in the Adriatic. A road veers off the motorway towards the wide wide blue and so we take it. Very quickly it becomes one big pothole after another, but it is definitely pointing towards the sea, so we rumble on. At the water’s edge there is even parking. So we stop. Barely have we noticed that the sea is unsuitable for little kids, being more like a high-dive pool than a paddling pool with its sheer cliff into the water and rock in place of sand, when a grey-haired speedos-clad gentleman approaches.
For the next quarter of an hour he extols the benefits of not stopping at this beach and going on to another. He gives very specific instructions (at least we think that’s what he was saying), and suggests some fabulous sidetrips to take in as well. We recognise Alberobello and try to assure him we have already been, but we just can’t get our meaning across. He emphatically agrees with us that it is bella, and insists we really should go there. He tells us about caves and a zoo as well. Our intention to stop at this beach for lunch is thwarted by his descriptions of Capitolo with shade and sand and a gently shelving sea floor and his determination to get us away from this not-so-safe-watch-the-thieves beach (thank goodness Italians speak so much with their hands – makes them easy to understand!!!!) So we continue down the coast, thankful for an encounter with a time-generous man, whose local knowledge sends us towards a heavenly spot.
If they ever draw that line at Rome, we would hope to be floating away in the southern half!
Tags: 2008/09, postcard: Italy
rayres
Hee hee…..I’m pleased your experiences were wonderful…..unfortunately we escaped Bari as soon as we could – hot footed it to Brindiski (???) and jumped on a ferry to Corfu….I will pass onto Brad your disagreement with the line….he is a little busy being a new dad…..but I’m sure he will laugh!
Leighx