We'd been lucky enough to be at the receiving end of one of Rosa's kind invitations again yesterday, to join her for lunch again today. We had a lazy morning in preparation, watched a crap Al Pacino film which I didn't realise The Blonde had put on and exclaimed,
"They just said 'fuck' and it's not even 12 noon yet - Italian TV is pretty lenient!"
The Blonde: "um, it's a film. On DVD."
Me: "Oh.... that would explain it."
The Blonde: "I love you, Arctic Puffin."
We wander down to Rosa's slightly later than she suggested since the day before, time seemed like a fluid concept. In we strolled, confidently now exclaiming "Ciao! Buongiorno Rosa!" Her reply was,
"1:15! Late! Sit!" Whooooooops. We get ushered through to the dining room and it dawns on us - this isn't the same arrangement as before, where The Blonde and I sat comfortably with Rosa, communicating in pidgin Englitalia. This is a table full of Italian men. Ranging from mid 20s to 50s and rather intimidating. We grinned nervously and said "Ciao" to everyone as we sat. Rosa had prepared a gorgeous tray of roasted meat and potatoes and veg, and she dished it out. Everyone is speaking Italian and we haven't got a clue what is going on.
Shit. This is slightly uncomfortable.
One older man sat next to The Blonde, bless him, tries to make conversation. We establish he comes from Lecce, "The Florence of the South" and comes to eat with Rosa once a week. He is very sweet but slightly creepy. There is a very sexy older guy who is wearing a lilac poloneck and a tweed suit - this should not work but he was hot. Next to me was a younger guy who didn't even acknowledge my presence.
We made stilted conversation as we ate the delicious meal Rosa had made, I'm not even sure what meat it was (possibly rabbit) and then she presented us with a plateful of homemade lasagne after a roast. We had to at least eat some of it. Also absolutely yum, but we were both in danger of popping at this point.
Annamaria brought us little cakes for dessert and their young male relatives brought us coffee and limoncello. Everyone started eating fresh walnuts after the meal, the older man next to The Blonde said,
" 'Ow do you say.... Big Nuts?" pointing to the walnuts in shells. We don't know if he's taking the piss or not so we crack up. The table starts laughing but he looks a bit confused,
"Have I said wrong? These... big nuts?" We assure him it's a walnut, but it was just that what he said in English had a double meaning. Ooops. Impressive though, Italian men break walnut shells with their hands.
During the meal, a guy came bounding in. We'd guess late 40s, built like a bull, wearing a pink jumper and having lots of banter with everyone - clearly a comedian. He introduces himself to us, he practically crushes my hand when he shakes it. This is Luigi.
Over the end of dinner, we establish he can speak some English as his brother lives in London, and he's really rather funny, as well as being a 52 year old weightlifter. Annamaria goes on to the laptop on the internet and they are laughing and pointing about something. Everyone is summoned to the screen to check out a photo from the 70 of three musclebound bodybuilders - yep that's him - that explains that neck and that chest. The Blonde and I exchange glances.
As we relax after the food mountain, Luigi keeps going on about The Blonde's eyes. During this chat I put my cigarettes on the table in anticipation of popping out on to the terrace for a post-dinner smoke. Luigi questions me about how many I smoke, then grabs my hand and starts smelling my fingers! This is weird. Not just a polite sniff from a distance, but practically my fingers are in his mouth at this point. Ummmm, ok, I am just popping outside.
Alone, admiring the magnificant view and enjoying my cigarette, I then hear the door go. Luigi comes out with one of my cigarettes.
Me: "Luigi, you don't smoke! You are so fit!" (I meant this in the literal, muscular sense.)
He lights it regardless, not looking in the least bit like a smoker, and stands directly in front of me.
"Your eyes! Verde, verde! Originale?"
Me: "Si, originale... "
He sees that my left eye has a random bit of brown in it and chatters away in Italian, I have no idea what he is saying. A friend of his joins us and I have the opportunity to put out the cigarette and slip back inside.
The Blonde is sorting out Euro, and suggests we should go. I agree. All very welcoming and lovely, just starting to err on the side of slight discomfort.
We promise Rosa we will come back in Summer, and thank her for her warmth and hospitality during our stay, when Luigi comes over.
"You like pizza?"
"Of course......"
"Ok, tonight, we take you somewhere special. You come out for pizza? 9pm? Nothing funny, this special." At this point The Blonde swore he also said "No police" - I did not hear this, but it's worrying nonetheless. We agree loosely to this plan and make our way back to the apartment to finish the vino locale and doze off our huge lunch.
After some deliberation we decide that perhaps it's not the best idea to go and meet Luigi for pizza. I am sure it would have been great fun but we couldn't be doing with the effort of the language barrier; as well as suspecting that Luigi would have brought a lot of the locals since The Blonde had definitely been a city novelty throughout the time we'd stayed. We had visions of us turning up for pizza and a chat, and a whole gaggle of Italian man who'd come to see the legendary Blonde English girl...
Instead we spent our final night in Il Gatto Rosso, enjoying a fine pizza and yet more Prosecco, and The Blonde had a nice final evening ogling Fitty McDirty.
The Blonde: "Ask his name!"
Me: "I don't care - YOU ask his name!"
The Blonde: "No you go to the bar, get more drinks and ask his name!"
Me: "No. I WILL go and get drinks, but I am not asking his name."
So, our final night in Ostuni. We wandered home, hoping to avoid Luigi in case he was angry we stood him up, and happened to be a member of the local Mafia or something... we got away with it.
A cup of green tea, and a final sleep in my little stone alcove...
No comments:
Post a Comment