Gwendolyn: It was a hike wheeling luggage from the train station through the charming Myrtle Beach meets Pompano town of Civitavecchia, Italy. We were hungry and not sure how long it would take us to locate our ferry line and stand in all of the appropriate queues. Although there was a very suspect looking Subway sandwich sign, we were anxious to continue on and find something better by our ferry port. Barcelona was our destination and we knew that no matter what we encountered, it wouldn't be but a short 24 hours before we could eat our favorite gazpacho.
All of a sudden, there it was. The port. With it's various display of industrial looking cranes and lifts, large cargo ships, a few cruise ships, and of course a large gate lit in golden hues by the setting evening sun. It was all that separated ourselves from what we knew was the direction we needed to go. There were two rather serious looking Italian guards in front of the gate with large semi trucks approaching them one by one for permission to enter. I left the luggage with Mario and ran haphazardly between them to reach the guards.
" Through here you are very beautiful 100 yards free shuttle very beautiful come back beautiful" was the line from one of the guards that successfully landed us one step closer to the Grimaldi Ferry Line and our prized gazpacho. Still, however complimentary of my lovely hairstylist that added the hint of blond highlights peaking out from under my floppy hat that Italian men notoriously love so well, there was something a little off about the exchange. I knew then that something was amiss. We were in store for a new adventure.
The reception and waiting area was something like the arcade corner of an early 80's bowling alley in the suburbs of Midwest Ohio. The ones I became ever so familiar with as a child. Rows of thin wooden seats bolted together provided comfort. An assortment of crazy ball machines and those large glass cages with the giant claw that never successfully captures the fuzzy stuffed bear in the bow tie from the mound below provided entertainment.
I chose to sit and guard the bags while Mario ventured in deeper in search of food.
Mario: The snack bar was well stocked with all sorts of useless & largely inedible crap. It was patronized by families that seemed to communicate only by screaming at each other regardless of whether they were expressing love or fury. There were also lots of truckers who congregated here while waiting to accompany their shipments on the next ferry. I adjusted my Stetson & entered.
A word about the Stetson: I found it in Antibes, a little French seaport just outside of Nice. It is made of pre-weathered leather & looked both rustic & stylish. I tried it on & felt like Clint Eastwood at a fashion show in Milan. Gwen loved the hat when I held it up but her enthusiasm faded somewhat when I put it on. My longish hair had become stiff & dry due to the salt air & the absence of hair product. It stuck out like the thatching on a tiki hut from underneath the awesome cowboy chapeau. But a little strategic smoothing & angling seemed to satisfy any objections & I left the haberdashery with my head held high & my eyes slightly narrowed. I looked cool!
No one seemed to notice my arrival at the snack bar. I had somehow failed to cut the striking figure that preceded me in my head. I perused the selection at the deli counter. The myriad collection of shrink-wrapped baguettes served only to confuse me. Every incarnation of pork product was combined with a different kind of cheese. There was ham & mozzarella, sausage & emmenthal, prosciutto & Parmesan. Ordinarily, this would be snack Valhalla for me but the contents of each sandwich seemed a little flimsy.
The man at the counter took orders from his customers efficiently & economically. He was wearing a hat, too, a little paper hat like one does while preparing peppy cuisine. He looked at me, questioning. I pointed vaguely into the refrigerated counter & he told me the cost & pointed to the cashier. I walked over to dutifully pay first. Then I returned to hand him my receipt. While he prepared my meal, I stared into the counter again, doubting my selection & wondering if I should choose for Gwen or let her decide for herself. I was thus distracted when the man said, "Hey, Indiana Jones!". He wore a malicious grin as he held out the now pressed & paper-thin baguette. I smiled sheepishly as I took my dinner from the bald philistine in the paper hat. I left the snack bar to report back to Gwen.
Gwen: All of the strange & prolonged stares while Mario was away put me a little on edge, but in no time at all my man had returned proudly carrying his odd looking sandwich. I asked, " How was it in there?" and all he provided me was a firm "go see for yourself".
I passed the threshold of the aluminum framed cage with plexiglass windows erected inside a corner of the larger concrete block building as a makeshift convenience store. As I entered all seemed normal for a brief moment. Then, there was silence. All eyes were on me and all I could here in my head as I scanned the room was the music from that Bar in Star Wars.
Growing up in a small fishing town in Midwest Ohio afforded me the opportunity to not only become familiar with bowling alleys, but with a various array of truck stops, bait shops, & even the suburbs of Detroit. I have also been to Gary Indiana a few times and walked the docks of many port towns selling uniforms to yacht crew. None of those experiences prepared me for this.
The sandwich man was at the edge of the counter awaiting my order by the time I walked across the room. He appeared to be about 6 feet tall with a bald head bearing an upside down boat shaped paper sandwich making hat. "Buona sera, one large beer and a ham and cheese sandwich, Grazie", I said.
He stared directly at me as he took the bottle opener to the beer. I kept my eyes mostly on the ceiling. He passed the beer across the counter with my sandwich and in slow motion with a slightly carnival-ish grin and a muddled Italian accent said, "You- are the most beautiful girl in the world." There it was.
'You are the most beautiful girl in the world' is normally a great thing to hear when in you're in your late thirties and the freckles have all smeared together and given way to brown blobs between those "fine lines" they mention in cosmetic ads. Given the present moment circumstances; however, it wasn't so great and he said it a little louder than I would have preferred.
I smiled, said Grazie and turned around.
Have you ever been scuba diving or snorkeling with barracuda? They are odd looking things that hover and stare directly at you. They don't move - they just stare. Well, I turned around to see a whole school of barracuda and a very long cashier line. They welcomed me into the queue and stood very closely- all eyes fixed on me.
I stood there tapping my foot, facing forward & holding my gourmet dinner when the same bald paper hatted sandwich man now unexpectedly 2 feet shorter smiled, held out a plastic bag and said, "for you beautiful, but hold on to your beer."
Several toothless grins from the cashier line encouraged me in Italian to take the bag, but definitely hold on to the beer. This was somehow very important to them that I hold on very tightly to my beer. I oddly understood this in Italian. I did hold on tightly to my beer & I smiled at my shrunken sandwich man who obviously served his fare from high atop some kind of raised platform. As I awkwardly awaited my fate in line, he stood right beside me, shoulder to shoulder, staring up at me until I made it to the front of the line to pay.
My exit was swift. My walk back to Mario was brisk. And, when I returned to him, all he said was "Star Wars bar, right?"
We both hoped the food and crowd would be slightly less frightening on board our 21 hour cruise.
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INDIANA JONES
G overlooking The Port of Civitavecchia- 5 minutes in....still optimistic!
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