Italy: The Ape50

I can't remember his name, nor could I even TRY to pronounce it.

But, he's my favorite man in Italy.

As I struggled up the hill from Montieri to our hotel,

with my stomach screaming for drinking OJ and milk at the same meal,

I hear the Piaggio Ape 50 chugging up behind me.

"Please let him stop and pick me up! Please,"

I'm shouting silently in my head.

We exchanged, "Buon Giorno's."

He kept driving.

DANG!

But, after a quick chat with a friend,

he stopped again, offering me a ride, I think.

(It was in Italian... but I got in anyway!)

We squeezed together on the seat designed for one.

To communicate, I tried to blend Spanish, Italian and hand gestures.

Not surprisingly, he didn't understand me AT ALL!

Yet, squished in that tiny seat, we connected through kindness.

As the Ape 50 struggled up the hill, with it's extra burden, we laughed!

I told him how "bella" Italia was and "gratzied" him for the ride.

As I went to exit the truck, thrilled to share my adventure with Patrick,

The little old man gave me one more, and one very "Italian" memory:

In a gentleman-like fashion,

He reached his arm over me to open the door,

grazing it across my chest...

"Accidentally" copping a feel along the way!

I saw him with his friends several more times on this trip.

I can only imagine what they were saying about that "Bella American!"