WHO’S STEALING IN ITALY?
An Italian
story
In every
country you may be robbed, but in Western Europe the worst reputation in this
matter has Italy. It may be because of the scores of Mafia movies we watched
but you have to be careful anyway. Thus, when we with my wife Janina decided to
take a trip to Italy, I suggested to her that she leave all of her expensive
adornments such as necklaces and other jewelry at home. I warned her that I
wouldn’t be able to fight the Italian Mafia in the role of an aggrieved husband.
My wife obeyed. However, destiny dictated that the protagonist of our biggest
shock during the trip was me.
On our trip from Venice to Florence and
finally to Rome we consumed the variegated menu of cultural memories. Most of
us were looking forward to the first experience with the ´Eternal City – Rome´
like our grandparents waited for their wedding night. To please us even more the
bus drivers released the ´secret´ that our guide for Rome (a Slovak woman
married to an Italian) not only knew everything about the places worth seeing,
but also about one particular place where we could buy the cheapest postcards
in Rome (and in two sets!). Well, they were partly right – for some people it
is more important to send postcards than to be at the place shown in these
postcards.
Nevertheless, I promptly explained to my wife
this was not our case. Although it is nice that all official representatives of
the travel agency are trying to recommend to us the cheapest postcards of Rome
(and allegedly one in two sets), but an experienced traveler must know that these
cards are good for nothing. I also reminded to my dear wife of the well-known
fact that I have immunity against mass-market psychosis.
Therefore when our guide in Rome finally
appeared and began our tour through the city with her first comment aimed to
the cheapest postcards, I only smiled indulgently and reminded my wife that we
were not here to buy postcards, no matter how cheap they might be. She agreed and,
anticipating the attractions of Rome, I forgot all about postcards.
Perhaps because of the many experiences of
this day and the fatigue from so much walking, I can be excused for letting my
wariness slacken. Thus after we left one too many churches, the guide reiterated
her well worn phrase that ´here are the cheapest postcards´ and I wasn’t ready.
In
fact, I was
surprised that our passive group of tourists turned into a gang rushing to the
postcard stand. I was doubly surprised by the fact that I was in its vanguard!
This wave of eager consumers of totally unusable
postcards carried me along with an irresistible power. And how to oppose the
old man selling the postcards? In anticipation of these sales, he was stepping
in front of his stand with delight.
I was the first one there!
He quickly pushed into my hands two sets of postcards (Don’t forget to check
that they are marked Roma I and Roma II!) and I gave him my money as did those
who followed. But I soon found that I had two sets of Roma I, so I returned and
fought for the old man’s attention. He quickly changed one set of postcards and,
exactly in this moment, the main mas of fanaticized tourists of our group
separated us. It gave me an opportunity to look behind and contemplate the mass
hysteria that was fascinating. A few meters from the old man’s stand, other
sellers were hopping up and down proclaiming that they had the same postcards
for the same price. But no one cared until the old man sold out. Then the
ecstasy was over and our guide managed to press us back to our bus to visit
other churches and monuments.
I was shocked at the whole experience –
mostly at myself. However, in the next basilica, St. Maria Maggiore, looking at
the frescoes on the walls, I was comforted by the idea that it was an
experience, but not an expensive one. At this moment I broke into a cold sweat.
That morning I had changed our money and I had no small notes. What I´d stuck
into the hand of the postcard seller in a hurry were all our money for the next
days! To buy two sets of postcards that you don’t want is somehow unique; but
to buy them at hundred times of their value?!
When I told this to my wife, she almost
fainted. She knew that I’m always lost in any business at home, but she had
never dreamt – even in her worst nightmares – that my talent could be
international. And then, while the women from our group comforted her by saying
things like ”with a man you can find worse things,” I went to the guide. If I’m
going to commit financial suicide, then I want to do it perfectly. I asked her
to return to the postcard stand.
Our whole entourage promptly voted to return
to the renowned – now really renowned – church to see an attraction that was
unscheduled and unpaid for. When I got off the bus, which unfortunately could
not get now to the square right before the church, I was accompanied by the schizophrenic
views of our tourist group fellows. By one eye they regretted what happened to
me and by the second twinkled by expectation with of how long nose I will
return. The guide and I stepped up of the never-ending long upstairs to the
church like two mourners.
After terribly long while we saw the stand
from a distance, but the old man was nowhere in sight. It looked as though he had
vanished with the cash. Who might be surprised for him. Beaten, we came to the
stand and looked around. Then we found the old man. He was sitting on a very
small chair under the shade of his counter and reading a newspaper, almost
imperceptible because of his tiny size. He asked what we wanted. I have no idea
what the guide told him, but she spoke as fast as machine gun.
After a never-ending while the old man slowly
nodded his head, looked at me with understanding, patted me on the shoulder and
gave me what I had overpaid. Then he waved good-bye and returned to his newspaper.
Thus, if you are curious about who is stealing in Italy, I can assure you that
one very old seller of postcards in Rome isn’t...
Available in E-books:
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