A Brief Encounter With An Old Friend

3/16/10
As I stepped out of my taxi and into the pouring rain, I quickly found myself surrounded by the organized chaos that is Italy. I began walking, with a bag on my back, another on my front, and a map in my hand, towards Piazza Falcone where my hostel was located. After about ten minutes I stopped a man and asked him if I was going the right way. He kindly told me I was not, gave me the “proper” directions, and sent me on my way with a smile. After walking up Via Etnea for fifteen minutes, I stopped another man to make sure I was going the right way. Unfortunately he told me I needed to turn around and head in the opposite direction all together. Making it back to my starting point, I found a police officer and thought it would be a good idea to ask him how to reach my destination. He took hold of my map, walked with me for a block or two, and set me out in the right “direction” for now the third time. After about fifteen minutes into this route, I came across another police officer and decided I should confirm what the other officer had said. Much to my dismay, he gave me yet another set of directions. A bit frustrated, cold, and tired I decided to grab a taxi that what parked nearby. After loading my bags we drove two blocks down the street, made one left, one right, and were magically at the doorstep of my hostel. Amazing! Luckily, checking into the hostel was much easier than trying to find it. I dropped my bags, took a shower, and sat down to get myself familiar with the city, as I clearly needed to do. As I relaxed here for a bit, I thought about my walk through Catania, and was reminded of all the things I love about this country. Even though I couldn’t seem to find my way, I never felt lost. I was quite comfortable in the organized confusion that surrounded me. Something special exists in the way everyone wanted so much to help me and so happily sent me unknowingly in the wrong direction. I remembered how to cross five lanes of traffic that would not slow for me as if it were second nature. More importantly, I remembered that in Italy there are unwritten rules that exist, and somehow, I almost remembered them, and almost blended right in with those who knew them so well. Around eight I decided to go find a place to get some dinner and hopefully practice my Italian. Walking down the street, again in the rain, passing the hookers and pimps, I stumbled upon Taverna Coppola. As I approached the door one of the servers opened it for me, took my coat, and showed me to a table. Within minutes I was speaking Italian, ordering wine, an appetizer, and main course. The wine arrived first. A nice glass of house red. Followed by a slightly grilled piece of bread, rubbed with fresh garlic, and topped with diced tomatoes, basil, and homemade olive oil. Next, the main course, a dish of fresh pasta with a sauce of tomato and simmered beef and pork, of course topped with some parmigiano reggiano. Sitting here in this trattoria, sipping on a glass of house red wine, having just finished one of the best meals I have had in a long time, I drifted off into thoughts of the time I had spent getting to know this country so well. A time that seems like yesterday, but in actuality was over eight years ago. For a moment it seemed as though I had never left. A feeling much like not seeing an old friend for several years, and within minutes of reuniting, feeling as though not even one day had passed. Such was my evening, in a small twelve table restaurant halfway down a side street in Catania, Sicily. Hello Italy. Ciao amico mio.