creepy, yet flattering

i've been to italy six times* now, and each time have been surprised in a different way. in april i went to take a class and stayed in napoli on the U.S. naval station. naples is a dump, but interesting. i toured around the city solo without incident, and thought that my time as "ciao bella, ciao, where are you from? hello. americana?" were long over.

this propensity of italian men (especially southern italian men) to shamelessly catcall and flirt with foreign women was quite evident when i went to the boot in 2003, as a much younger person. but on my last few trips, i concluded that my allure had worn off with age, as no one leered at me.

entri Salvatore. i took ma and pa to the amalfi coast where we stayed in an unbelievable little hotel high up on the cliffs of amalfi town. it was molto charming. the proprietor, salvatore, a good looking 20-something guy, had a little flirt with me when we first arrived, and i thought, "hey! i haven't gone completely flatline!" but, a bit of flattery went to creepy on night two.

i headed to the front desk to collect the passports and pay the bill before bedtime, and salvatore was speaking to me in rapid italian about women and beds, or bedrooms, or something.

--"salvatore, i don't speak italian."
--"oh, yes, i forget. i speak to you in italian anyway. i was hoping you speak italian. have you seen the garden on the rooftop? i take you there? five minutes? please?"
--"uh, ok." SHIT. oops. i should have known better.
--i walk to the room. "mom, put on your shoes, we're going to see the rooftop garden with salvatore. i need a chaperone."
--knock, knock. "you see rooftop garden now with me?"
--"uh, yeah. my mom wants to see it, too."
--"of course."
--we walk up the stairs, unaccompanied. apparently, mom was the perfect c*ckblock. it is pitch dark. "thanks, mom. that was odd and creepy."

we head back to the lobby, salvatore holding the door open. i go in first headed to the room. mom, behind me, stops to say something. i turn back and look. mom turns toward me. i make eye contact with salvatore over the top of my mother's head. he points at me, points at himself, points up toward the garden, points at me, points at himself, gives me the "meet me later" look with hope in his eyes.

i blush. wave goodnight. "buona notte, salvatore."

holy crap. i am on vacation with my PARENTS. wearing a wedding ring. having a different last name than them. isn't it obvious?

i had to wonder, how many times has salvatore been successful at this particular tactic? it must pay off sometimes, or else why would he be so bold?

anyhoo, i felt totally creeped out, but flattered. he was willing to take the risk that my dad might toss him off a 40 foot cliff to have a few minutes with me in the rooftop garden. how romantico and sleazy. benvenuto a italia!

*you may think i am a travel snob. if you're reading this blog, get over it. the grass is always greener, eh?