Ok - I'm being coerced into typing my first entry in this thing.
Last night was my very first encounter with real italian dining. A popular pizza place in a concrete jungle to the south of Mt. Vesuvius. But first, I have to start from the beginning.
Our leader here in the church that we attend, is an American and a teacher here at the base school. He has been here a long while, married to a beautiful Italian and speaks the language fluently. Great guy. He called me yesterday afternoon and asked if I would help him get his car to a dealer in downtown Naples. No problem.
So, I follow him down - now keep in mind I'm driving an unfamiliar vehicle in an unfamiliar area that has a reputations for having the craziest drivers... In other words, everybody drives like me - it's kind of scary, especially with how comfortable I am with it. After dropping off his car, I'm riding back with him when he realized that he was supposed to be at a meeting that night. He apologized but was going to continue to take me home. Being the generous person that I am (cough cough) I told him he should just go and I'll keep myself busy until he was done. His response was, "Great, in return I'll take you out to have some of the most amazing pizza you've ever had."
Due to the 'so called traffic,' we were late to the meeting that was supposed to start at 6:15 - However, I'm learning the Italians take start times as a mere suggestion. At 6:45 the meeting finally starts - it's about Family History, so I am invited sit in and listen. Listening is really the only way to describe what I did - Everything was in Italian. It's interesting listening to a language that you have no idea what they're saying. All I really got out of it was that Italian is a very rhythmic language.
When the hour long meeting finished (at 9:00), I realized that 8 others were also going out for pizza. We all started to squeeze into one Fiat when we realized we wouldn't all fit, and finally settled on taking four cars to find the pizza place. Now, notice that I used the words 'so called traffic' for the reason for being late - that was nothing compared to what I saw next. There's nothing like trying to tail another car through the streets of Naples while being cut off by a produce truck (I mean, come one - who is driving a produce truck through a major metropolitan street at 9:30 in the evening?) with a Fiat Mini on your right, another vehicle passing in the oncoming traffic on your left and a scooter squeezing in between all of you like it was a four lane highway. Apparently real Napoli traffic occurs after the sun sets.
After losing the car in front of us - we stopped at an intersection that had 40 street signs in every direction (you think I'm exaggerating?) - The driver is on the phone with the guy in the car we just lost and he's reading all the street signs to him. It took me a couple of minutes but I finally figured out what was going on. There were no signs that said what street we were on, only signs that pointed to other places - by reading all the signs (Pompeii is to our right, Napoli is behind us...) they were hoping that the other driver could triangulate where we were and how to get there.
At 10:00, we were pulling into the Pizzaria with promises to me of nirvana. Their proof was all the cars that were parked practically on top of each other. However, I think the drivers to all those cars were ages 10 and under because when we walked into the place, I had flashbacks to taking my boys to Chuck-E-Cheese. This is 10:00 at night and this place was just crawling with kids.
Thus began the window war.
We found a table that was big enough just outside of the pizzaria and had just sat down. My back was to a window. This window had two panes that would slide side to side. After we sat down, a couple of young boys opened the window and poked the guy sitting two seats down from me on the back. The guy reached back and slid the window shut. That must have been the reaction the boys wanted because they did it again. This time the guy next to me reached back and slid the window shut. Everybody at our table was in deep conversation (in Italian) and so I thought I would have a little fun. By putting my left arm into the track of the window, I was able to effectively wedge my elbow against the sliding window behind me and use my hand to provide enough friction to keep the other window from sliding open in the other direction. Clever me.
This became the ultimate challenge to all the little gladiators inside. There is now a bruise on the back side of my left elbow. Out of the corner of my eye (I tried to act as if I didn't know that I was ruining their fun) I could see that they had put five kids at each window to push. This went on for about a half an hour. Finally I could feel the pressure release and I thought I had won. Not in the slightest, they regrouped and put all ten kids on the window behind me. I knew this was going to be painful, so just when they were going to put in their maximum effort, I casually dropped my arm from the window. The stack of kids tottered briefly, paused like the Leaning Tower of Pisa, and then crashed to the floor. (heheh)
Now, the whole time I had to ask myself - where are the parents? I just can't imagine parents sending their six year old kids down to the local pizzaria in their volvo's with explicit instructions to pick on guys from Wyoming.
Well, I ended up paying for that little stunt for the rest of the night. Not only did I have the continuous rhythm of Italian at the dinner table, but I had three or four of those kids giving me the whatfor (I think they took shifts). At first I thought they were just playing with each other - but their language included raspberries which is clear in any language (the tongue flavored kind). I really wondered what would happen if I were to turn around, wrinkle my brow and start angrily quoting Robert Frosts, The Road Not Taken - but, I didn't have the guts. I think I would have been the only one who would have enjoyed the joke. The war finally ended when one of the boys picked up a plastic knife and threw it at me - only then did I hear a mother get after the boy. At least I think it was a mother.
At 10:15 we were told we could go pick up our pizza. I decided to help with this and maybe calm the locals. two other guys and I walked through dining area, out the front door, across the street to another building where there was a line of people picking up pizzas.
Why is it that out of everybody in line, I was the only one that other Italians came to to ask questions? I thought that maybe the kids put a sign on my back that said "Ask me where the bathroom is."
It was at this point that I decided to call Annie and let her know that I would be late. (Hey, no making fun, I called her first.)
After the amazing view of Mt. Vesuvius in the moonlight, the nightly fireworks display - I finally got a taste of some real Italian Pizza. Yes, it is different than what we have in the states. At 12:30 in the morning, I dragged myself into my apartment.
But... that pizza was worth it.
