Outside Tienda Inglesa. Late in the season. From Heilbronn, Baden-Württemberg.
The day before, in exactly the same location, were two, equally if not more imposing, in a matching drab green military-type color. I didn’t have my phone to take a picture. It was quite a sight.
Here’s to lightweight travel, German style!
Lightweight travel? So much work.
Hey, I know that stretch of Autobahn.
I’m pretty sure it was in Heilbronn one dark, rainy night that I came within inches of being run over by a fast-moving 18-wheeler after a postprandial drive all the way back to Hochheim from Stuttgart to get an extra set of camera gear for retakes the next day. Universe gave me a clear image of myself in a hospital, casts, cables, and pulleys—for a long time—if I persisted in that very stressful job. It wasn’t just on a whim that I left it.
His head was tipped down so that the brim of the hat obscured all but the chin line to the back of the jaw. The character in the drawing had a dark complexion. My boss, Doug’s work, and well done as always. It had a simple caption – Catania.
The train trip from central Germany to Sicily was long – two overnights. The easiest itinerary meant crossing the Alps the first night. I would have much rather done that part during the day, but there was a schedule to keep. The second night was after the connection in Rome with sleep interrupted by the loading of the cars onto the ferry to cross the Straight of Messina. I could have probably slept through it actually, but going out on deck was worth the effort. The lights of the city of Messina were mesmerizing. The port area was well lit, of course, but the street lights coursing up the hills made quite a display.
The trip after dawn featured a cracking thunderstorm with very heavy rain. We Kansans love storms like that. Turns out that as you head south on the eastern coast of Sicily such rains go cascading down the side of Etna and wash over the train tracks. And trains that already seem to going way too slowly have to stop. It can take hours for the water to recede, tracks to be inspected and cleaned up and for the train to begin creeping along again.
So much for the schedule. I arrived near noon and immediately found a phone (It worked!) and called the client with apologies for having missed day one. She was very understanding, having spent enough time there. “Yeah. Trains are never on time. We’ll just start up tomorrow,” she said.
So I would have the day to find a room, maybe get in a run and search restaurant menus for the most delectable delectables. Bound to be something fabulous here on the Med.
The area outside the train station was your usual hustle and bustle of the traffic. I had too much equipment to carry for a bus ride. So I made my way to a taxi stand, which was void of taxis – molto italiano. I sat on one of the cases and was feeling the fatigue of the journey. I just wanted to get into a room and take a nap.
A man hurried up to me and in English with a heavy accent asked, “Scuzi, do know a tailer nearby?” “Non sono di qua.” I responded. “Sono straniero.” He was surprised and switched to Italian, the standard variety not the local dialect. “Oh no! That’s terrible. I need to find a tailor and soon.” “Sorry, I can’t help you.”
“Maybe you can,” came his reply. “I have these beautiful bolts of cloth that I am looking to sell. Maybe you would like to buy them.” He opened the bag and showed me the cloth.
“No, I really have no use for it.” I said.
“But you see, I’m a merchant sailor from Malta and this cloth is very valuable.” “I’ll sell it to you for 200,000 Lire and you can easily find a tailor who will buy it for double, or triple!”
“No. I’m not at all interested.”
Up walks another man and I turn my attention to looking for a taxi, which might never come. I overheard the guy telling his story to the new arrival. I glanced over as the cloth was displayed and this guy was practically doing backflips.
“Oh my god!” “This is such beautiful, valuable cloth!” “I’ve never seen the likes of it!”
They had moved closer to me and the new potential buyer was having a heart attack. “I only have 100,000 on me.” He tugged on my arm and asked me if I might go in with him. He’d put in his 100,000 and if I would cover the other half he’d me in an hour at a cafe. He pointed across the piazza. I shook my head no. “But I know a tailor. He’s closed for siesta, but I know he’ll buy it for 400, maybe 500,000!”
He was so excited. Something inside me – the chance to make a quick buck – was suddenly open to the idea. The 100 thou was out of my wallet and in the sailor’s hand before I knew it. And as I was left there holding the bag, watching the two of them walk away from, one toward the port and the other toward the city, I knew exactly what had happened. No consolation, but I had to admit they were very good at the con.
I found my usual kind of accommodation, toward the low end yet comfortable. I stashed the gear and took a much needed nap.
I slept a good long time and the sun was setting by the time I was out of the hotel. I was hungry, but we don’t eat until quite late in Italy. The restaurants don’t open until eight and they look at you funny if you show up right then. That was fine though, since I loved exploring new places.
I figured I should call Doug and let him know about the situation. This was a pretty big account and his job was making sure the customers stayed happy. So it was back to the train station with its bank of phones. I got through pretty easily and told him about the delay and that everything was arranged for the next day.
“So, other than the tough trip, how’s it going?” he asked.
“Okay, I said. I’m about to find dinner.” “Oh, and I got conned out in front of the train station.”
There was only silence on the other end of the line. Then, after the long pause his voice came back, low and measured. “It didn’t have to do with cloth, did it?”
LOL great story! I don’t remember that incident (though I vividly remember being scammed by a “professor” in Cairo several years before. I’ve never been to Sicily, but lived on Malta before moving to West Germany, so maybe heard about that from a fellow faculty member…in fact, I can imagine who it would have been….
That was just a draft I blasted out this morning. I’ve cleaned/spruced it up. Let me know if you want to see it. Email me. React, you SOB.