This post begins shortly after that brutal day one. As noted previously we were beat. There was a bar a block away. A bar in Italy is kind of an all encompassing term for a shop that sells coffee, beer, pop, mixed drinks, gelato. They are typically very small and are quick serve for the locals. They are also open until late in the evening. Rosanna, our B&B host had already called to see if they made sandwiches and the response had been “no”. There was a pizzeria and a restaurant each a few blocks away but we were just too tired so the “Charleston Bar” it was.
I prefer a beer each for William and I and a soft drink for Stephen who rarely if ever drinks. “Cibo”(food) I asked, “no” came the response so we each grabbed a bag of chips for our evening sustenance. Out of nowhere Francisco appears with half a ham and cheese sub cut Inito six pieces “mangia” he says with a smile. do
Well that poor thing never knew what hit it and all of the sudden he comes back with a whole sandwich cut into six pieces. “Quanta le devo?” I asked (What do I owe you?) “niente” (nothing) was his response. Well, of course we bought another round and between my pitiful Italian and Google translate we started to have a conversation.
In the course of that I mentioned that my great grandparents were Calabrian. Well, that really got the conversation going and another round plus a round of limoncello in which Stephen, good sport that he is, participated followed by a quick sip of water. We thus toddled off fed and watered to collapse in our respective beds commenting on how nice Francisco was not knowing he wasn’t alone. Next installment Maria Theresa and a return to the Charleston Bar after a sumptuous Calabrian home cooked meal.
Lou Hikes? 