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Buono Viaggio!
On a Sunday morning, in the town of Matzaccara, I was surprised to see the door of a bread shop propped open. I gave thanks for my good fortune, and wandered inside. After a few moments, a man came out front. "Do you have bread?" I asked. "We're closed," he answered. "But wait here." He shuffled off into the shop's rear and came back with some fresh buns. Setting them on the counter, he reached into a wooden crate beneath a table and withdrew three loaves of bread. He gathered everything into a bag, and held it out to me. "Grazie," I said, taking the bag and holding out a bank note in exchange. But he wouldn't take my money. "Libero," he said jovially, slapping me on the back. I wondered if bread was always free on Sundays. "My wife and I are biking around Sardinia," I said. "Would you like to come and see our bikes?" He yelled into the back room and his wife and daughter came out to see what all the ruckus was about. Outside, the shopkeeper carefully checked over our laden machines. He was impressed with the amount of luggage we had. "Acqua?" he asked suddenly. I reached for my empty bottle, but his wife waved her hand and he hurried off, and returned shortly cradling four two-liter bottles of mineral water. Handing them to me, he asked "Vino?" I was already overwhelmed by his generosity, and this time it was my turn to mime a wobbling cyclist. The family laughed, waved goodbye, and disappeared inside their shop. I tucked the bottles under my already straining bungee cords, then swung a leg over my mount. Before I could take one pedal stroke, the shop owner reappeared, brandishing a leafy crop of radishes - so fresh they still had moist soil attached. "Buono viaggio!" he said, presenting the radishes to me magnanimously. He waved goodbye again and disappeared back inside a second time. Before he could return with something else, I pedalled off quickly. Sardinians' hospitality truly amazed me. We climbed a hill out of town, and found ourselves on a newly surfaced road paralleling the sea. The February day was unusually calm. Under a clear blue sky, we rolled along the traffic-free road admiring umbrella pine trees, and thinking about tranquil seaside camping spots. How can we be so lucky? I wondered, thoroughly enjoying the flat pavement and blissful riding conditions. I passed a sign: 'Strada fin,' and had to agree. The road was indeed fine. Then it occurred to me. In North America we put signs warning when the road is rough. In Italy they put signs to say when the road is smooth. That's what I call a cultural difference. A few hundred meters farther the pavement abruptly ended. Ah ha, a light flashed on in my head. So 'fin' didn't mean 'fine,' but 'finished.' My Italian needed a little brushing up. A sandy one-lane path continued from the edge of the blacktop. We rode it for a kilometer to a dead-end beach set amongst a cluster of umbrella pines. It looked like a perfect spot to camp, but it was only noon. Contemplating what to do, we decided the best course of action would be to have lunch. I was never one to make hasty decisions on an empty stomach. Break out the radishes! "I'm going for a swim," Sharon announced after lunch. "How do you know there's no dangerous currents?" I asked, a bit worried. "I'll just walk out a ways," Sharon assured me. While I lay back on the sand to digest, Sharon waded out into the bay. Over a hundred meters out, she stopped. The water was still only at her ankles! But when she returned she had the cleanest toes around. A few minutes past noon our secluded beach became a hubbub of activity. Children appeared with an extended family in tow. The women sat cross-legged on the sand chatting while the men leaned against their cars talking. The kids ran about noisily, collecting pine cones and shells. I found the scene slightly amusing. The sun was shining and the temperature was twenty degrees Celsius. Yet they were bundled as though it was minus twenty! The entire troop was outfitted in full winter regalia, and looked more like they were ready for spectating at a Winter Olympic event rather than a stroll on the beach. Even the hoods on their heavy jackets were fastened! Their round faces peered out like small moons. They must have thought us odd, too. Sharon and I, wearing only shorts and tee-shirts, had busied ourselves for ten minutes slathering on sunscreen. Then, we lay back and basked in the sunshine. They must have thought for sure we were going to catch our death of pneumonia. The women took off their boots, rolled up their pant legs, waded into the bay, and dug around in the sand with their toes, gathering clams. When they had filled two plastic buckets, they piled into the vehicles and left. We were alone once more. |
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