"No, Really. You Should Meet My Son."

We woke up the next morning, and after a light breakfast of yogurt, Beverley and I decided to find tickets to Giulianova. I didn’t think we would be able to, considering that the ticket office was closed the last time Beverley tried to return home on a Sunday. But it was worth checking. And if they are closed, maybe the travel agency is open.

It was a big negative on both places. Certainly SOMEWHERE had to sell bus tickets, though. The city buses and buses to bigger cities were still running that day. We called Francesca, our Italian teacher, and she said that the bar by the Piazza San Francesco would be selling tickets on a Sunday. By my house…okay back the OTHER direction.

As we were walking, I pulled out my mini dictionary to look up the word “ticket.” If we were going to buying them, I suppose I needed to know how to say it. The word was biglietto, or biglietti for more than one. A difficult word, so I was practicing saying it while looking at my dictionary.

The next thing I know, this older gentleman (he was probably in his late 40s) was saying something to me. He had two friends with him, and he kept motioning to my dictionary. “You speak Italian,” I kept thinking. “Why do you want to borrow my dictionary?”

We finally decided to tell them that we were looking to buy bus tickets to Giulianova. They said “Noooooo. Non posso.” We tried to tell them that our Italian teacher told us we could buy them at the Piazza San Francesco. The gentleman decided between themselves that we could buy them at a bar near the Piazza Garibaldi. Bar? I asked. Yes, they said.

We said “Grazie” and started heading to one of the multiple bars near the Piazza Garibaldi. We had only walked about 20 feet when the gentleman who first approached us motioned for us to follow him into a magazine store. “This isn’t a bar,” I thought. “But okay.”

He asked the employee where we could buy tickets, and they said at a specific bar near the Piazza Garibaldi. So, being the nice gentlemen that they were, they offered to take me and Beverley to the bar. I didn’t think they meant any harm, so we followed them. Me and the main guy in the front, Beverley and his two friends behind us.

On the walk over, the man I was walking with started asking me questions. Why are you in Teramo? Where do you live? (Okay, these questions must just be normal for Italians to ask. But HIS asking them was soooo much less creepy than Jimmy’s asking them). When I said I was studying Communications, he started saying something about his figlio (son) and studying Communications at the same university as me.

The next thing I know, he is telling me that we should exchange phone numbers so I can call him and meet his son. Keep in mind, the majority of this conversation (minus a couple words here and there) is completely in Italian. So I second-guess myself, and laugh. Certainly I misunderstood him. Not to mention, this entire time all 3 gentleman are directing most of their conversation towards me. Why do I attract all the attention? Talk to Beverley!

We get to the bar where the tickets were supposed to be located. My new friend asks about buying bus tickets, and the lady points us to another bar across the Piazza Garibaldi. We all sigh in frustration, laughing at our luck, and walk over to the other bar.

We finally get there. Guess what? No tickets.

The gentlemen tell us they are sorry, but they don’t think we can buy tickets on Sunday. I was upset, because I really wanted to get to Giulianova. Then, the main guy says something about us going with him to Giulianova. He was offering to give us a ride out there! How sweet…but I wasn’t sure that was such a good idea. We DID just meet after all. Like I said, his intentions seemed well, but you never know.

We said thanks anyways, and he said he was going to give me his phone number to call him. I didn’t necessarily want it, but I gave him a piece of paper and a pen anyways. He wrote down his digits. Score for me. Hah. One of his friends said, “You call me too!” and eagerly shook his head. The main guy, looks at me and says, “No.” So, he was genuinely looking out for me; I guess I can trust him.

After saying our Grazie’s and Ciao’s, Beverley and I walked around to the other side of the Piazza. I looked down at the sheet of paper. Renzo. Cool name. I probably won’t be calling you though. I’m sure he was just being welcoming. He kept emphasizing how he wanted me to meet his son; “You go to the same University!” he said once during our search for bus tickets.

Beverley and I make our way back to the Piazza San Francesco to look for the bar that sells bus tickets. We stop at another magazine store and I ask, “Dov’e possiamo comprare bigletti per Giulianova?” The lady understood me and spouted off something about a bar and pointing to her right. I didn’t catch half of what she said, because I was so stoked that she actually understood me! I’m getting good at this! Since I didn’t listen very closely, I decided to follow her finger in that direction and look for a bar.

We passed by a bar, but go figure: It was closed. By the Piazza, there is a big bus lot where people get picked up and dropped off all the time. Beverley suggested going over there, and I remembered a bar being over there as well! Yes! Let’s go!

We make it over there, and the bar is clearly closed. No way. I decide that we will make our way around to the other side of the ancient Roman wall that still surrounds part of Teramo. There are some bars on the other side, so certainly we will find something.

As we are walking, we smell something DELICIOUS up ahead. We find a small serve-yourself restaurant, and on the door a little sticker said “Ticket” and something in Italian. I said, “That says ticket! It won’t hurt to ask…”

I (successfully!!!) ask the man at the counter where we could find tickets, almost giving up hope. He says, “Qui!” (Here!) Beverley and I throw up our arms and give a shout of joy. He starts laughing, calls at one of his friends in the kitchen and says something in Italian. Beverley and I successfully get 4 tickets; 2 to get us there, 2 to get us home. I ask him, “A che hora parte il autobus?” (What time does the bus leave?), and he shrugged his shoulders, saying he didn’t know. Oh well, we can wait. We said multiple Grazie’s and headed to the bus stop that I use to go to the University.

As we are waiting, a car pulls up right in front of us. The window rolls down, and it is Renzo and one of his friends! Oh my gosh. How in the world did they find us? Oh yeah, I have a bright pink jacket on and I’m blonde. Not hard.

We tell them excitedly that we got tickets to Giulianova, and surprised, they ask where. We point to the small restaurant down the way. The next thing I know, they are saying, “Non qua. Li!” and pointing across to the bus depot. We were standing in the wrong spot. Renzo gets out of the car and shuffles through his wallet. He gives me his business card, explaining everything on it. He points to the address and then across the bridge to the other side of Teramo. That’s where his office is, and his son works there too. We could even meet there, if we wanted.

I said thank you, and he got back into the car. We waved, laughed at the coincidence, and I looked down at his business card. His last name is Stranieri. “Foreigners” in Italian. This is so meant to be.

We were about to head over to the bus depot. “Do you think we should ask this bus driver, just in case?” Beverley asks as a city bus pulls up. I hop on and ask him where the bus to Giulianova picks up (in Italian, mind you). He understands me, and says over at the bus depot. We quickly walk over there, hoping we haven’t missed the bus in these last 5 minutes. I’m glowing. I’m 3 for 3 in asking for things in Italian. It’s a good day.

We sit around for a couple of minutes, until another bus pulls up. It’s too big and nice to be the bus to Giulianova. I go up to the bus driver and ask him if HE knows when the Giulianova bus is bound to arrive. 4 for 4. :)

He didn’t know, but took us over to the bus times. I think he had as hard a time deciphering the bus charts as we did! But we came to the conclusion that the only bus that runs to Giulianova leaves at 9:30 in the morning. Well, we definitely missed that one. We decided to wait around for the possible 12:30 bus. When it didn’t show up, we gave up. No beach today.

We made a lunch of chicken nuggets and macaroni and cheese, then tried to figure out what to do with our empty day. The only stores open in Teramo on Sunday are the bars. So you can eat, walk around, and then eat some more.

We went to the park to do some exploring, and ended up sitting and watching a soccer match between some guys. The sun was out, and it felt slightly warm. Spring is on its way.

After deciding we had been creepy enough by watching the guys play, we decided to text Francesca and see if she wanted to get a coffee or some gelato. That women works on the weekends, and we decided she needed a break.

She said she was waiting on someone to call, but she would let us know later. We waited for about 10 minutes, and then decided to get some gelato for ourselves. We bought our gelato, and headed over to the steps of the main church to soak up some sun and enjoy our Italian delicacies.

We were walking back to my apartment, and hadn’t gone 50 feet when I get a text from Francesca. “What time could we meet? Where would u like to go?” We laugh, and turn around. After talking on the phone to Francesca, we decided to meet at our usual bar.

Beverly and I were walking that way, when I hear someone behind me repeating something in Italian. I turn around out of curiosity, and guess who it is?

Renzo and 3 friends of his!

“No way!” I exclaim. “Are you following us?” I tease. They start laughing, and we talk for a little while. We say we were going to meet a friend for coffee, and Renzo once again says to call him. I think, “Okay, 3 times in one day? That can’t just be coincidence. I’ll probably give this guy a call sometime this week!”

We meet Francesca for tea, and have a great time. She needed the break from work, and Beverley and I were dying for something to do on a Sunday. After our nice break, Beverley and I head back to the other side of town. We decided to go back to my apartment. I texted Davide, because Greta had mentioned him wanting to meet Beverly when we met up for kebabs.

So I asked him what he was doing. We were hoping he would be down for driving us to the shopping mall, but unfortunately he had a test to study for and couldn’t meet Bev. Oh well, next time.

So now what are we going to do with our time? We decide to make a marinade for the steak. Beverley and I do a lot of experimenting in the kitchen, so we made a marinade of Worcestshire sauce, orange juice, oil and oregano. We had no idea how it was going to turn out, but we are up for anything. Unfortunately the steaks were too big to marinate in a bowl, and we had no Ziploc bags. So, being the creative youth that we are, we filled the shopping bag that the meat came in with water to see if it would leak. Nope.

Yes. We put the marinade in the shopping bag and made a makeshift Ziploc of sorts. It was so ghetto, and so AWESOME.

We headed back out to the streets of Teramo to kill time while we let our meat marinade. As we leave the streets, I jokingly say, “We better watch out for Jimmy!”

We decide to find the pub that Anna Giulia took me too, to see if it happened to be open on a Sunday. It took a little while, because I wasn’t quite sure where it was located. Once we managed to find it, it didn’t matter. It was closed. Beverley knew of another pub, but we had no success in finding it. We decided to walk around some more, giving our meat time to soak in our marinade. We were walking down the main street, and I was talking about how I want to go to the “Café New York,” simply because it has New York in the name and reminds me of America.

Right as I am looking into that very café, I see him. Jimmy. And he makes eye contact with me. I’ve got to learn to stop jinxing myself.

“Oh CRAP.” I say. “What?” Beverley asks. “Nothing, just keep walking,” I responded, quickening my stride to no avail. He caught up.

“Hey,” he said. I didn’t respond. “Hey!” he said louder, catching up right behind us. I turn around to face him. “Do you remember?” he asks me. I look at him like I don’t really recognize him, secretly hoping to hurt his feelings.

“Uhh…the guy from last night?” I said, pretending to be only somewhat sure. There was no way I was letting him know I remembered his name. That is only giving him hope.

“Yeah. Sooo…is everything good?”

“Yeah.”

A couple guys walk by and say something to him. He motions them away, and they look at me and Beverley as they walk away. Please come back! Take him with you!!

“What are you doing?”

“We are going back to my house.”

“Can I come with you?’

WHAT? He did NOT just ask that. “Umm…no. I don’t think so.”

He actually looked surprised. “Oh, okay. Well, see you around. Ciao.”

The way he said his last sentence seemed like he got the picture. We did NOT want to talk to him, let alone have him come with us back to my house. What a creep.

I realize at this point that Beverley said no word during this entire conversation. She just stood there looking at him like, “Who the heck do you think you are? Can’t you tell we don’t want you around?” She said she couldn’t believe he actually showed up, and was completely speechless.

We quickly walked back to the apartment, nervously watching for any sign of Jimmy. We make it back safely, and go up the stairs. Cooking will make us feel better.

And it did. The meat was just okay. It needed to be marinated longer, but it was a step up from the last dinner we made. We are improving. :)

We both showered and decided to watch another movie. Afterwards we climb into bed. I think, “Thank goodness I have Beverly with me on the weekends. I don’t mind creepers if I have another girl with me. Maybe I SHOULD meet Renzo’s son. He could be my stand-in boyfriend when Jimmy comes around. Unless…

…”Bev! What if Jimmy IS Renzo’s son?!?!”

“Oh, noooo. Renzo is far too nice to have a creepy son like Jimmy. He’s not his son. You don’t have to worry.”

I certainly hope not. That’s okay, I’m planning on going to Pisa next weekend. And I’ve never seen Jimmy during the week. As long as I can avoid him Friday night, I should have a Jimmy-less 2 weeks. Let’s hope luck goes MY way this time around…