Seriously

Seriously: I can't stand Italians ever since they kicked us out of the semi-finals in the 2006 World Cup in OUR own country with a score of 2-0 in extra time! You don't do something like that! But I do appreciate their food! And especially the fact that their geographic latitude is far superior to ours in terms of weather.

That changed this vacation! Even though no Sardinian would ever claim to be Italian, they pay their taxes to Rome and Rome tells the Sardinian how to separate their trash. Et Basta! And they are just as NOT Italians as the Catalan is NOT Spanish and the Corsican is NOT French! The Bavarian is not German and so on and so forth!

As I said, that changed! We have gotten to know many - let's call them - Sardalians who have treated us kindly, courteously, and helpfully, all in an authentic way. But we were also always careful not to give them any reason not to be. Just today, I managed to get a smile from an older barista when I added a "per favor" to the end of my now perfectly pronounced "Un Café decaf Latte to go" order, just as she was about to press the coffee powder into the metal filter. As a reward, I got a pinch of cocoa powder on top of the smile, and the now quickly approaching male barista turned to the admiral to make sure he wanted the same. No, no you trickster! Keep your eyes off the admiral, the coffee is for me and put a good amount on it!' Mile Grazie!

But as everywhere, there are also black sheep or black - burnt - pizzas here too! 🙄 Yes, the joke doesn't quite work.

I encountered two of these specimens once again working for the Tirrenia shipping company. The first was a funky little usher who wanted to show us the way to our parking space on the car deck of the ship. Gesturing wildly, he pointed to the headlights of the Ducis after I - in my opinion - skilfully manoeuvred Massimo Duci up the bumpy ramp to the upper deck of the ship without waking up the captain. I thought he meant adjusting the headlights and just looked at him bewildered that I couldn't do anything about it since I had already turned them down to the lowest setting. It's due to the design of our ship that the headlights are chest height for me and somewhere between the eyes and the top of the head for the ordinary Italian. Of course, it's uncomfortable! But that's how it is! So come down 🤔😁😅! He took off his glasses, continued to gesture wildly, danced in front of us until I noticed that the entire deck area of the ship was brightly lit and that I could turn off the headlights as well. That's what the probably over-caffeinated Italian ferret wanted from me. No problem! Headlights off. He continued to gesture wildly in front of us all the way to the final parking space, and with a fist clenched thumb pointing to his mouth, he gestured that I must have been drinking. He shook his head several times and monologued (I saw him later downstairs on the loading hatch when we were already on deck and I was standing on the upper deck with a beer! Good thing my bottle was still very full 😌 He had calmed down by now and was chatting with colleagues, and I wondered if he was telling them about our encounter). Doesn't matter! You won't get my bottle! Not even on the back of your head!

I encountered the second 'burnt pizza' in the morning when I half-naked and tiredly stepped in front of the cabin door, where there had previously been a knock, obviously to wake us up, and asked in English when exactly we would be docking, as time seemed to have gotten tight and the captain, admiral, and I had enjoyed the advantages of a double and a single bed on board the Tirrenia for a long time. 'Finito! No English!' was the answer! 😳 Seriously! Did he now mean that he had finished work and therefore no longer spoke English?!? 😳😳😡 ' 'Quando arrivo Porto?' I managed to say in my highly puzzled state, and felt linguistically (and somewhat proud of my spontaneous knowledge of Italian) not entirely in the wrong corner. 'Six!' was the brief and probably English answer that also had to be wrong since the ship was still moving and it was two minutes before six o'clock... I went back inside and had to tell the admiral about my encounter.

As I said! My image of the mostly other Italians we had gotten to know did not gain any colour from these two mental drought periods.

I like you and will gladly come back! Not just because of your geographical advantage! Ahoi!