Thoughts from Rea

Jon and I have decided that my parents are retiring in Italy; they just don't know it yet. Camogli, the bigger town just before the national park we visited known as the Cinque Terre, will be where they settle down to a relaxed life of wine, no lawn, and visits from friends who want to share the 'chillaxed environment with them. Truly, this little area speaks to those who like to sit back and listen to the sea, visit the market, and meet with friends along the main street at night to catch up on gossip and see how the bambinos are doing.

Another reason I believe my parents would enjoy it? Cooked foods are made with LOTS of salt. Everything we had from pizza to fully prepared seafood pasta was super salty. It was only when I didn't have butter for the table bread that I pulled a 'Larry' (tee hee) and salted my bread. After some parched dining, I crafted my “Italian” of equivalent “Salt Added” as “non se additionalle, prego.” I wonder if that would work?

In a moment of relaxed perfection, Jon and I went swimming in the harbour photographed in all the Vernazza postcards. It was crisp, clean, and even the little fishies decided to nibble amongst the rocks near where we left our towels/shoes. Others were sunbathing on their own large, flat, rock – content to occasionally take a dip in the ocean or change right back into their clothes before heading off to dinner... those voyeur Germans ;-)

The area was flooded with Americans, Aussies, and Canadians for the English speaking set. Others, especially Germans, were spotted because of their tans, their skin (flaunted, especially at water's side), and by their dogs. It's really easy for European families to take their dogs on trains or in their cars to any point in the EU, so 8 times out of 10 anyone with a dog doesn't speak English as their first language. There have been at least 15 dogs I personally want to cuddle and take home with me :-)

Speaking of English. As much as I have, for many years, felt the ignorant moron of North America by speaking only one language fluently (though my French ain't bad!), it does indeed seem to be the bridging language. When the Dutch or Germans were trying to converse with other non-whatever speaking EU citizens, they seemed to resort to English to bridge the gap. Our hostess in Bacharach Germany had an interesting story to tell... while she was working with a Hotel in Germany, a guest who spoke French asked for directions. She spoke German, Dutch, and English – but no French. After asking him if he could converse in any of those, and him assuring her he couldn't, she worked hard in sign language and any form of communication possible to communicate the directions to his destination. After what seemed like forever, she was sure he understood where he had to go. The most frustrating part? This French gentleman's colleague came out from the business meeting and spoke perfect English to this man – and in perfect English he responded. So, as much as he was being 'high and mighty' to claim he didn't know any English, he wasted both her time and his with sheer obstinence. She was nonetheless livid, so the reputation of the French lives on even when English isn't necessarily the topic of conversation.