With all this nasty hate floating around, I think we need a story about how we can avoid that, even when there is a lot of ‘hot heads around’.
It was the Summer of 77 and we had made port at La Maddalena, Italy in the Mediterranean. We actually had a ‘sub’ base located there, it was part of the NATO treaty agreement, and it was loaded with missiles. However, don’t climb the fence and think your going anywhere but to the morgue. They had Italian Guards all carrying fully automatic weapons, and it only took one second of stupid to be ‘dead like a door nail’.
One of the Benefits was were a boat ride away from Sardinia, and other Med ports, all Islands, and all inhabited by the rich.
So one fine morning, a buddy and I went out hiking, to meet the natives. I was brought up ‘old world’ folks who taught me that when you go to persons home, you meet and greet them. It gave me lots of good stories, like for now.
Now for a small bit of background, the place we heading was also home of the “Communist Italian Party” who was none too friendly with the U.S. at this time. There were, and would be riots going on, people where upset with other people, fights were prone to break out for simply dropping a hat. There was even an Italian Motomachinst School there. So you did watch your P’s and Q’s and for sailor that wasn’t always easy. But we head out of town and began walking down a nice little country lane. The country side was breath taking, the day was warm and we found ourselves a little ‘house bar’. The house was built over an under croft and was obviously an old ‘Barn and shed’ for the horse and other critters in the old days. When we stopped in, it was a bed and breakfast. The under croft was the bar area. We came in and ordered our favorites “Dewie Grande’ Peroni por favor”. While I was standing there I noticed there were about 5 guys all standing around looking at me and my buddy. I looked at the bar tender, and asked, and he said they were the locals. I asked how much would it cost for a round on the house and he said something like $4,000 dollars in the ‘local currency’. We were getting something ridiculous like 850 Pesetas to the American Dollar, so your talking not a whole lot really. I handed him the money and said ‘Tell em the next round is on me’. My buddy raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything.
We then took the bottles and sat at a little table, nicely done in whitewash, looking like the old farm tables that were owned by folks I knew as family (which is not surprising, since one of the family friends here was an old Italian family of farmers. There were old time farm equipment hanging on the wall, and various pieces of old ‘Vino’ Making equipment.
As we sat there, an older gentleman came up and asked if he could sit with us. I said “Please, it is your home”. He sat down and said “I am guessing your Americans?”
I said ‘Yes I am, I am from California’.
“So what brings you out here, if I may ask”?
“I am here to meet the people, Whenever I go to another country, I always make a habit of going out and meeting the locals. I was raised by ‘old world’ parents and grandparents, and they always taught me when go to a persons home, you meet the people who live there and you talk and socialize with them. That is proper manners and society.”
He smiled, and raised his hand to the bartender, and said to me “Do you like home brewed Vino?”
“My grandmothers Boyfriend was Italian and his father made home made Rose’, Blanko and Red. No brand name this was home made, with love. I absolutely love a good wine.”
He waved to the bar tender and told him in Italian to bring the house Red. The Bar tender brought out a bottle, and I started to reach for the wallet. He shook his head and wagged his finger, and said ‘No, this on us you don’t pay. Do you mind if we talk about your government and your home?’
I said, “I am here to share stories”. He laughed and said “Do you mind, if it at times I may something unnice about your government?” I am like ‘Let’s go for it, don’t be surprised if I agree with you at times, Governments are fair game”. We both laughed and chatted. Another guy came up and asked to join us. I had to have the older gentleman ‘interpret’ as my Italian was horrible, but he asked some questions, and I answered as best I could.
After a little bit he said “Let me tell you a story about some of your shipmates”. He proceeded to tell me that the other night, one of our crew got his ass kicked, right here in the bar. He had come in and started mouthing off about the ‘fucking wops and Dagos’ and then tossed down the gauntlet literally and challenged them all to a fight. He got it, and really good one.
I looked at him, shook my head and said “I hope he enjoyed his fight, that was damn stupid on his part. You don’t go to someone’s country, call them names and insult them and then start a fight. I was taught better than that.”
We both laughed and for the rest of the we would sit and chat; various people would come over and talk. Sometimes he would have to interpret but we all shared stories, talked about life and generally had hell of a good time. Around 7 or so, he said “Now if you will allow me to advise you. Some folks will be coming, and it probably would be better if you left, as they still a little unhappy about your country man from last night.
I said “It’s time for me to go anyway, and I thank you for the hospitality. I truly enjoyed our talk.” My buddy and I took off, and we headed back to town where we had to catch the last boat out, or we would have been stuck there. We got back to the boat and got a good nights sleep. The next morning we were mustering up on the tender, and someone had asked where we had gone yesterday. I told him the name of the bar, and one of the Marines nearby went nearly shit white. He said they damn near beat the life out of one the sailors on the tender there he said ‘They hate americans there’.
I told him, “Interestingly I talked with the older gentleman who hangs around the place, and it was not they hated Americans, they hated americans who came to their home, insulted them and then didn’t even start a good bar room fight, they were just assholes and tried to pick fights with everyone”.
He asked me what the old man looked like, and I told him. He managed to turn a paler shade of white and said “That was the local Don”.
The morale of the story is, “when in someone homes, don’t act like an asshole”. You meet the people, you talk, you drink, you poke each others government, you talk about family, you have a good time. If you want to have a fight, do it politely outside and don’t disturb the rest of the customers. The whole two months we were there, it was the same, meet the people, talk to the locals, and have a good time. One of the Restaurants I ate at, I used a lesson learned from another person. Ask them for ‘exotic” dishes, like “beef” or “Chicken”. It was funny as many times the Waiter would say “Now you know this isn’t American beef”. I would reply, “yes, I know, and I want to see what the cook can do.” Man I got some of the tastiest dishes you could imagine, and the cooks were always happy to come out and tell me how they made the dish. One even asked if he could chat with me, and wanted to know what Honestly thought. He was trying a new recipe and wanted some real input.
That formula worked in every country that I ever traveled and it proved to me the relatives were right, everyone is pretty much the same, though the words might be different and the food has it’s own special flavors, the heart is still the same, people want good food, good friends, and a good red wine doesn’t hurt either… Chow.