I have one more full day in Italy, and by this time tomorrow, Mike will be here with me. I sent him a photo so he'll be able to recognize me with my melon-head. I'm only joking. I'm not quite over the shock of having so much hair cut, but it's growing on me. It helps that people like it.
"Cristina, ciao!" Massimo #341 greeted me this morning. "Your new hair looks very Italian." And, he's probably right. While I had cappuccino this morning, I watched Italian women walk through the market area, and most of them had very short hair or longer hair. Nothing in between here. So, I'll skip the hat for now.
"You have learned a lot fast, my friend," he told me.
"My mother used to have a bassotto," I mentioned. "His name was Oscar."
"This one is called Pedro," she told me half in Spanish and half in Italian. I am NOT the only one.
"Do you speak Spanish?" It was obvious that she did, but I had to ask.
"I speak a little Spanish, a little English, and now because I live in Spain, a little Italian," she sighed.
"So you are from here but living in Spain? Why?" She told me that her son was a doctor in Sevilla and that she was living with him.
"I miss Bologna," she told me. "And I'm forgetting Italian and mixing my words."
"I say I speak Italo-Span-Glish,"I laughed.
"That's exactly it for me, too."
"I like this one," she said to the owner. "It's very beautiful." The one she was pointing to was about the size of a business card, brass, and filigree. "How much is it?"
The owner took it off the wall and handed it to her. "It's very heavy, signora," he said, "brass, and very unique. It's handmade by an artisan here in Bologna, so it costs about 60 euro." (Side note: $80 US) The lady almost dropped it.
"I can't afford something like that," she snapped. "I need two of them."
"Perhaps you want to look at the machine-made keyholes," he told her.
"They're not as beautiful," she whined. I rolled my eyes.
"Of course not, signora," he said. "This one is handmade." I walked out before I said something snarky to her, which I could have done because she was American and I could have used English.
(Of course, I talk tough, but I'm a wuss at heart...usually.)
I take photos of the keyholes and knockers a lot, so I'm sharing a few tonight. My favorites from this group are the one at the top which is on a door to a farmacia, and the one just below this paragraph. I see a number of keyholes that look like a human yawning or screaming or something.There's a different one a few photos above this, too.
I'm going to get up very early tomorrow and walk around Bologna before the few tourists that are here come out. Mike will be on his way over the Atlantic, and Riley will be waiting for Mary to spoil him again.