Only Characters Need Apply

Perhaps my favorite part of travel is meeting all the characters, for better or worse, along the way -- from my immediate neighbors on the flight to and fro across the Atlantic, to hotel personnel and servers at local restaurants, plus dozens of other, mostly random, encounters with individuals, all adding to the experience.

On the very first day in Genoa, my ears perked up when I overheard English at breakfast on the rooftop terrace at the Hotel Colombo. A gregarious fellow from Rotterdam asked to join me and, over cappuccinos, we soon delved into a wide-ranging discussion of everything from vacationing in Italy to American politics.

“What are your plans while you’re here?” he asked. Other than visiting Isolona to visit my newfound cousins, I expressed my interest in seeing the Cinque Terre by boat, something I had experienced on my first trip to Italy. “You looking for company?” he inquired. “Certainly,” I replied. “I’ll even make the reservations.”

A lawyer by training, his name was “Kees” (pronounced “Case”), a common nickname for men with the given name of “Cornelis” in the Netherlands. Aside from his law career, he also worked a eclectic array of other jobs, including a stint as a concierge at an elaborate hotel, a la Gustave H. in “The Grand Budapest Hotel.”

On the boat to Cinque Terre, Kees provided an overview of what I had missed while recovering from jet lag, including both Pink Floyd and Beatles cover bands at the Porto Antico (below, with Jory in 2014) on the waterfront. Though envious, there was no way my body clock would allow me to stay up that late the first couple days.

After a brief stop in Vernazza, we also visited Monterosso al Mare, the largest of five towns that comprise Cinque Terre. Exploring the sights with Kees, he regaled me with stories of visiting the U.S. in the 70s, and his travels in South America and Europe. As a result, I’ve come to calling him “The Wandering Dutchman.”

Besides Cinque Terre, my taxi driver and translator extraordinaire Andrea again escorted me to Isolona to visit our Italian cousins: Anna, Iva and Andreino Sanguineti (below). Andreino reminds me of my great-uncle Paolo, most definitely a character. My hosts at the Hotel Colombo, the Sterlocchis, were as accommodating as ever.

Some characters I meet near my hotel, like the Pakistani shopkeeper who manages the closest convenience store with his wife and mother-in-law. All very friendly, the young mom asked if daughter Gina (who joined me in Genoa in 2015) was along on this trip. Good memory. Like many, they are most eager to come to America.

Other characters I meet are the result of serendipity, like the two young Serbs on a trans-European bike ride at the laundramat. One asked if I spoke English. “Yes, indeed,” said I. Both had spotted my Rick Steves’ Italian/English translation book, and were hoping for an orientation -- in English -- on the laundry facilities.

Once I briefed them on protocol, we engaged in a lively discussion about their travels. They had just arrived in Genoa from Barcelona and would be making their last leg back to Serbia once they biked down the boot of Italy: quite an adventure. They thanked me for helping them negotiate the laundry process.

In Torino, the concierge team of Antonio and Sabrina at the Hotel Roma provided information and service, in English when necessary, with a smile. Alessandro at a nearby women’s boutique helped us choose gifts from the latest in Italian fashion designs. Beatrix at the cinema museum bemusingly assisted me with my shopping spree.

The servers at the Ristorante Augusto, who came to know us from our frequent visits, provided “over the top” service. In Italy, the first words out of my mouth are “parla Inglese?” In most cases, the answer is “no.” But even though many Italians I encountered did not know English, they  were always quick to find someone who did.

Angelo, a medieval reenactment enthusiast we met at the Parco del Valentino, helped us negotiate purchases with the clerk at the gift shop in the Medieval Village, where Gina found a cute bagatelle of “Pinocchio.” Angelo provided us with an impromptu, and very insightful, tour of Old Torino on the walk back to our hotel.

Unfortunately, the character I’d really like to meet is the shitheel who stole my wallet on my last day in Torino. Yes, even me: one who has negotiated the dark, narrow alleys of Genoa and crowded mall of La Rambla in Barcelona without incident. My wallet went missing in “the zone” -- a prime spot for thiefs and pickpockets.

Fortunately, my passport was safe in my hotel room. All I had in my wallet was 50 euros and three credit cards, which -- once I subdued my panic reflex and recalibrated my brain with rationale thinking -- I cancelled almost immediately. Two of three customer service representatives complimented me on my quick response.

The larcenous punk may have been a good thief, but was not that intelligent otherwise. Attempting to use all three card cards at ATMs, the guttersnipe tried to guess pin numbers with no luck thanks to computer chip technology, now required in Europe and the global standard used in detecting fraud and data breaches.

Despite the tough last day on “mio viaggio a Italia,” I found solace in a line from “The Consolations of Philosophy” by Alain de Botton on Friedrich Nietzsche’s belief that “fulfillment was not to be reached not by avoiding pain (or difficulties), but by recognizing its role as a natural, inevitable step on the way to reaching anything good.”

Per my custom, I travel wearing UO Duck colors. At the Frankfurt Airport, I heard a common refrain, but not while traveling overseas: “Go Ducks!” Had a delightful conversation waiting in line with David, a UO j-school graduate who is currently an English teacher living in Milano with his Peruvian wife, Hilde. What are the odds?