People: The Good, The Bad and The Ugly

The people of Italy were -- by and large -- a delightful lot: friendly and full of life.

My hosts, the Sterlocchi family, were exceedingly helpful in assisting me in "getting from A to B" and allowing me to monopolize the guest computer in the lobby of the Hotel Cristoforo Colombo.

Both had reasonably good command of English, typically uncommon among most Italians.

Once, when I asked Libero Sterlocchi a question about directions to the boat to Cinque Terre, he responded in English and then returned to his phone call, where he continued another conversation in Spanish.

My server for daily breakfast on the terrace, Raimonda Xali (right), was also very friendly and helpful, always eager to please.

She loves America and would like to move to the United States at some point (her sister and mother both live in Philadelphia). She says it's a very difficult process, however. Only half-joking, I told her she should move to Tijuana and come across the border with everybody else.

Next to my hotel was the Porta Soprana and birthplace of Columbus. One of the tour guides -- Dina Marchiori (below) -- helped me understand the purpose of the "Walls of Barbarossa," part of a defensive system that encircled Genoa in the 12th century.

During the French Revolution, ideas of freedom and fraternity arrived in Genoa, along with the guillotine, which was utilized in one of the towers. The executioner Samson, well known for his beheading of Louis XVI, lived in a little house in the top of one of the towers.

Dina's English was excellent. When I commented on her command of the language, she said she had studied "Inglise" for seven years, a long time for someone in their 20s.

The "others," as I like to call them, were foreign tourists I encountered, mostly on the terrace of my hotel for breakfast, but also in transit to and from Italy. I had numerous conversations with other guests at my hotel and on the boat ride to Cinque Terre (below): German, French, Dutch, Russian and Swedish.

One German couple was particularly engaging. They were very interested in discussing American politics and history, and they found the right guy (er, me) for such a discourse. At one point the woman noted -- in a matter-of-fact sort of way -- that the Italians were "like the weather," something different every day.

Based on my experience, I'd say Germans are certainly organized and efficient, but also a bit sterile and humorless. Italians, on the other hand, are more spontaneous and passionate, and perhaps a bit less organized than their neighbors to the north. Yin and yang.

That's the good: now, the bad. Some Italians clearly had issues with Americans like myself. At times, the perception of Americans seemed quite narrow and judgmental.

At one restaurant, I sat waiting for a half hour to be served. I eventually left, but came back a few days later. Same story, only this time they actually served me, somewhat begrudgingly.

My server at the Cafe Barbarossa, fellow by the name of Nico, looked like he'd just as soon kill me as look at me. My brother Robert reminded me that our Gramma used to say "son zeneize, rizo raeo Strenzo I denti, parlo ciaeo." Translation: "I am Genoese. I rarely smile. I grit my teeth and say what I mean."

Fortunately, Nico lightened up considerably thanks to persistence (and generous tipping).

Finally, the ugly. The avenue out in front of my hotel -- the Via Porta Soprana and Via San Lorenzo -- led down to the Port of Genoa. During the daytime, it's a lively, festive place where vendors and people of all ages congregate (below).

At night, it's as sketchy as south-central LA. I recalled the advice of Lionel Witherspoon (Cleavant Derricks) to Vladimir Ivanoff (Robin Williams) in "Moscow on the Hudson." In order to survive in such places, you need to "look crazy," and then people won't mess with you. I'm happy to report that the approach worked.

The worst of the ugly was a couple of Americans whom I encountered on the plane ride back from Milano to Newark, New Jersey. A couple of poster-modern hipsters in their 50s, the guy kept fussing with the overhead bin behind me where I had my backpack. After about 15 minutes of this, I continued to bite my tongue but kept a wary eye out with my peripheral vision.

This annoying couple (based on their obnoxious conversation during our 12 hours over the Atlantic Ocean) would not put their laptop away despite repeated requests from the flight attendant. Finally, the flight attendant says: "If you don't power that device down right now, I will be taking it away from you." They begrudgingly complied, then whispered about the flight attendant's alleged rudeness.

When we arrived in New Jersey, I quickly learned that this twerp had moved my backpack to another bin so that he could relocate his stuff above his seat, despite the fact that he had arrived on the plane late.

Incensed, I pointedly noted to the couple at the baggage claim: "You might want to think twice about moving bags without permission." These two were truly "ugly Americans."

Hate to end this post on such a sour note, so I won't -- even though chronologically, "ugly" does follow "good" and "bad" in the epic spaghetti western by Sergio Leone featuring Clint Eastwood, Lee Van Cleef and Eli Wallach in the title roles, respectively.

Let's circle back to the beginning. Overall, the people of Italy are a fun-loving group, as witnessed by the folks scrambling over the rocks at Castello Doria (above) and the sunbathers bagging the rays on the beach at Portovenere (below).