After our long ride to Ragusa, I was hungry so I wandered into the city to find a pastry shop. The pastry in Sicily is the best in all of Italy. The shop I entered had a young woman behind the counter and an old man sitting at one of the two tables. She speaks more English than I do Italian. No problem. You only need a few words of Italian to order food. I proceed to order 2 small pastries and a cup of tea. I also indicate that I am going to sit at the other table to enjoy my snack. The old man is watching this entire episode and even though he does not speak a word of English he proceeds to have a conversation with me.
Americano?
Si.
Mama.... Papa... Sicilian?
No.
Italiano?
Si.
He then points at his face and says something that I don't understand.
The woman explains that he thinks I look like a Sicilian.
Of course I do. This is about the 10th time I have heard this in the last few days.
The woman brings my pot of tea and just as I am about to pour some into my cup he grabs the pot and swirls it around. Apparently, in his opinion, it has not brewed enough.
He then wants to know what I am doing in Ragusa.
I explain in my best Italian that I am biking and arrived in Ragusa by bike.
He then indicates with his hands that I must be really strong to ride up the steep hills.
He then says something to the woman and she returns with a plate of cookies. She explains that he does not think I have had enough to eat after my hard ride. He then indicates that I should dunk the cookies into my tea.
How can you not love Italy?
Americano?
Si.
Mama.... Papa... Sicilian?
No.
Italiano?
Si.
He then points at his face and says something that I don't understand.
The woman explains that he thinks I look like a Sicilian.
Of course I do. This is about the 10th time I have heard this in the last few days.
The woman brings my pot of tea and just as I am about to pour some into my cup he grabs the pot and swirls it around. Apparently, in his opinion, it has not brewed enough.
He then wants to know what I am doing in Ragusa.
I explain in my best Italian that I am biking and arrived in Ragusa by bike.
He then indicates with his hands that I must be really strong to ride up the steep hills.
He then says something to the woman and she returns with a plate of cookies. She explains that he does not think I have had enough to eat after my hard ride. He then indicates that I should dunk the cookies into my tea.
How can you not love Italy?
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