Men; or The Post in Which I Generalize Grandly

I came to an unsettling realization today: While in Italy, I’m going to have to grow some balls. While you recover from my impolite reference to the male anatomy, allow me to explain:

At noon, the Irish Tata Ali – or Allison, to those who can pronounce her name – knocked on my door and asked if I’d like to go on a walk with her. Well, I had been fancying a walk to Bosco di Correga (a local nature preserve), and was delighted by her offer. So we headed to Bosco per my request. It was a beautiful spring day, and the nature preserve was lovely, if a bit dead from the winter. A bubbling brook kept Allison and I company as Filippo’s old tata bubbled along (she’s very chatty and lovely, and a bit eccentric in the best way).

Imagine my surprise when the wooded trail opened into an obviously ancient manor. Ends up, it was Maria Luigia’s summer house. You know, Maria Luigia – Napoleon’s second wife!! He wrote her some letters from the war…maybe this rings a bell? I was totally floored. I knew that she lived in Parma; in fact, she basically set up Parma as a premier theater town. But here, in a small nature preserve in Sala Baganza, is her old summer house! Had I known, I would have brought my camera. I did find this insufficient picture via googlesearch.

Well it ends up that there are over 300 castles in this region of Italy. I don’t know if that number is correct at all, but seeing as there is one right here in Sala Baganza – in addition to Maria Luigia’s summer home – I guess I can believe it! It makes sense because I’m right up here near the mountains and the old border.

But how, Lindsey, does this have anything to do with your need to grow another body organ, you ask. Well, don’t rush me, I’m getting there. We have a slower lifestyle here in Italy....

After our walk, Allison took me to Floyd for a panino and a couple more hours of conversation. This is when the conversation turned to men. Italian men. And let me tell you, the stories she told me have sufficiently scared me off Italian men for the present. Allow me to share some of her wisdom: In a nutshell, the stereotype of Italian men being hot-blooded is entirely accurate; they fall in love/lust quickly and by the time you’re ready to enter into a relationship with them, they’ve fallen right out of it. Also, if they can’t physically see/touch your significant other, then you’re available. In some cases, this applies to when you can’t see/touch their significant other...in which case, even if they are married, you are still available. And, whereas American and UK men will usually take rejection on the chin, Italian men are absolutely flummoxed by it.

The stories Allison told me about her experience with Italian men in her seven years in the country were shocking, if a bit amusing. However, it was these stories that convinced me that I have to spine-up: apparently, you have to be incredibly straight-forward with these men and not take any of their crap. I certainly prefer to take the “how can I avoid hurting this person’s feelings” approach. But I also don’t like being treated like an object for someone’s amusement.

And I have to report that my experience with men in Italy has been on par with Allison’s stories. Between my run-in with the Italian man on the train and the free drinks I’ve gotten at the bar, I’m afraid these men are out for one thing. Does this make them different from American men? No, probably not, but their approach is definitely more dramatic and intense.

For the sake of fairness, I must say that I have also met a bunch of great, respectful Italian men – many of whom are in long-term relationships. Indeed, the first guys I met in Sala (Michele, Marco and Luca) are all solid, trustworthy guys. And they keep getting better on acquaintance. But Allison warns “be careful with the Italian men” and I take her caveat to heart.

Besides, you know what my grandpa said: Don’t marry an Italian man. And I listen to my grandpa.