Mi Amico Mimmo

The old man who works on the beach for the hotel and I have now become friends. His name is Mimmo, and he looks like he has spent his entire life working feet from the sea - like a tough old fisherman, but I'm certain he is much younger then the lines on his weathered, tanned face would lead me to believe. Today was actually beautiful - sunny, no wind, and warm enough for Mimmo to put out the beach chairs. He set out a chair for me, and brushed it off with a broom, and then as the sun went in and I shivered, he ran into the hotel and came back with a big blanket for me. Then, he handed me a bunch of beautiful mother of pearl shells, one that he drilled a hole into so it could be made into a necklace - at first, I didn't understand he was giing them to me as a gift. Potentially one of the sweetest gifts I've ever been given, and certainly one I will always remember.
Last night I ate at L'Uvo, and the woman who runs the place was a riot - she caught me taking pictures of my plate of fileja (the local pasta - its made by rolling the pasta around a long pin, and then cutting it into inch long pices that look like hollow caterpillars), pepperoncini, garlic and oil, and insisted on giving me the menu, a card, a napkin with the name of the restaurant on it, and some other papers. Then she showed me her cat, happily lounging outside, eating a bowl full of beautiful silver anchovies. The food was delicious and so simple. Four or five ingredients at the most, and insanely cheap. A glass of wine, an insalata tropea, and the pasta dish all cost only €8.
Insalata Tropea is seen everywhere - essentially just a simple house salad, what really makes it noteworthy is the quality of ingredients. The tomatoes are ruby red and warm, and the sweet onions that Tropea is so known for are so sweet you coud eat one like an apple.
Lunch today, more pizza at L'Arca de pizza. Pizza alla diavola seems to be the local thing - the ever present pepperoncini, olives, cheese, tomatoes, basil and anchovies. Delicious, but the American in me cannot make it through the whole thing using a knife and fork. I give up halfway and start eating it New York style. The little blonde girl with her family at another table was fussing with her pasta, which prompted the fiesty owner to gesture ''Manga! Manga!'' (Eat! Eat!) at her. The German family looked confused, but to anyone who was raised in an Italian family, that phrase and gesture evokes warm childhood memories.
The place was full at lunch, and the German tourists are doing very little to adapt to Italy. It borders on rude.
No, it's rude. I'm being too nice.
They (as a whole) make no attempts to speak any Italian. The couple next to me at lunch today was getting annoyed at the poor waitress who could not understand their loud German and broken English. And here I am, feeling terrible that I keep bungling the pronounciation of ''bichhiere'' (glass)...but I think I've got it. The Germans don't even make an attempt. AND why would you come all the way to this charming town by the sea in the middle of nowhere-ville Southern Italy and drink German beer???
Tomorrow, Scilla. I'm insanely excited for it - the place I'm staying, le Piccole Grotte, is an old fishermans house, and the whole village is right on the sea. Scilla is named for the rock a few meters from the village in the sea, famed in mythology and served as a lookout point for the village for centuries. I just like saying the name. It would be a great name for a cat. No cars allowed - which should make getting my growing suitcase and collection of southern Italian treats to the B & B difficult. I wonder if someone will take me out on a boat...hmm...
Vorrei andare...barca? haha. I have a feeling a rowing gesture will be making a comical appearance in my day tomorrow.
The pic is beautiful Tropea on a cloudy day.
Ciao!