I stare at the fountain in it's grey granger simplistic beauty of providing a steady stream of water. Why is it that Italians are so obsessed with fountains I wonder. CRRRUNCH! I pause, slurp, wipe the sticky-sweet juice off my chin, and chew my apple as I ponder this question. Hmmmmm, maybe italians constantly fine themselves parched and decided to remedy this problem with a fountain round every corner instead of a starbucks or dunkin dounuts . . . Nope! There are cafes in every piazza. Ok, how about for the beauty of it? Italians love beautiful architecture don't they? I mean Rome is full of big beautiful fountains, but then again Venice is full of ugly little water squirting fountains that will never be photographed by a tourist.
Well whatever the reason is, I don't really care just as long as I can just sit here and enjoy my evening snack in peace. It sure is beautiful tonight. I'd hate to waste the my time waiting for the train when it's such a warm clear night. I think I'll just sit here and watch the bubble of life around me and maybe go for a moonlit tour of Romeo and Juliet's special places on my own. After all, this piazza is still pretty busy at 11pm.
I see loves engrosed in eachother across from me, ha I think they will soon fall off that bench at that rate. In fact, I'm not really sure how they are staying on it in that position anyway. Oh goodness, time to look somewhere else this is getting a little too heated for my eyes. Wait! Maybe that's why there are so many fountains. The Italian obsession of love led to a need for inconspicuous landmarks that lovers could meet at.
Mom: "Hey Marcello, where are you going?"
Marcello: "We are running a little low on water, mom. I thought I'd just go for a stroll and get some from the fountain in the Piazza."
Mom: "Oh, alright then be sure to get enough for my soup tomorrow."
Yeah, haha maybe that's it. . .or maybe not.
Everything and everyone seem to blend together into this postcard-like evening view. the golden glow of street lamps seem to make it all seem like a painting, green, gold, taupe, black, blue and the flecks of color from the pretty dresses here and there. Holy Toledo! What the? To my left is a guy who really doesn't seem to fit in. Goodness, I pray he is a tourist. Khaki shorts and a short-sleeved, blue button up with an obnoxious red hibiscus print. Lord he can't be Italian. Oh shoot! He caught me staring. Look away and just keep chewing, Elizabeth. Don't look back, oh shoot he caught me again. Ok I'm getting up now and pulling out my map for that sight seeing.
First stop, ha-ba-ba-baaaa, AH yes castle bridge that's not far from here at all. I set out and notice that hawaiian man is now behind me about a block. Ok, think fast. Walk into that little restaurant and wait until he passes then go.
Ok he is gone, I think. Onward to the castle, my friends!
The bridge walls are illuminated by dim yellow bulbs giving the sandy stones a Thomas Kinkade kind of glow. It's almost erie out here, so quiet and still. I guess this kind of tourist hot spot becomes a lonely stop for staring after dark.
I stood at the edge of the wall here for several minutes simply absorbing the stillness and breathing. It's amazing how a small breeze can cradle a whole body with peace and how rippled bit of light on small waves can suck you into their small world with no troubles. The next 24 hours are going to be rough and sleepless so escaping all that if only for a few minutes is lovely.
What was that?! It sounded like scraping or shuffling along stone and I think it came from behind me. I turn quickly, and shaken out of that quiet peaceful place to see that the man from earlier has followed me and is coming my direction. Think, Elizabeth. Just get down off of this pier and walk toward a busy place. Ok, well, that means walking towards that guy. Ohhhh man! Be strong and don't seem frightened. You know this is more annoying that it is scary. Right . . . the damn jerk trying to get with me! What and annoying little poop!!!
A walk towards him and he begins to cross the street and walk to my side. He says "excuse me miss" in the sappy Italian accent. I keep walking and look at him with a perturbed kind of stare then say nothing. He says it again as he continues to walk toward me. I shift my body weight and turn toward his direction and yell, "PISS OFF!" accompanied by a large whip of my hand in the air and a heavy next step forward. Then I hear a whiny "Hey" escape his lips as he stops walking. I don't look and he seems stunned by my outburst. Thank goodness.
I think I will return to the fountain to collect myself and see how to get to the train station from here. Perhaps that's what all these streams of water are for, collecting ones thoughts in a place that is somewhat normal to stop at and have whatever expression you want without getting funny stares. . . . ahhh probably wrong again, but for now that purpose works for me. I just hope that this time I don't happen to get pegged as fresh meat by another creepy guy in a Hawaiian shirt.
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