A Wet Hot Infuriating Italian Summer

and some of the things I've left behind

fresh off the plane in Rome, sitting on the ground in front of the parthenon, practicing Italian with Italian soldiers.

It’s been exactly 6 years since I visited Italy for the first time. This I didn’t realize until screenshotting this photo for the essay. Life is often synchronistic like that when I’m paying attention. The first visit should have been the last, but I am a sucker for a motivated friend suggesting a cheap flight to a place I know nothing about, and return the following year to the island of Sardinia. I have a tendency to say fuck it why not? and seal my fate.

Having landed in Rome from Madrid, I took a bus from the airport to the city center to find my friend + some folks she’d met. She arrived in Rome a day or two earlier from Palermo where she’d been sun drying tomatoes on a farm or something. It’s nighttime and as the bus is pulling into the station I call her to link. I’m talking on the phone while gathering my things, mentally preparing to drag my luggage across the ancient cobblestone streets, but a young Italian man keeps trying to chat me up. While traveling I’d normally lie and tell people I was Spanish because saying you’re American comes with a lot of baggage. Unfortunately, my friend was also from the states and we were speaking English over the phone. Bam! My Americanness throws me under the bus, though not literally thank god.

I was trying to explain that I am meeting friends in case this dude had some idea to follow me. Relentless, this one. He hardly spoke a lick of English, I didn’t speak Italian, but the sentiment felt clear. At some point he took the phone from my hand to speak to my friends. After a few seconds, I snatched my phone back but the dude wouldn’t stop, said something in Italian that sounded forward, and kissed my cheek. Originally, I planned to stroll under the city lights while walking to meet my friends, but with them on the other end of line, hearing everything, they quickly changed the plan: WE’RE COMING TO GET YOU RIGHT NOW!

I finally get off the bus and can escape. Uncomfortably laughing, still on the phone with my concerned friend(s), thinking ffs is THIS what it’s gonna be like? I’m already sweating, it’s too hot for all this.

When I was a young spring chicken in my 20s I’d often travel with a 50L backpack, few expectations, and even fewer plans. Hostels, sure, I’d stay in them but Couchsurfing was usually more interesting. And free. I typically prefer communing with the locals to partying with young tourists. so sue me!!!

Well, that’s what we did. In Rome, I Couchsurfed with a good friend, but never saw the host. It felt a bit odd but we definitely weren’t mad about it. When we made it to Bologna we found someone with tons of reviews and a very lovely looking little apartment. We were thrilled to have been accepted.

no AC baby this is europe

Our host planned to cook an “authentic” Italian dinner for us. Some kind of pasta, I don’t remember. It was hot in the city and we were cooling down with chilled white wine in the late afternoon. This is not out of the norm for hosts. Usually the guest will reciprocate by making dinner another night. Idk, every experience is uniquely it’s own. This one was certainly unique.

In Rome we wandered under the safety of some Italian soldiers my friend had met on the ferry from Sicily. We didn’t realize this at the time, but the presence of the soldiers was a type of safeguard that kept the creepy crawlies away from us. But alas, the show must go on and when you’re living Life out of a backpack you meet many people, sometimes ones that impact you greatly, and then you never see them again. It is not for the faint of heart.

But once we left Rome, we were on our own- two tiny gals with two large backpacks. And lots of tall men with ideas and desires.

Our Bologna host pulled out all the stops for a friendly presentation which was a great way to help us feel comfortable; to get us to let our guards down. After dinner and multiple glasses of wine, this guy tells us he’s an actor. The first red flag. He was adamant on wanting to act out a scene for us. My friend, sitting in that exact spot from the photo above, was starting to grow a little uncomfortable. She was not super into The Arts but the guy insisted that she act out the scene with him, all she had to do was sit there.

She eventually obliges and this dude exits the room to re-enter the scene in character. This person, whose house we have been in for hours and are meant to sleep in, comes out in this slow, dramatic, almost sensual way. He proceeds to act out a scene where he murders my friend by grabbing her throat and pretending to choke her. I am not kidding you. He acted out the entire scene with an intense seriousness in his eyes. My friend was wide-eyed and frozen. When he finished, I couldn’t help but laugh! Like, are you fucking kidding me, dude? Are we being Punk’d?

We weren’t. And he didn’t kill us, but he did attempt to massage us and sexually assault us before my friend, louder than I have ever heard her, screamed at this man in all the Italian she knew to get the fuck out of his own place. Meanwhile, I called a man I loved and trusted in Madrid. I guess because he made me feel safe.

As we were packing our shit to GTFO, he returned and acted like nothing had happened. These actors, man. We took our packs and bolted out the door and out of Bologna. We never saw the city.

In my ANTIEXPERIENCE, this would become an Italian theme. Not the dramatic Couchsurfing murder performance from an actor in his living room, but the men becoming increasingly aggressive. To my disconcert, the word NO seemed to be understood as TRY HARDER and if that doesn’t work USE FORCE.

I guess this is the part where someone, who is not me, would use a Trigger Warning but what better way to trigger my anxiety while reading a piece than to see a TW or CW. The loudness of the label seems to reduce, or drown out, the actual content in my brain. A sudden jolt that moves me from engaging the piece with curiosity and compassion to reading with fear and caution. It automatically overlays the experience with some kind of cloudy veil. I can no longer see as clearly. To me, it is the label that is triggering rather than the content. This is the ANTIEXPERIENCE, after all… it gets dark! Life can take quick and drastic turns and you don’t always get a warning.

You’ve been warned.