Missione Regalo

Mission Regalo

The day started off good, a little sunshine mixed with a lot of wind that was moving the clothes hanging from the neighbors clothesline like a colorful array of flags. The sound of crackers, bangers and some type of illegal fire work were being shot off below my window, at least now I am not totally jumping out of my skin. One month ago at the sound of the bangers I would literally jump so high that I would plop out of my bed and onto the cold wooden floor. My back and reflexes thank me that I am getting used to the men at the bar across the street drinking beer at 8 am and lighting explosives near my head. The nosey woman that lives next door isn’t screaming in dialect as loud as normal and the old man that is at least 90 with one tooth kissed me only once on the forehead while I ducked his hand going in for the pinching cheeks routine, I turned around and smiled cheekily “you missed me, better luck next time” I wink and continue down the street to the center. It is a good day. My mission today is to go shopping for my Christmas gifts. It is going to be tricky but not mission impossible, or so I think…

I need a gift for my boyfriend, which I have an idea and it is not difficult, well because I know him. But his family that I have never met is a different story; I have no idea what they are like or what they would want from an American girl. I am spending Christmas away from my home for the first time, I always go “home” for the holiday season; but this year I find myself dodging old men and firecrackers to find the perfect gift for a “bella figura.”  “Bella figure” directly translated means beautiful figure, only in Italian would there be a word for this which doesn’t even touch the English expression “good impression” , I can pull that off, right? 

I am starting to ask myself how the hell I got into this situation, and how am I going to talk to them? I communicate with my boyfriend in his language with a lot of patience a dictionary and a prayer. This is exciting, fun, funny and frustrating for me, while he just sits back smiling when I explain that eggnog is a traditional American drink made with “grapes” cream, spices and a lot of rum instead of “eggs” or better yet when I ask him to rub my “ass” because I had a long day instead of saying the word for “neck”, but to my defense there is only a few letters that are different. I can tell by his amused expressions that somewhere I went wrong. Or the exception when he says two words in English like the time I almost caught the house on fire and he screams “take fire”, “Take fire”, “what the heck is that? “Honey, we don’t say take fire in English, and what are you talking about?”  “Oh my when I see the flames, okay I understand, shit what do we do!!” I say in a panic. “What, I have no understand?” he says. “Well, I have no understand why you choose a time where fire is involved to speak in English” At times where there is fire language can be tricky. When did my life become a comedy act? But this is a different story.

 I walk into a Christmas store wind blown and confused as to where to start, the store is packed with people and not a shop assistant in sight, classic Bari, and if there were it is difficult to understand and speak when there is a lot of noise. I browse the Christmas items and look at crystal vases, reindeer salt and pepper shakers, candle stick holders with angels and table clothes that look like Santa’s workshop exploded on the material. Oh my god, I think I may have a panic attack. I have just had the epiphany that Christmas decorations can be possible the ugliest things in Italy, I am hoping that Christmas decorations have that effect only when epic amounts of décor are in one small area. It is best to get out of this store immediately before I break off a glass antler.

As soon as I pop out into the fresh chill of Bari air an African man speaking French stops me, of course I am always down for a little chat especially when I know about four words in French. He tries to sell me book in French from an African author with the title “God will save your lost soul” Perhaps his mom could use an over the top religious book that she could never read? Well, really who knows she may be able to speak French. I tell him that I have to go, and turn to face my next destination. I hear him screaming after me and his foot steps quickly approaching “unnnnn regalo, un regalo, regalo reeggalloo per ti” Yes sir “that is what I am look for a gift, how ever did you guess?” He grabs my hand slipping a green, black, yellow and red beaded bracelet onto my wrist. This is for you; it will bring you great luck he rehearses his eyes twinkling merrily. “Oh, how nice.” But he wasn’t finished; he wanted a “small” donation for all his trouble. Nothing is for free in this town, not even a gift. I pulled out a 2 euro coin and handed it to him, “thanks for my two euro gift” I said smiling and walked away.

Next store here I come. I walk along the streets, and the colors and window displays call out my name. How inviting. I have a browse through a clothes shop stopping and trying on a scarf, coat and hat until I snap out of it and realize what a selfish shopper I am, and go straight into a lingerie store. I am going to blame it on the Christmas jewel decorated bras, ever girl needs a little glitter or so I always say.  Looking at pajamas, panties and bras when you should be looking at gifts for your boyfriend’s mom works up quite an appetite; I dash toward the exit and hope no one else stops me with French book, I go and buy myself a coffee and try to get my head together. After a little chat with the bartender and a nice caffeine buzz, I trot on.

 Weaving in and out of the small streets looking for home décor shops I run into a cute little boutique with Chinese writing on the side. However, this was not a Chinese shop that imports Chinese clothing and goods but a home store. Curious and confused I go up two flights of stairs and wonder if I am in the right place. Walking into the shop there are three rooms, with crystal glasses, Christmas décor and other home goods. I was sure that I would find something in here, perfect.  A blonde Italian woman walks out and asks if I need help “oh, yes please, please, I explain that I need a gift for my boyfriend’s mom, I have never met and with one more desperate please help me” we both start laughing. “You’re not Italian, are you? Where are you from?” She walks me over to wine glasses in various bright colors that do not sit flat on the table but spin in a circle from the rim and are guaranteed to never spill wine she explains. That is interesting, I think, and very useful if you are me. “But, I do not know if she drinks wine I explain” Okay, she says, leading me to a porcelain white statue with Mary, Joseph and baby Jesus in the middle. She picked it up and turned it upside down so baby Jesus was on his head, she spun a knob on the bottom, it played a twinkling tune like that of a child’s jewelry box. What would anyone do with that? “Umm, I do not think so” “It is beautiful but let’s try something else” I couldn’t help but giggle. As she continued to go on about America and how beautiful my face was she headed in another direction, I guess I didn’t make a bella figura on her but a bella faccia (face). “No problem” she smiles, guiding me to a table that looked like Spencer’s toys for adults. She points to a wooden box with an enormous cigar, scissors, cigar clippers and a single shot glass. She picks it up and places it into my hands; she explains that the cigar is chocolate flavored and that you use the tools to prepare cigars to be smoked. “Well okay” that settles that, I should drop my “Bella figura” into the trash bin where you will also find my dignity,  just leave my bella figura a message after the beep, if anyone needs it, it is hanging out with my dignity in bins. I am starting to wonder if she is joking with me. I don’t think his mom smokes cigars and puts baby Jesus on his head, no offense lady. I put it down gently nodding encouragingly while she showed me a plastic belt with Asian cartoons, it is very simple she explained the belt stretches as you eat and you do not need to adjust the buckle if you have a large meal. That is weird, my goodness what would this family think of me if I showed up with spill proof wine glasses, a box to prepare cigars with the biggest cigar in all of western Europe and a stretch-as-you-eat belt? It was like a circus act with this woman spinning neon wine glasses to the left and in the right hand a belt that I would bet a few dollars that it lights up and or shoots fire, she was the clown and I was the star, the star of the butt of a bad joke, and the tune of doo-t-doo-t-doodle-doo-t-doo-t-doo ringing in my head.   “I was just thinking a little something for the table”, I say looking around at the beautiful glass displays making a perimeter in each room and naturally the circus act was front and center. No singing Jesus, no cigars, no shot glasses please lady. I tell her I will return with my boyfriend, a little white lie never hurt anyone; of course I thank her for all of her “non” help.

I think it is best if I call it a day and try my luck tomorrow. I think I must wake up a little earlier and put on my walking shoes or at least wear something that doesn’t suggest that my boyfriend’s mother could be smoking cigars, shooting whiskey and practicing dancing with glow sticks while putting baby Jesus on his head on her down time. I get home just before the rain starts to drizzle and splatter on the street; I hear a familiar voice scream in dialect from a balcony above “Ciao bella signora” at least my 90 year old grandpa thinks am a bella. I wave and smile and disappear into my building away from the rain.