Talking Dirty in Foreign Languages
by Laura Schmalhorst

“You realize what you’re saying to people don’t you” my husband chuckles. After a few days in Paris I was finally starting to relax and feeling confident enough to actually “speak” French to another living being. Starting off with the Maitre d’ seemed safe because they’re really too busy to pay attention, therefore I happily greet the man at the entrance.

“You’ve been saying ‘Hello, I must be going’ for the past two days.” “Gee, thanks for telling me now” I replied. He said watching the look on people’s faces was just too funny and I wasn’t saying anything nearly as offensive as the woman we’d heard earlier ask a storekeeper “Parle vous American Express?”

My goal to learn fluent French and Italian has yet to be achieved but each time we travel I arrive with a pocketful of “cheat sheets” and hope for no unexpected surprises. The rather tawdry “conversation” I had with an old man and his cat in a Parisian garden will be spared for another time.

Knowing how to buy food at the markets has been my trop priority. Charades or counting on my fingers usually gets the job done. A trip to Florence on a hot summer afternoon made us realize there were other important words to be added to our vocabulary.

You never really know what to expect with jet lag. Sage advice I would give to a first time traveler is refrain from several bottles of champagne and whispering giggly all night on the plane. Do what ever to knock yourself out and try to sleep. But even with my bag of sleep tricks sometimes you have no choice but to nap when you finally get to your hotel or room.

Florence was hotter than Hades the afternoon we arrived and try as we may to keep moving, a nap was inevitable. Our tiny hotel was directly across from the Duomo and definitely looked much better on the Internet. No air conditioning but thankfully a window opened. The entry was on the ground floor however no mention of the narrow four flight double walk up to the actual “hotel”. Far from a great discovery but we were only staying for one night before heading off to Tuscany.

Hubby and I both take a quick shower but it was impossible to dry off so we lay naked on the sheets and try to cool down. A few feet from our window was the neighboring apartment building and a couple could be easily heard talking and clanging pots and pans. Within seconds that incredible deep ‘jet-lag” sleep started to engulf us and we both were out cold.

I drifted in and out of consciousness occasionally aware that the couple next door were now arguing. Even though the sounds were getting louder I am sinking again into a deep sleep. Half awake I hear the man shouting at the woman who obviously is now on the telephone and half screaming something to the person on the other end. Then silence.

Back to “nap camp” when suddenly someone is hollering and banging on our door. I shake my husband and tell him I think a woman is in trouble needs help. We hear banging on other doors and a person is definitely running up and down the hallway yelling.

Now awake my husband looks at me and says “Fire! I think they’re yelling fire, we have to get out!” My first thoughts are about the stairs. We had four double flights to get back down. “Where is my purse, where are the passports, our money, my clothes?” In a complete daze we can now smell smoke. I have to put my contact lenses back in or I’ll never make it down the stairs. “Forget it, we need to go.”

I thought about simply wrapping myself in the bed cover, Hubby had already found his pants and my purse. Finally on the chair was the little flimsy summer night gown I had planned on wearing after the shower. Panic is starting to set in, I begin thinking of my son, so shoeless and in the thin nightgown down the stairs we go.

Once on the street we are amazed at how normal everything is. Masses of people are walking by eating their gelatos and jabbering on their cell phones. Sure enough a fire truck is squeezing its way down the street with firemen trying to get oblivious tourists out of the way. The fire as it turns out wasn’t very serious and the truck left almost as soon as it arrived leaving a lone fireman to check the rest of the apartment building. Without the smoke and fire truck the few onlookers lost interest and drifted into the crowd.

I however am still standing on the street, barefoot in a nearly see through nightgown with my husband holding my purse. Going back into the hotel was not an option explained an officer, too dangerous until the fireman returns. It’s about 4:30 in the afternoon and our street is packed with people.

Trying to look nonchalant we waited on the street at least an hour before being allowed back in the room. Fortunately without my contacts I couldn’t tell if people were staring at me and or just felt sorry for the middle aged crazy woman. Luckily the following morning we were driving to the medieval Tuscan village of Lucignano where we had rented an apartment at Il Cassero a fantastic old castle fortress for a week.

Luigi Moriani was not only the owner of the castle but the village notare which meant he knew everyone in town. Lucignano is actually quite small and charming as it is probably doesn’t have many overnight tourists. Luigi and I had been corresponding for months which is a practice I strongly recommend to anyone considering self-catering. Once a property is selected even through a rental agency the owner typically sends you a message. I always write a lengthy note about us, where we live, our love of food and wine, ask for suggestions and send pictures. Owners sincerely appreciate the information and we have been welcomed as family everywhere we go.

The entire town of Lucignano, thanks to Luigi knew we would be arriving. Without even getting our bags out of the car Luigi insisted we accompany him for a “tour” of the village and to meet his friends. In the local bar, Luigi proudly introduces us as his American friends and each new arrival means another grappa, espresso and whisker rub from Luigi.

Luigi speaks English quite well and although several of our new friends at the bar did not, he helped us through the introductions. “So how was your journey to Florence?” we’re asked. With that hubby gets the attention of the entire room as he tells in half English, half Italian about the fire the day before. I am quite accustomed to Steve’s boisterous stories so didn’t pay much attention until the bar became very quiet and everyone turned at stared at me.

“You realize what you say, eh Steve?” Luigi whispers “You just tell everybody you are aroused!” Tying to explain over the laughter was pointless so again I just try to look nonchalant with my best Mona Lisa smile.

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