Surprise!

by Susan Anderson
Tuesday, July 1, 2008 2:03 PM MDT

Talk about fool’s luck.

Guidebooks about Italy warn you to hide your money, especially near train stations, to thwart pickpockets.

The most disheartening warning I read was that in Venice, the favorite location for thieves is inside St. Mark’s Basilica. There is even a Counter of Tourist Mediation.

But I am the person who went to Italy and was chased down the street by a man who wanted to give my money back.

I had set my favorite red duct-tape wallet on the counter at a tobacco store while I dug around in a pocket for change, then merrily walked away with two postcards.

They could have been the most expensive postcards of my life, except that the store clerk picked up the curious wallet, looked at the driver’s license picture and chased after me.

“Signora, do you have a red wallet?” he asked, panting after running two blocks.

“Yes,” I said.

“I think you do not,” he explained, in English so perfect it sounded odd.

I was lucky enough simply to be on this trip of a lifetime, without also being rescued from myself by the world’s nicest shopkeeper.

Two-gelato diet

Things were constantly fooling me on the trip. For example, eating two gelatos a day, while consuming all the wine and pasta in sight would seem to be disastrous to your weight.

But when you factor in walking 25,000 steps a day looking at the sights (scientifically measured by my husband’s step meter), it seems that you can eat ice cream all day long and only suffer a slightly larger waistline.

My own brain was one of the mysteries. I had worked a little on learning to speak Italian, but invariably I would open my mouth and Spanish would come out.

This perplexed lots of people, particularly those in out-of-the-way places who didn’t face confused tourists every day, like the man operating a little store selling drinks at the top of a steep hiking path.

“Does she know what country she is in?” he must have wondered.

Cowboys’ Guest Ranch n in Italy?

Then there is the Cowboys’ Guest Ranch near Milan. Carlo Riccardi has traveled in the U.S. with his family, and he loves all things Wyoming, particularly if Buffalo Bill Cody is involved.

So there, just south of the church housing Leonardo da Vinci’s “Last Supper” and north of Rome’s ancient ruins, is a place where the rooms are named after western states and the rodeo arena hosts officially sanctioned barrel racing competitions.

Carlo wanted a different life than he was leading, one that didn’t involve wearing a necktie to work. So now he spends his days working with cowboys and talking to the vet about one of the many resident animals, including llamas and bison with their newborn calves.

School children visiting on field trips participate in the goat scramble and wander through an old west town that could double for the Old West Trail Town in Cody. Seven hundred people typically visit the ranch on a summer day.

We were eating (beef, of course) at a long table with Carlo’s family and staff when the cell phone belonging to the handsome, young cowboy named Matteo rang. The ring tone? Willie Nelson singing “Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be cowboys.”

Speechless

What wasn’t surprising was that my many friends who have raved about touring Italy were right. I would ask why they liked it so much and they could only come up with vague reasons such as “the way it looks.”

Now I’m in the same pickle, a bit lost for words about the wonderful place, which may be the most surprising thing of all.

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