The other day, I was waiting at the train station for about an hour for my friend to arrive from California. At one point, I was pacing the long corridor where everyone exits their train. As I’m walking back to the spot I was waiting at, this older Italian man checks me out, rests his eyes on my chest and says, “Ciao bella!” Excuse me, but those are my boobs. Ya mind lookin’ me in the eyes while you’re trying to hit on me? I mean, let’s be real, I’m totally not interested, but you could at least PRETEND you even noticed that I have a face. But, whatever.
I walk away, trying my best not to give this guy any indication that I am at all flattered by his attempt to not hit on ME, but to hit on my chest. Apparently, though, this does not work, because in Italy, if you are a woman that BREATHES, you want to be hit on. Like, all the time. Even when you’re just impatiently waiting at a train station with your arms crossed and every signal available that says, “EXCUSE ME BUT I DON’T WANT TO BE HIT ON RIGHT NOW OK?”
This man circles back to me, like a vulture, harnessing in on his prey. And, he walks by me and says, “Ciao.” I say, “Ciao” back because I HAVE A PROBLEM. I say hi when people say hi to me. SO HELP ME GOD.
He introduces himself as some name I don’t know.
And I tell him, “I’m sorry. I don’t speak Italian.”
He says, “Oh, do you speak English?”
Uh, yeah, dude, of course I speak English, considering I JUST SPOKE TO YOU IN ENGLISH.
“Yes, I speak English.”
“Oh, me too. I’m blahblahblah.”
“Hi, I’m Jamie.” OMG. Why am I talking to this guy? Answering questions is like a compulsion for me. I need legitimate help.
At this point, he goes to do the standard Italian hello, which involves a kiss on each CHEEK. Operative word here being CHEEK.
He kisses my right cheek and then, SNEAK ATTACK, goes to kiss me on the lips. THE HELL!? YOU KIDDING ME!?
I say, “No!” and I push him away.
I’m aghast! Surprised! Exasperated! Disgusted! Some other words that are the absolute opposite of flattered or turned on or even in the slightest sliver of a chance interested in THAT happening.
He slinks away and in my mind, I think, ha!, he’s defeated.
Oh, no, no.
I walk around the train station a bit and notice he is following me. FOLLOWING ME. “No” in Italian, clearly means, PLEASE STALK ME. (Sources unverified on this.)
I literally have to walk around the train station, find a safe corner to hide out in, and wait until the coast is clear for me to make a quick exit to my tram. Which, I did, and got on the tram safely and breathed a sigh of relief when he wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Then, I sat down on the train and was all, “WHAT THE FLYING HELL WAS THAT?!”
WHO DOES THAT!?
ONLY CAPS LOCK MAKES SENSE FOR MY THOUGHTS AT THIS POINT.
I’M ACTUALLY OFFENDED THAT HE THOUGHT I WOULD BE INTERESTED IN THAT.
WHAT IS MY VIBE?!
HOW CAN I GET SOMEONE WHO IS ACTUALLY HOT TO DO THAT?
WINE!
Awesome.
{ 11 comments… read them below or add one }
Thanks for the laugh! At some point or another, italian or not, you definitely get that as a woman. It’s funny how a woman’s perspective on what works is completely different than a man’s. Oh well, you live, you learn…and you hide in a train station corner.
When I studied abroad in Rome I faced several skeezy guys. Sadly it goes with the territory. You do have to wonder if discouraging them only eggs them on. My friend had a guy follow her after she got of the bus (alone, at night, freaky!) and he asked her in Italian if she wanted coffee. When she said no, he then offered her gelato, dinner, date, kiss, or sex. In that order. She said no to each increasingly inappropriate invitation. She had to yell “ABSOLUTEMENTE, NO!!!” for him to leave her alone. Really it’s not you.
Yes, you have to be so careful in Italy especially. Same thing happened to me but like in 1969. Yikes, that long ago!!! One of my friends was too polite, and learned she was engaged! Watch out. Love your writing, Jamie.
Laura
I found while travelling through Europe last year that the only way to avoid unwanted male attention in France and Italy (and even some parts of SWITZERLAND, for crying out loud!) was to ignore them completely as though you hadn’t even heard them speak to you. If you respond to them at all, even with a negative response that clearly tells them you’re not interested, it just eggs them on. I felt like a total asshole blatantly ignoring guys who were asking my name or asking directions somewhere because in my mind it’s just so rude to ignore them (I TOTALLY understand your compulsion to respond to the guy even though you knew it wasn’t a good idea!) but I eventually learned to do it or be stuck with a stalker until I found the nearest police station.
I love Italy and France but they’d be so much better without all their stupid skeezy men. They really are quite degrading to women and made me feel incredibly vulnerable, humiliated and even scared at times.
Eek, I think I’d be a lil scared if something like that happened to me with the following. Mind you, I’d probably go up to him and tell him where to go, making a scene while I’m at it to get him to bugger off.
WHAT IS MY VIBE?!
HOW CAN I GET SOMEONE WHO IS ACTUALLY HOT TO DO THAT?
WINE!
Dude. I would so hit on you in an Italian train station. The end.
I would pick up my phone and act like my husband is on the phone. “Like, Oh Hi Honey!!! And then I would make up a story on the phone letting the *hit man* hear you and that you are talking to your very huge and burly-jealous-crazed-man beast and if anyone if harassing you he is going to HUNT them down!!!!
Love the story and I am glad there are Hide-away-corners- in train stations!!Pheewww!
This story reminds me SO MUCH of being in Italy, particularly when I was there as a student. And with the commenter above: “They really are quite degrading to women and made me feel incredibly vulnerable, humiliated and even scared at times.” – yeah, I felt that way too. I think they take advantage of American “niceness” or whatever it is – that attitude we have where we feel like we owe strangers polite conversation, even when it makes us feel uncomfortable. On the way to the Vatican City one time, my girlfriend was actually followed off the bus, where she ended up darting around/behind several Bernini columns in order to lose the guy. My strategy was ignoring or glaring, which didn’t stop the catcalling, but helped with personal space.
Oh, oh… as a Canadian I’m going to be in BIG TROUBLE in these countries! It’s practically a national law to be polite here! Oh well, I’ll just have to practice my ignoring and dissing skills in the next few months!
You have to remember that you are in Rome, probably the biggest tourist destinations in Italy. This is a place where there is a good chance you will hear more English spoken than Italian on any given day. That said, it seems to me that in the major tourists cities, it is the obligation of *certain types* of Italian men (or insert the Nationality of your favorite huge tourist city, hello France!) to give love and attention to starved English speaking women that they need and desperately want. Not to mention that (I hate to say it) women from *ahem* certain English speaking countries have a reputation for/are perceived as being easy. And yes, I happen to be American, too. Sigh…
On the other hand, go to a less frequented city in the north, or the south, or anywhere smaller, and you won’t get that kind of treatment… as much.
Good times.
HAHAHA, seriously Jamie, just the way you write, you make a story come off a page and I honestly feel as if I know you. You are honestly a trip, and if someone doesn’t give you a damn book deal, the world has lost it’s mind. I sort of had something similar happen to me this past summer in Chile – I was staying in a hostel, and I had just gotten in late night…this group of rowdy Brazilian guys rolled in, apparently also from having a late night, and each one of them started lining up to take turns to basically grab my head and force me to kiss them – it was soooo scary! I mean, flattering, but scary.
So, it’s either one of those things where every other nationality is just brazen as hell, and Americans are the only ones that actually ASK if they can kiss you (which, I will admit, I DO hate), or….us American chics are just simply irresistible. I prefer to think the latter!