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12/13 - Falcone to Gioiosa Marea - 18.61 miles
Climbing up to Tindari was even better the second time around, as it was the beginning of my day, and the sun was shining. I made it all the way up to the Sanctuary this time, took a stroll around inside, and admired the electronically animated nativity scene.
Back outside, I was soon approached by a boy, nine years old and full of energy. He raced up on his bike, started asking questions, ran around with my trekking poles, and before I knew it, I had made a new friend. We chatted for a while, giving me an opportunity to practice talking with kids. You see, I am firmly in the Alyosha Karamazov camp, where it is possible to treat children with respect and speak to them openly without going down to a lower level or making them come up to an artificially high one.
I answered his questions openly and honestly, patiently explaining things he did not understand, and asked questions about Tindari without belittling him or his knowledge. Then, shaking his hand, I took my leave, but as I was on foot and he on a bike, he soon caught up, and out of nowhere, presented me with a bag of chips. Touched by this spontaneous, unsolicited act of generosity on his part, I insisted on sharing the chips with him, and so we began to hang out some more.
Still, I am not a complete fool, and I know what you're thinking. The child molester alarm is sounding in your corrupted mind, and I freely say so, because it was sounding in mine loud and clear. Man with backpack enters town of 150 or so, befriends nine-year old boy, shares bag of chips. At this point, it was time for me to go, but I was faced with a dilemma. I could not explain why I needed to leave, as there is a large difference between speaking openly to children and talking to them about sexual predators, maybe for the first time. Unable to explain, I also did not want to leave him bewildered at why his new friend did not want to spend more time with him.
His solution was to take me home for lunch, and nor was that a good idea, as I did not want his parents thinking that I had tricked their son into giving me a free lunch. The last available option was to say I already had my lunch, but this then led to a tour of the "best picnic spot in town."
Great. He leads me up onto a grassy knoll amid an olive tree grove, and soon I am petrified at what this kid is getting me into. Still, I am more petrified that he might figure out why I am petrified: after all, the mere nonchalance of his toting around a perfect stranger suggests that he has no fear, or no reason to be afraid. I decide to play along, since after all my conscience is clear and my motives are genuinely innocent. And be careful, you who judge me naive or inexperienced with children; remember that the US is a very different place from small-town Sicily.
Soon I have shared my entire food collection with this child, whose hunger is more ravenous even than mine, and he starts rifling through my backpack, more and more excited by all the strange new toys. He's running around with my GPS, wearing my gloves and using my trekking poles, listening to music on the portable speaker and drinking from my water bag. He asks for a shiny new dollar bill, I happily oblige, and he declares that I shall never leave.
While I am having fun sharing all my toys, I am still afraid at the idea of trying to explain just what I was doing up on the hill, but I don't show it, choosing the honest out of needing to continue lest I arrive after dark. I get the "5 more minutes 5 more minutes" plea, and before I have to lay the law down, we hear his Mom calling. Oh no, I think, wondering what the electric chair will feel like, and he runs off, still wearing my gloves.
I quickly pack up, heart racing, and prepare to explain myself, still aware that my intentions have always been pure. Then, to my surprise, he comes back, no sign of worry on his face. "Don't you have to go to lunch?" "No, she just wanted to know where I was." I accompany him back down to the road, he tries to keep me around, we exchange secret handshakes and I ride his bike at his behest, but then it's really time to go, and we howl ciao as distance separates us, and our screams are no longer audible.
Well, you've already judged me, and I can't blame you, but I learned an important lesson about Italy. The terrible crimes that are commonplace in the US are unheard of here, and so a sense of trust and calm dominates where we have paranoia and "don't talk to strangers" as a mantra, reamed into our childrens' brains before they can walk. When a Sicilian mother, traditionally a she-bear when it comes to protecting her young, entrusts her son to a stranger for a lunchtime picnic, then there's no reason I should worry either. So, in conclusion, the Alyosha Karamazov approach works; I maintained an honest and sincere rapport with a child, and fostered and true and spontaneous friendship. Now that is what I call a positive and memorable experience.
That's all I have to tell about the day. I descended from Tindari, made it to Gioiosa Marea a bit after sundown, and slept peacefully in a well-run B&B owned by a very friendly couple.
12/13 - Falcone to Gioiosa Marea - 18.61 miles
Climbing up to Tindari was even better the second time around, as it was the beginning of my day, and the sun was shining. I made it all the way up to the Sanctuary this time, took a stroll around inside, and admired the electronically animated nativity scene.Back outside, I was soon approached by a boy, nine years old and full of energy. He raced up on his bike, started asking questions, ran around with my trekking poles, and before I knew it, I had made a new friend. We chatted for a while, giving me an opportunity to practice talking with kids. You see, I am firmly in the Alyosha Karamazov camp, where it is possible to treat children with respect and speak to them openly without going down to a lower level or making them come up to an artificially high one.
I answered his questions openly and honestly, patiently explaining things he did not understand, and asked questions about Tindari without belittling him or his knowledge. Then, shaking his hand, I took my leave, but as I was on foot and he on a bike, he soon caught up, and out of nowhere, presented me with a bag of chips. Touched by this spontaneous, unsolicited act of generosity on his part, I insisted on sharing the chips with him, and so we began to hang out some more.Still, I am not a complete fool, and I know what you're thinking. The child molester alarm is sounding in your corrupted mind, and I freely say so, because it was sounding in mine loud and clear. Man with backpack enters town of 150 or so, befriends nine-year old boy, shares bag of chips. At this point, it was time for me to go, but I was faced with a dilemma. I could not explain why I needed to leave, as there is a large difference between speaking openly to children and talking to them about sexual predators, maybe for the first time. Unable to explain, I also did not want to leave him bewildered at why his new friend did not want to spend more time with him.
His solution was to take me home for lunch, and nor was that a good idea, as I did not want his parents thinking that I had tricked their son into giving me a free lunch. The last available option was to say I already had my lunch, but this then led to a tour of the "best picnic spot in town."Great. He leads me up onto a grassy knoll amid an olive tree grove, and soon I am petrified at what this kid is getting me into. Still, I am more petrified that he might figure out why I am petrified: after all, the mere nonchalance of his toting around a perfect stranger suggests that he has no fear, or no reason to be afraid. I decide to play along, since after all my conscience is clear and my motives are genuinely innocent. And be careful, you who judge me naive or inexperienced with children; remember that the US is a very different place from small-town Sicily.
Soon I have shared my entire food collection with this child, whose hunger is more ravenous even than mine, and he starts rifling through my backpack, more and more excited by all the strange new toys. He's running around with my GPS, wearing my gloves and using my trekking poles, listening to music on the portable speaker and drinking from my water bag. He asks for a shiny new dollar bill, I happily oblige, and he declares that I shall never leave.While I am having fun sharing all my toys, I am still afraid at the idea of trying to explain just what I was doing up on the hill, but I don't show it, choosing the honest out of needing to continue lest I arrive after dark. I get the "5 more minutes 5 more minutes" plea, and before I have to lay the law down, we hear his Mom calling. Oh no, I think, wondering what the electric chair will feel like, and he runs off, still wearing my gloves.
I quickly pack up, heart racing, and prepare to explain myself, still aware that my intentions have always been pure. Then, to my surprise, he comes back, no sign of worry on his face. "Don't you have to go to lunch?" "No, she just wanted to know where I was." I accompany him back down to the road, he tries to keep me around, we exchange secret handshakes and I ride his bike at his behest, but then it's really time to go, and we howl ciao as distance separates us, and our screams are no longer audible.Well, you've already judged me, and I can't blame you, but I learned an important lesson about Italy. The terrible crimes that are commonplace in the US are unheard of here, and so a sense of trust and calm dominates where we have paranoia and "don't talk to strangers" as a mantra, reamed into our childrens' brains before they can walk. When a Sicilian mother, traditionally a she-bear when it comes to protecting her young, entrusts her son to a stranger for a lunchtime picnic, then there's no reason I should worry either. So, in conclusion, the Alyosha Karamazov approach works; I maintained an honest and sincere rapport with a child, and fostered and true and spontaneous friendship. Now that is what I call a positive and memorable experience.
That's all I have to tell about the day. I descended from Tindari, made it to Gioiosa Marea a bit after sundown, and slept peacefully in a well-run B&B owned by a very friendly couple.
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1 comment:
Yes, Patrick, oh, for the good ol' days when a child was not afraid of an adult, and the adult was not afraid of the child. In my life-time, it has become very scary here in U.S.A., lucky you to have found a spot on earth still innocent and untouched.
Cheryl
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