I wandered down to the Basilica San Paolo yesterday afternoon in order to take a look at the market they’re holding for the feast of St Peter and St Paul. As I was leaving, an Italian started following me, calling:

“aooo!”
“tspspspsp”
“hey!”
“giovane!”

I realised he was talking to me (actually, I’d seen him fall in behind me), but I was also being given a great lesson in ways to call a stranger in Italian so I walked on.

“biondo!”
“ragazzo!”
“sir!”
“excuse me!”

Once he’d slipped into English I knew the lesson was over so I “heard” him and turned around.

“Excuse me,” he said again. “Are you Italian?”
“Inglese”
“Oh, okay.” He slapped me on the shoulder and walked away. I have no idea what he might have wanted of the Italian me. Most likely, he just wanted to complain about my photographing his Nutella stand. But the English, well, the English just photograph things. That’s what they do. So never mind.

The market at San Paolo

The market itself was a pretty standard affair - actually, I think I’d already seen the best stalls in a much smaller market last week near San Clemente. Lots of porchetta and salsiccia and pix’n'mix sweets to munch on while you look at tools, “genuine” DVDs, ethnic knick-knacks and cut-price underwear. I’ve known people who could make a goldmine out of this sort of market, coming away with all sorts of life-enhancing goodies. To me, though, it’s all just so much stuff.