The Motorcycle Incident

10 August 2010

I walked out of a little market today. I had a pannino in my hand and was thinking about how tasty it was going to be. The old man in the store had just lectured me about how to make a proper pannino, the Italian way. His thin frame would suggest that he was not an experienced eater, but his pannini quickly convinced me of his wisdom. He told me, furrowing his brow, that I could not crowd the flavors. He explained, fervently, that American sandwiches are made in a way that crowds too many flavors together and thus you cannot taste the essential elements—the meat and the bread. I told him I would like the turkey and the pesto pannino. He smiled, pleased with my simple choice. I asked him if I could have a piece of cheese as well. He looked at me amused and replied that that was ok, but no veggies, no tomatoes, nothing else, otherwise I would ruin the flavors. This pannino connoisseur made a delicious pannino, but I almost lost the opportunity to experience these un-crowded flavors.

As I exited the market, I was admiring my sandwich and talking to my friend Angelina. We walked along the narrow, cobblestone via, characteristic of Siena. There was another via that intersected ours. A rather small though terrifyingly loud bus was laboring up the hill. We could hear it struggling to the stop and it sounded rather ferocious. Well, the bus had to turn onto our via, but I was not sure if it was going to turn towards us or away from us. Busses in Italy do not stop for pedestrians unless they absolutely have to, so I was being as wary as I could be of this intimidating bus. Though the bus was small in comparison to other Siena busses, it had to squeeze into the narrow street down which we were walking.

In order to avoid this bus, I decided it would be in my best interest to move to the other side of the street and out of its potential path. I could not hear anything other than its straining engine and so I did not think that maybe there would be other vehicles with quieter engines driving along the very road I was trying to cross. I started crossing the street and heard a “Yearrrr!”.  I stopped and actually looked in front of me. I had been keeping a close eye on the grumbling bus and so I had not realized that I had walked directly into a motorcyclist!

I had jumped a little at the sound of the yelp and the “FERMATI!”. When I jumped I smacked the guy on the shoulder. I, the pedestrian, hit the motorcyclist.

The startled motorcyclist thought he had hurt me, run over my foot or something. I was apologizing profusely to him for being oblivious and he was trying to discern if I was injured. I was embarrassed and the color of my face showed it. He gave me a look equal to “pay more attention crazy lady.” But he did not yell at me the way most Italians do when pedestrians act stupid. He was kind and accepted my apologies. He had more of an expression of pity on his face by the end of my labored apologies—probably directed at what he considered to be my insanity. He did not drive away until he was certain I was in good physical condition, though I suspect he thought I was a little “fuori di testa.” (out of my head)

I finished the rest of my walk back to class cautiously and arrived in one piece. I sat down on the floor, rather embarrassed, but pleased by the recollection that I still had a pannino that was waiting to be eaten.