The sin that does not materialize
Back to the slides, Ponza 1984 for sure this time. Ponza is a small island in the Thyrrenian Sea west of Italy, situated roughly between Rome and Naples.
The few things Chantal and Marike have in common are their love for Italy and their capacity to speak Italian like a native. Travelling with your personal interpreter is a sheer delight. It opens hidden doors like when we ask an old lady in a remote mountain village “Do you know a place where we can have some coffee here?” She smiles and answers: “At my home of course”. We cannot leave without a bag full of homemade cookies.
Italians contrary to Frenchmen, in my experience, are social and talkative, especially towards attractive ladies. Another thing Chantal and Marike have in common. So there we are waiting on a platform of Roma Termini Station when an old gentleman approaches us. Where do we go to? Ponza? What a pity you are leaving Rome now as a great tenor will sing in the opera house.
Another gentleman passes by and overhearing the name of the tenor mingles in the discussion saying “and what a pity he won’t sing the aria from” he names an opera of Verdi. The first gentleman agrees and all of a sudden both men burst into singing. Afterwards they salute each other and us and go their separate ways. Two young Italians also heading for Ponza grin and say: ‘This is Italy’.
The slides only show us sunbathing.
It shows also on one slide behind me part of a young man. The guy we have met in Roma Termini Station. He is travelling with his niece, a gorgeous looking girl. When we finally arrive in Ponza and find a hotel after a long and hot day Chantal is so tired she goes to bed immediately. As I stand in our corridor the girl from Termini Station enters our hotel-room. She leans against the wall and sighs with her eyes closed and lips half open.
I am in my swimming trunks and she is in bikini. I am upset as I am afraid she will faint. But when she opens her eyes after a few seconds she appears to be angry and leaves without a word.
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