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Arancia
Fordongianus was about a two-hour bike ride from Oristano. The Sartiglia wasn't scheduled to start until later that afternoon, so we took advantage of the first rays of sunlight we had seen in over a week and decided to wash our clothes at the local laundry. I donned a stunning pair of bright pink rubber gloves to shield my delicate hands from the scalding water. The washerwomen giggled in delight. I knelt on a piece of board to cushion my knees from the concrete surrounding the hot pools and got down to business. After I had scrubbed away for some time, one of the washerwomen turned to me and said, "Morocco?" My first thought was: What? Am I that dark? But then I noticed her dancing eyes, and realized she was just having fun with me. I was washing clothes - and only Moroccans washed clothes at the hot pools - therefore I must be one too. We all had a good laugh. I liked their playful sense of humour. I finished scrubbing the last of my items, rinsed and wrung them out one final time, then tied the freshly laundered articles to my rear rack to dry. We waved goodbye to our associates, and departed Fordongianus for Oristano. "Sartiglia here we come!" I shouted. Outside Fordongianus, a tiny white-haired man in ragged clothes - bent nearly double beneath a heavy load - staggered towards us. As we drew near him, he spoke to us, but I didn't understand him. "Canada," I replied, and braked to a halt ("Canada" had become my standard reply to any question I didn't fully comprehend). The old man chuckled softly, shook his white head, and lowered his lumpy burden to the ground. He opened the sack, reached inside, and extracted two perfect oranges. Shyly, he held them out to me at arm's length. "Arancia," he said. I plucked the oranges from his fingers and thanked him for his thoughtfulness. We were forever being treated to Sardinian's wonderful spontaneous hospitality! I thanked him again, and was about to share my procurement with Sharon when the little man reached into his sack a second time. He withdrew two more beautiful oranges. Smiling bashfully, he held them out to Sharon. "Arancia," he said. |
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