A MYSTERY MAN, McDONALD’S AND ME
My hotel in Naples was forgettable. It had been chosen solely for its proximity to public transport. And as such, the front of the premises experienced a lot of foot traffic. I was sitting in front of the building working on my novel — a novel that would make it to the top of the New York Times bestseller list, a novel that, 11 years later, has yet to materialise — when I spotted him.
He was standing alongside two women. One looked about 80 and had a cane. The other was around 30 and was, I assumed, the other’s caretaker. They were staring at me. In a sea of pale faces, a coloured woman with big, untameable curls, stands out. I was as conspicuous as a lion cub in a suburban garage.
The older of the two women was pawing her skin and muttering something. Unfortunately my Italian was limited to “bella ciao” (goodbye beautiful), and I couldn’t understand a word she was saying.
I would love to believe it was, “You have amazing cheekbones! You are an Amazonian goddess.” But this was probably not the case. Probably.
I smiled politely, shook my head and repeated several times, “English only.”
Eventually the women gave up and shuffled along. The man, however, remained. Our Casanova wasn’t about to have something as inconsequential as the language barrier deter him. Sauntering over, he placed a hand on his chest (the universal sign for “I am”) and introduced himself. “Mohammad.”
“Sediqa.”
“Muslim?”
“Yes.”
He was absolutely overjoyed with my answer. He looked like a little kid who’d won a teddy bear from the claw machine. There was something so endearing about his expression, that I immediately trusted him.
Using his fingers, he mimed that we should go for short walk. Throwing caution to the wind, I agreed.
I would like to tell you that he introduced me to a rare and undiscovered side of Naples, a city whose attractions include Mount Vesuvius.
Alas, he did not show me a side of Naples that has yet to be described in guidebooks. Instead, Don Juan walked me across the busy intersection and straight into a McDonald’s. At the front of the queue, he boldly took out a coin from his wallet and ordered a coffee.
On hearing how much it would cost, he balked. He replaced the coin and escorted me out of the fastfood chain store. There would be no coffee for this Brazilian goddess.
We walked around for a few more minutes, past pizza parlours and coffee shops, before I was deposited back at my hotel.
There we would play several rounds of Pictionary. He would scribble stick figures into my journal and I would attempt to decipher them. We must have spent a good few hours in this manner because when I next looked up, the sun had set.
Using this daily phenomenon as a cue, he disappeared like gelato on a hot summer’s day.
Do you have a funny or quirky story about your travels? Send 600 words to travelmag@sundaytimes.co.za and include a recent photo of yourself.