Madagascar, 1991, Isalo National Park. It’s the dead of night - actually, 3 am - when a small group of Italians arrived next door to my room in the Park’s lodge. And they proceed to treat 3 am as if it were 3 pm. So, no more sleep that night, but being an early riser, I know that my turn is soon to come. Thus at 6 am, I was dressed and out of the room, standing next to theirs, their screen door in my hand, banging it shut, banging it shut, banging it shut…

Until a bleary-eyed Italian woman emerged. Che cosa? What’s this? she asked. Very politely, I asked her if she enjoyed being woken up by noise, because we surely didn’t when they came in at 3. She nodded, and apologized. Point made, case closed.

Except it wasn’t. My friend decided that this was the time to beat the mud off his boots. Being considerate, he did so at the farthest end of the courtyard. Bang! Bang! Bang! I was still standing by the Italians’ door, mulling over nothing in particular, when the door flew open, and the same Italian woman ran out, and immediately delivered a stinging slap across my face. Meanwhile, my friend is still Bang! Bang! Bang!ing across the courtyard. The woman’s eyes got large - she’s realized she’s made an awful mistake. Hugs, apologies, contriteness followed.

She and I are friends to this day, still. Sometime life makes lemonade out of lemons…. But indeed, Italians are volatile people! They add spice to life, for sure.