How Not to Buy Wine in Italy

November 2003, just outside Vatican City. My feet hurt after tromping through the cobblestone streets of Rome in the worst boots ever. And after threatening all day, the skies finally opened up. November is the rainy season in Rome, and though I'd been lucky with good weather for my vacation thus far, it was bound to happen sooner or later.

I ducked into a tented flea market. It was an opportunity to shop while I waited out the rain. There were lots of vendors selling touristy things like Murano glass elephants and cheap Vatican souvenirs. Many were selling wine.

This is the tragedy of my trip to Italy: I was still in my wine-hating days. However, I thought some bottles of wine from Italy would be good gifts for family and friends, so I started perusing the bottles.

I was in way over my head. I knew nothing about wine. I didn't recognize any of the varieties printed on the labels. The selection was truly dizzying. I had no idea what to buy. But, I figured, how hard could it be to transact wine in Italian? I'd taught myself as much as I could before I left the United States, and well, "wine" "red" and "white" were easy enough.

One of the wine vendors approached me and began to speak to me in Italian. I don't remember if I knew what she said, but I do remember stumbling over something along the lines of "Bisogno vino... dolce..?"

It should have tipped her off that I probably spoke English, but it did not. There was something about the way I said it that led her to ask me, "Hablas español?"

This caught me off guard, because I do speak Spanish. Not fluently, but certainly better than Italian, and definitely well enough to buy some wine. In retrospect, it makes sense to me that she would have picked up on this, since my Italian was undoubtedly tinged with a Spanish (not Mexican) accent. "Sí," I gratefully replied.

She pointed to bottles. "Blanco... rojo... dulce..." I have no idea what I bought, except that they were Sicilians. I didn't keep any of them for myself. Ohh, how I mourn this missed opportunity! In many ways, as amazing as that trip was, I think I went to Italy too soon. Today I would revel in the wines and take much better pictures with a professional grade camera. I also speak Italian as well as Spanish now.

And that, my friends, is the story of how I went to Italy and ended up buying wine in Spanish. Actually, most people I met in Italy thought I was European, though, with my fair skin and green eyes, most guessed Scottish.

During that same trip, I wandered into a basement pizzeria near my hotel and found myself seated between a priest and two drag queens. When I asked for a Coke, the waiter brought me a glass of red wine instead.

Here's a picture of me from that trip, sitting on the Spanish Steps. I hope I can go back sometime and do it right!