Olive Oil

So then there was the time I was sitting on the beach in Sicily, and it was after dinner and I was just chilling on the rocks by myself, and I watched this tall, 30-ish year-old man approach me from all the way down at the other end of the beach, swinging a plastic grocery bag in his hand. He came up to me, and handed me the bag, and as I looked inside it he said:

Claudia said you really liked the oil...

(and inside the bag was an old ketchup bottle filled with a thick clear golden-green liquid)

And startled I replied:

Oh, uh, yes, I do, it is amazing and flavourful and wonderful, and we don't have anything like it in Canada. Thank you so much.

He grinned down at me, said:

Well, I make it myself, so... (he shrugged modestly)

Can I pay you for it? I asked, awkwardly, not sure how this was done.

You are the girl who is travelling alone, no? he said. I thought for a second, and came to the conclusion that yes, yes I was travelling alone these days, more by default than choice but whatever. I nodded, uh huh.

Spontaneously he grabbed my hand and kissed it.

It is a gift. You are very brave, he said as I sat there in shock. I still wasn't used to the European way of touching other people, of the custom of cheek-kissing to greet even me, newly initiated to the friends of Claudia and Franco, and the way of kisses as currency.

I wish you luck and blessing in your travels, he said.

Uh, thank you. I stuttered. What else could I say?

He grinned one last time, dropped my hand and started walking back the way he had come.

Thank you! I yelled again at his back, and without turning around he waved good-bye.