Fabio

I’d be remiss if I didn’t share an incident, perhaps chain of events is more apt, from our stay in Gangi.

It was Sunday and breakfast was meager. Sweet bread, a liquidy yogurt and an orange from the previous season. I would have liked to have had coffee but couldn’t figure out the machine.

Shortly after, Pa and I went for a walk, returning to a room as cold as it was during the night. Georgio and Nina apparently as frugal as the nuns in Florence. With a wind from the west howling relentlessly, there was nothing to do but crawl under the great mound of blankets and read.

2pm arrived and I was famished. I hate using that word as it speaks of privilege. Let’s just say I was very hungry. But it was Sunday, and nothing is open in Gangi on Sunday. Managing to back the Jeep down the street, we went searching. On the outskirts, apparently out of reach of the parish priest, was the Miramonti, a simple little place as inviting as you’ll find.

Mid-afternoon and the coffee klatch was there,

and the fellows who, any other day, would be at the local bar.

A very nice woman, Protestant looking, handed me a menu. I scanned it quickly and inquired about the lasagna. With a wink and a smile she took our order, returning soon with the finest lasagna I’d ever laid eyes on. Pa as well.

Rest assured, there’s none finer in Iowa. I ordered seconds along with a salad, bread with olive oil, and a Coca-Cola, second to wine as the favorite drink of Sicilians.

The wind still howling, we considered waiting until morning to fill the tank. But the Miramonti isn’t open on Monday and neither are its gas pumps. So we pulled up next to one of the relics, removed the cap, and found quite a surprise. Not knowing how to handle it, I took a photo

and went inside for assistance. My waitress immediately called for Fabio, a little guy with obvious street smarts, and directed him to help. We were off.

And here’s where my utter stupidity is revealed. I assumed Fabio knew a better filling station down the road. But within minutes we’d pulled up to one of a different kind

and exited. Fabio then directed that I pop the trunk where he grabbed the needed apparatus. Problem was, I don’t believe he’d ever used one. Try as he might, he never got it to work,

and was shaking like a leaf from the arctic blast. Not wanting to impose any longer, I returned him to the Miramonti and handed him a twenty. You’d have thought he’d won the SuperEnalotto.

Back front of our place Pa and I sat, staring at the Jeep’s control panel, and wondering if we could make it to Agrigento the next day and the Hertz office.

And then the revelation - “Hybrid” in big orange letters. Mama Mia!

Braving the wind, we circumnavigated the Jeep, finding a second fuel door on the opposite side. Of course!

Back to the Miramonti we went, pulling up on Pa’s side, and confident in the outcome. But we couldn’t get the VISA card to work, or the Euro feeder. So back inside and Fabio was just where he was when we first made his acquaintance.

Now here’s where it gets a little murky. Fabio couldn’t get the VISA to work either so he asked for a twenty. He then directed that I handle the pump while he fed the machine.