A couple of weeks ago I started off my Auntie Adventure tales with a story about how Cole, my nine year old nephew,
stalked met some Calabrese women on the lungomare in Catanzaro. Unfortunately (for me) it didn’t stop there.
You see, I’m convinced there really is something to that Aria Calabra that changes a once innocent, well-meaning, pooch-petting boy into a hormone-ranging mostro.
And it all started in Pizzo.
Auntie Adventures: Italian Beach Bums
Pizzo is one of my favorite little villages in Calabria and since it is only 45-minutes or so from Catanzaro, it made for a sensible day trip. We headed out-on the train … more on that later-to check out the Murat Castle, go swimming in the Tyhennian Sea and taste-test tartufo in Pizzo’s main piazza.
And all went according to plan.
We toured the castle, I forced a picture of Cole and a statue, we had tartufo.
Then we went to the beach. In fact, we found an ideal cove of tan sand and rocks, just large enough for a few people and their beach towels, and plopped down to enjoy a few hours of private beach bummin’,
The boys had a great time and just before I called “time’s up,” they swam around the big boulder to my right-to another hidden bay of private beach bliss and had the surprise of their young lives.
A topless sunbather.
I looked up and saw Cole, stumbling towards me in a drunken stupor, wide eyes, goofy grin.
“Cici!” He said. (See, he is still a kid-he calls me by a special name.) “You’ll never guess what we saw. A woman without her bra!”
I jumped up. “Ok, boys. Time to go. We’ll miss the train … Come on. Andiamo!”
They reluctantly joined me and immediately started sizing her up.
“They were so big,” Cole said. “I gotta call Uncle Peppe!”
“They weren’t that big,” the older and wiser 14 year old, Jake told him. “She was probably a ‘C’.”
“They were big,” Cole insisted. “And there were like, nipples or something.”
“Enough, boys! Basta.” I had to stop it. I flashed back to October 17, 2000-just seconds after he was born-it was too soon to be hearing about nipples.
We hopped on the train and an hour or so later we were back in Catanzaro-the boys wearing a bit more pride on their upturned chests, Cole, with a glimmer of knowledge that shouldn’t be there, shining in his deep green eyes and me, with all of the stress and worry of an aunt who’d just allowed her sister’s nine year old child to grow up a bit too soon.
But all’s well that ends well. My sister laughed and forgave me, Cole thinks I’m the coolest aunt in the country and I’ve learned there is a lot more to beach bums than should ever meet the eye.
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