LORETO: Sgarbato girl makes a friend

WHEN MY GOOD FRIEND returned home from Cabo San Luca after a week of sun, booze, and no sleep (i.e. spring break), she made sure to bring with her the perfect souvenir: a hot pink bracelet with the word “rude” stitched into a purple background.

Now to some, this may seem hostile, mean and even rude itself, but to friends who have jokingly and lovingly nicknamed the other “rude,” it is in fact the perfect souvenir. When I left for Italy a few months later, I vowed to return home with a gift equally poignant.

Trudging through the damp streets of Loreto, I can’t help but think the town is no different than any other city for a tourist. There are small stores that sell postcards and gelato and Italian flags, shopkeepers sweeping the outside of their shops, and a steel-colored cobblestone road connecting everything.

Yawning, I trek on, desperate to find something other than another café Americano (con latte) to revitalize my sleepy mood. That’s when I spot Antonella and a little shop called Ricami Veronica.

A curious looking group had formed around what looked like five or six of the stores I had just walked by. Intrigued, I push my way through the stragglers and manage a front row seat.

A plump, warm looking woman sits on display with a blue sewing machine perched in front of her. Using her delicate fingers, she is maneuvering an off-white apron back and forth as the needle drills thick, navy thread through the cloth. It looks like an intricate, magical design from where I stand. When the woman slowly turns it right-side up for everyone to see, there is a communal gasp as the name “Nicole” suddenly appears.

I watch the next few creations in a state of awe and excitement. There is a plethora of aprons, bibs, purses, bracelets, towels, belts, and other accessories throughout the store, waiting to be personalized by the creative hand of the woman, the talented Antonella.

I quickly decide that this would be the perfect gift for my friend. Not only can I reciprocate my friend’s gift with a bracelet that reads “sgarbato” (Italian for “rude”), I can also return home with a memento of the most beautiful and elaborate calligraphy I have ever seen.

Waiting to be acknowledged by Antonella proves to be more difficult than I anticipate. I figure that there is a large and cranky demand for a piece of this artwork, but I continue to be ignored and skipped over due to my lack of being able to speak Italian. I must be pushy and persistent, but I barely know how to say, “Excuse me.” The other customers in the store can only be described as sgarbato.

After almost an hour, I am ready to accept defeat and leave without a bracelet. Just as I give up, Antonella saunters over and gently asks in slightly broken English how she can help. I hand her the light pink bracelet I have already picked out and a piece of scrap paper with the words “sgarbato” and “scherzo” (explaining that it was a “joke”) scratched in black ink.

Antonella smiles and nods as she reads the words and returns to her seat. I watch once again as like magic she pushes and pulls the thin bracelet through the machine, and “sgarbato” eventually shines through.

She then asks for my name. I sheepishly tell her my “rude” friend’s name, and she takes a green note-card, places it under her sewing machine and it reads “Andi” before I know it.

I don’t know if she does this because she feels badly that I have waited for so long but I leave with the bracelet, Andi’s name-card and satisfied, happy memories of an otherwise dreary day in Loreto.

- Ann Curran