Three Places More Fascinating than St Mark’s Square
Veni vidi vici Venice — these were the best parts
It’s late, so we head back to the hotel bar for a nightcap.
I ask the barman for a beer and a white wine. “If you take a seat at that table,” he points his spindly finger to the far corner of the restaurant and the furthest table from the bar. “I will come and take your order.”
“No need,” I say, with my most charming smile. “I’ll have a beer, and my little wifey here will have a white wine, thank you.”
He clenched his jaw and pointed again at the distant, lonely table.
In Scotland, bar staff and waiters are not required to smile at you, but they do. Even if you are rude, their mouths still present an identifiable upturn at the corners… a presentable face. I’ve been in Italy for three days, and so far I’ve only been served by pursed lips, narrowed eyes or undisguised disdain.
The barman disappears from the bar and reappears in the restaurant to micromanage a young waiter serving desserts and coffee to the few tables left. We wait fifteen minutes before the barman slaps a drinks menu on our table and flits back to the other diners.
“Just a beer and a white wine, please,” I say to the back of his head.
