The young woman behind the bar directed me to the men’s room, after I assured her I would purchase a water, and the young woman sitting at the bar gave me a smile. Returning, I took a seat and ordered a sparkling mineral water. It was a pleasantly warm morning in Lisbon.
Chatting with the bartender, I learned that she was Italian, from Abruzzo, and had been in Portugal only a few months – to work in this restaurant specializing in Abruzzo cuisine. Her boyfriend was the chef. She didn’t care for Portuguese food; “too heavy” she said. She poured me a generous glass of wine to taste.
She asked what I did. I said I was a travel writer and, to prove it, I pulled out of my bookbag a postcard of The Joys of Travel.
This piqued the interest of the woman sitting at the bar, who had been listening to our conversation. She too was from Abruzzo, and was the manager of the restaurant.
“You are a writer,” she said, looking me in the eyes. “You have wisdom. Can I ask you something?”
She told me about her boyfriend, who was back in Abruzzo. She had written him that morning to tell him it was over. The distance was too great, she said. But clearly she still had feelings for him. “What should I do?” she asked me searchingly.
I was at a loss. In all my years as a travel writer, no one had ever asked me for relationship advice. Then I pointed to the wedding ring on my finger. I said that my wife was Polish and that before we married we had been separated more than once, and for long periods, by an ocean and the Iron Curtain. I told her that we have been married for 39 years.
She seemed encouraged by the information.
