” Let’s talk about the dudes I’ve met in Italy so far. A summary- all busts. “

– Me, per my travel journal

Being an au pair for the first time and making friends in a small Italian town is hard. You spend most of the day with the kids, which of course is always entertaining. Still, being an adult you need an occasional conversation with someone who also enjoys a glass of wine or three while complaining about never having time to do anything (like work out) or always being tired (consequently because they never work out). So besides getting acclimated with my new family, making friends was also a priority. I was going to be here for an extended time after all. So I tried different avenues.

Massimo

Now this guy’s name wasn’t Massimo, but it seems fitting. You’ll see why. It was the first Sunday I was in Massa Lubrense and I was ready to explore my new little town. The crisp ocean air and bold espresso set me out for the day. In the town center, I stop to take in the reality that this is where I get to be for a while.

Then I hear lively Italian music and follow the sound to a restaurant in a beautiful garden setting on a cliff above the ocean. This seems like a great place to have a drink before continuing on.

I sit down at one end of a long table with a solo guy sitting on the other end. I expect a server to come by, but no one ever does even though I’ve made eye contact with a server twice. (I learned about Italian service eventually). After a bit, Massimo starts talking to me.

This seems like a great place to have a drink before continuing on. I sit down at one end of a long table with a solo guy sitting on the other end. I expect a server to come by, but no one ever does even though I’ve made eye contact with a server twice. (I learned about Italian service eventually). After a bit, Massimo starts talking to me.

“Hi there. Would you like any wine?”
*sees a carafe* “Sure, why not!”
*small talk (in English, phew) for about 10 minutes* 
He says, “You should sit closer. You are far away.”
There are two empty chairs between us. I move down one.
“You are still far away!”
I reply, “I’ll give you 15 minutes and maybe you’ll get one more chair move.”

He thinks I’m hilarious. Duh. He is 42, tan but almost leathery, tall, thin, and works at a nearby luxury hotel. He asks if I am wearing my bathing suit so we could go to the beach in Nerano. Um… I’m not going to drive to a neighboring town 20 minutes away with an older (slightly too eager) man on my 3rd day in Italy. In a bathing suit. Without a car. Plus, I was adamant I was going to learn the bus system and get to Sorrento. He offers to drive me to Sorrento. No. No. He gave me his number, but his enthusiasm was a bit much for me. Next time I saw him at one of the 3 places to drink in town, I crossed the street.

Rafael

Time for plan B. Instagram. On Instagram, I searched the hashtag MassaLubrense and looked at any pictures that were tagged there. Surely people my age would post pictures of themselves having all kinds of fun in this beach town. Well. No. Posts were few and far between. Or they were of travelers who were just passing through. Despite my options being limited, I did end up connecting with one gentleman. But I shouldn’t even call him that.

He wanted to hang out at a moment’s notice, but after a long day with kids, I just couldn’t. So we made future plans to meet at one of the three places to grab a drink near the marina. We ordered at the bar and took the drinks down to the smooth rocks at the shore. The moonlight hitting the water gently illuminating the night and the waves crashing made for a movie-esque scene. You could hear the soft clanging of the bells from the village church. It was all the making of a cheesy Hallmark movie, and I was into it.

Until I wasn’t. His Instagram persistence to hang out completely translated to his in-person personality. He was too close for comfort. He was too handsy for my liking. He sat so close that our legs touched. I scooted away. He scooted my way. He put his hand on my thigh. I moved away. He did it again. Eventually, I was done sending non-verbal, yet obvious, social cues to leave me alone. He wasn’t registering them.

“Hey, I would appreciate it if you didn’t touch me and gave me my personal space. I just met you.”
“You’re funny. Personal space? That sounds American.”
“I’m serious. It’s uncomfortable to me, and I’m asking you to stop.”
“What’s the big deal? It’s fine.”
“If you’re not going to respect what I’m asking, I will shoot you. You’re right, I AM American. And we all carry guns.”
“Wait, what?”
“And I’m Mexican American, so I probably have a knife too.”

Granted I was joking, I also clearly let him know I was not going to his lack of respect. He wanted to continue hanging out. I did not.

Marco

Bumble proved to be successful in Barcelona, so that was my first venture. However, here’s what I didn’t know about Bumble in Italy- it’s just not a thing yet. Yes, some people have it. It’s like the Hinge app here. You hear of some people using it, but do people really use it, use it? No one talks about meeting a friend or date on Hinge, but I’m sure it happens. Well, Bumble is like that in Italy. Except there’s one more downside- there is no location radius feature! For those that don’t spend their hard earned free time swiping through an endless sea of people you’ll probably never meet, I’ll explain the radius feature. It simply means that you can filter you who see based on location. Clearly, you want to match with people around you since the goal is to meet them in person eventually.

In Italy, there is no such radius setting. I was living in a small beach village on the southern Italian coast and matching with people in Milan, Venice, Rome, small towns in Tuscany; pretty much anywhere but where I was. These places are over four hours away! How is this helpful? Lovely. You can imagine my elation when I matched with someone less than 30 kilometers away.

I was in Sorrento after a long day of exploring. He pulls up in a nice Mercedes, dressed in pressed slacks and a crisp white button up shirt, hair gelled, eyes sporting designer sunglasses. We talk about getting dinner, and I just hop into his car to head to the restaurant.

I think to myself, Marilyn, how do you know this person doesn’t want to kill you? I don’t know. He just doesn’t have the vibe. He seems like the type to cry over getting ketchup on his Prada shirt, so probably even more so about blood stains. So off to dinner we went.

We actually did have a very pleasant evening. He can even speak 3 or 4 languages. We had mostly good conversation (in English) including this gem.

“Everyone here is so tan. You guys have beautiful beaches, so you’re 
outside all the time. But I am ghostly,” I say. 
*He gives me a blank stare*
“Do you know the term ghostly? Like white.” 
“Oh yes, you’re like mozzarella!”

The thing that turned me off about Marco was how concerned he was about looks. He was very into fashion and being fit. Now, those aren’t bad things to be into, but when you already have zero percent body fat and you say you’re on a diet… Umm… He kept talking about everyone needing to be in shape because in this part of Italy, everyone lives at the beach. You have to look good. So I just sat there feeling like a pale fatty and thinking I would never go to the beach with him. Maybe we could go on a ski trip. Or a trip to Saudi Arabia. Man, Marco. You were so close to being a good one.

It looks like my summary was right on the money- all “dating” busts.

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