I bought quite the souvenir in Granada and just realized that I forgot to share the story so off we go...
I was walking around the squeaky clean cobble-stoned streets of the old city (tires and shoe soles literally chirp every time a person tries to change directions) and found myself in the Arab markets. My friend Sarah, who studies in Granada, which like Trieste is marked by the footprint of many cultures, suggested I pick out something to remember my trip.
As I meandered through shops full of hookahs, tea sets, and tapestries I wondered what I could purchase that would be a unique reminder of my time in Granada, something that I would not be able to find anywhere else in Europe. I was about to give up, when I was blinded by the bright blue and gold trim of an Arabian robe fit for a prince.
"Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiick," I said before asking the smiley attendant if he could retrieve it for me from it's position on a high hook. He handed it toward Sarah, but she told him the robe was for me. He quickly agreed and told us how handsome it was. I tried the thing on, deciding that it's soft material and breathability would make it the perfect summer lounging garment; ideal for sitting in a Vermont backyard and arousing cockeyed looks from neighbors. My three female American escorts congratulated me on the purchase and we headed to one of Sarah's favorite hookah bars to celebrate.
When we showed my souvenir to the bar's owner, he held it out in front of Sarah just as the man who sold it to me had, but she was quick to explain that the robe was for me.
"For him, nooooooo," he said before doubling over with laughter. "haha he bought this for himself! It's for women!" He was so delighted that he had to tell someone. He shouted to the back of the bar and a waiter emerged to laugh with him,
"Che guapa! That's for women you know," said the waiter as the owner put the apparent dress on over my head and then pulled at the material until it appeared that I had the right sized chest to fill it out.
He asked if I had a camera on me, and when I produced it, the bar owner stopped a man on the street to take a photo of the two of us. The photographer removed his glasses, lined up the shot, and then paused and pulled his eye away from the viewfinder.
"That's for women you know," he said as a click sounded to produce the image above.
After bidding the hysterical group farewell, we continued down the street, but soon found that the heckling was not over. A man on a pay-phone told his wife, boss, or bookie to hang on a sec, before covering the phone with his palm and shouting,
"That's for women!" I laughed and shot him a thumbs up and he returned the gesture.
Though I am surely the laughing stock of the Arab markets, the good news is I do have a unique souvenir from Granada, and I can't think of a better way to confuse an old Vermonter than by asking him if he has the time while wearing a beautiful Moroccan dress. Although with my luck, he'll probably say, "It's 9:30...you know that dress is for women right?"
Ah MTV...thank you so much for providing an unparalleled night of entertainment. Piazza Unitá d'Italia was full of live Italian pop music, snappily dressed VJs (Video Jockey's for anyone who grew up before Carson Daly was and then ceased to be a household name), thousands of screaming teenage girls, and a surprising amount of babies in strollers.
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