SFTR: "Don't Be Fake Nice to Real Me"
Stories From The Road: "Sophie" makes her first appearance in Florence.
So there I was, with just a few hours to burn in before leaving Florence, Italy to train it back to Rome for just an overnight, then head on to Greece. Not many places were open at that time in the morning, and sitting in my hotel room would be a major disappointment to my friend Lucy of While You Were Sleeping fame.
I needed to acquire more euros before heading to the train, but decided to find an ATM after visiting a cathedral I’d not yet been to. It looked important and beautiful and its plaza like a good spot to people watch while I contemplated my life, wrote, and waited for it to open.
Enjoying some sunshine—it was January and Florence was chilly—I saw a women coming toward me with many, many bracelets upon her person. “Oh boy, here we go,” I thought.
I first became acquainted with this ruse in my teenage years from a guy named Ricochet. Unforgettable name, am I right? His long red hair in dreads, Richochet approached my aunt, my sister and I on the beach in San Diego. With his seemingly chill personality, we feel into easy conversation and learned that he spent his time traveling the world from hostel to hostel, praying for peace. And making bracelets for peace. Sounds nice, doesn’t it?
Yeah, that’s what I thought, too. Until he tied the bracelets on Jess and me, and now wanted money for the jewelry we didn’t know we were buying. Since the bracelets were solidly tied to our wrists, the bracelets left with us. I just can’t remember if any of our money stayed with our new “friend.” But what I do remember is that it was in my teenage years that I developed a mistrust of people pretending not to sell things. So much for increasing world peace, Ricochet.
During college, that mistrust extended to people selling things using emotional personal stories. Like the guy supposedly rebuilding his life who sold me a magazine subscription I never received. I told every subsequent door-to-door salesman, “I have a strict policy of not buying anything at the door. That one magazine sales guy ruined it for all of you.”
And my just-prior weeks traveling in Rome and Malta had given me ample experience interacting with or trying not to interact with street vendors hawking stuff to tourists.
The woman approached my bench, all warm and smiley-like. If you know me, you know that I like talking to strangers. Not this time. I wasn’t rude, but I was curt in my responses since
1) I knew where this was leading,
2) I had no interest in street jewelry, and
3) I had no cash.
She told me about Kenya, her family, about her children, about the “bebe” on the way and accompanied references to the baby with many maternal rubs of her belly. Not wanting to be outright rude, I congratulated her on the baby, and tried to return to my writing.
Oh no, she had questions for me. I told the truth— at first. No matter who I’m talking with, I’m selective about what I share when traveling alone, I knew she didn’t care a lick about the conversation, and knowing it was all leading to a manipulative sale, I kept answers short. I’d told her evasively I was from the US, and when she asked specifically where, it just slipped out. “I’m from Colorado.” At that time, my home was in Utah. A few more questions—can’t remember my answers.
Then she started mentioning the obvious jewelry, telling me she wanted to give me a gift of a bracelet because I was so nice (I wasn’t). I declined once, twice, and on the thrice time, I told her I really couldn’t accept it for free and told her emphatically and again that I literally had no cash to pay her. This was, as you know, the truth.
“Oh no, it is my gift to you,” she insisted kindly. Or should I say “kindly.” And when I declined again, she decided to take a different tack.
“What is your name?”
And another lie just slipped right out. “Sophie.”
I’ve never used that fake name in my life, and if I was going to use a fake name, it would’ve been “Annie” after Annie Walker from the show Covert Affairs. One of my aunts calls me Annie Walker—she knows I’ve always wanted to be a spy or operative—whenever I do anything brave or savvy like when I installed my own Ring doorbell camera on the stone veneer of my house, and traveling solo through Europe for several weeks would’ve been just the right time to use it. I didn’t though. “Sophie” was the name that just popped out. All I knew was that she wasn’t getting my real name; I didn’t want her to be fake nice to real me.
After many rounds of “Sophie” declining the bracelet and continuing to insist that she had no cash—not a single euro—the conversation ended abruptly. The woman dropped her smile like it was the mask it was and she walked away without another word. I feel for her, as it can’t be easy to hawk things on the street; I only wish she would’ve believed me when I told her I didn’t have any money.
When the cathedral opened, I waited in line for a few minutes before deciding it wasn’t worth the admission price—using my card since everyone but our Kenyan friend knows I had no cash—for the short time I had available. Returning to the plaza to make my next move, cynical Sophie was a bit amused and tender-hearted Emily was relieved to see our mother friend engaged with a group of enthusiastic tourists who looked like they’d be buying. They probably had euros, and maybe they really were from Colorado.
You’ll be glad to know I got euros without issue, and even though it cold enough for my black winter coat, and not yet noon, I definitely got a final round of gelato before heading to the train. Two scoops, thank you very much.
P.S. In a future email, I’ll tell you about the next appearance of “Sophie,” this time in Athens. If you have a fake name you like to give while traveling, please let me know. Maybe we can get our fake name friends together for a trip, and of course, get gelato.
As you may or may not know, travel has been a big part of my life these past 16 months, and I like sharing stories from the road with others who resonate with adventure. I have been able to explore this road less traveled because of the roots I’d gotten right over the preceding years. I finally trusted myself with time management and the alarm clock, money management, and had some experiences proving that I’d be able to take care of myself on the road and in uncertainty.
If you’re itching to do something about your dreams but are having trouble making the leap or getting roots ready, let me know how I can help! I’m always an email or comment away.