O Sole Mio

One windy Friday afternoon, I had finished dropping off my friends at the Port Authority, and headed down to the Subway to go back home to the Upper West Side. Then I remembered I wanted to call my mom, so I decided to take the above ground route and came back up from the subway in order to take the bus. I walked over to the bus stop while calling mom, but she was busy, so I was waiting for the bus without a phone pressed to my ear. Before I get a chance to see this bus, along comes a horse-drawn carriage. (Yes, everything in my New York world is hyphenated). I look at the white carriage with red faux velvet interior and wonder what it is doing on 42nd and 10th, but otherwise pay it little attention until the guy in the passenger section turns around and calls for me to get in. I think he's teasing or just wants me to pay $50 for a $2 ride home, which no matter how comfortable the seats are, I'm not willing to pay. However, this persists and he insists on taking me at least a block. Mind you, there are other people waiting for this bus, but this guy's picking on me. So I run over and jump in because why not? It's New York, I'm considering it a free ride, and who doesn't want to ride in a horse-drawn carriage? Not even a vegetarian who doesn't eat vegetables, I would imagine.

Once in the carriage, Giovanni, the man in the back, and I start talking. As it turns out, he is also a carriage driver, but they're headed up to Central Park to meet up with the other carriages (58th and 7th). From the name, you can guess that he's Italian (actually from Italy). I always think I can speak Italian and then realize that when I try to speak I actually have no words except for music, so I tell him this (after all, if he's anything like my massage therapist, the longer you keep him talking, the longer the ride). So I say something like "quando m'en vo soletta per la via la gente sosta e mira, e la belleza mia tutta ricerca in me da capo a pie", which was actually appropriate considering it was Musetta's Waltz and they had stopped because "you are so beautiful, are you sure you're not Italian?". (The song is about a woman who can't help but to attract attention due to her beauty). However, considering that it isn't even close to modern Italian and my accent probably needs work, he didn't understand. So I sang it.

And then it started. Giovanni began his entire Italian repertoire. I didn't really know the songs, so I had to go mainstream on him to participate, since he insisted that I sing. In fact, he told me to make up Italian songs. I'm sorry, but I'm no Grant Damron. I can't just do that. So we settled for Andrea Bocelli, which we sang at the top of our lungs all the way to 58th and 8th, where I decided I had to get out. People noticed. It was hilarious.