Italian men

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Hello, everyone! Autumn has really taken hold in Milan, and that famous seasonal attraction, vendors of roasted chestnuts, can be seen in the streets everywhere.  Well, I get a little tired of writing just about go every month, and my readers are probably even more sick of reading about it. So this month I'd like to talk about the topic you're all most interested in. Yes, Italian men.  'Italian men are very good at chatting up women. Watch out for pickpockets and men.' This was the advice everyone in Japan gave me before I left. I would have screamed if I'd heard it one more time. So I was forewarned when I came to Milan . . .  There have been two occasions in these last three and a half years when I suspected that a guy was trying to chat me up. Actually, it was zero for the first two years or so. During that time, I had luggage stolen once, and, including failed attempts, encountered pickpockets four times.  To be honest, this was a shock. Having been warned how dangerous it was just to be a woman, I'd come over here full of fighting spirit; didn't the fact that nothing happened mean that they didn't even look on me as a woman?  In my own way, I tried to work out what the reason was.  1. Apart from going between my home and the go club, I didn't walk around, so there were no opportunities.  2. Not understanding Italian, I hadn't realized it when men were coming on to me.  3. The men took me for a virtuous woman, and so didn't even make me a target. Guys trying to pick up women selected their targets so as to economize on time and energy.  I think I can exclude the second point. After all, no matter how little you know the language, you know when people are trying to pick you up. Don't you agree?  Actually, I really like the third reason. Women who look as if they might be easy prey are targeted, so not being targeted was a good thing. It's a good rationalization.  The first reason. H'm, this might be quite a good explanation, I thought, but recently there was an incident that demolished it.  One day I was happily riding my bicycle on my way to a neighbourhood tobacconist to buy stamps. For an instant, my eyes met those of the driver of a passing car. I had a disagreeable premonition, so I raced to the tobacconist. Who should follow me into the shop but the driver of the car? This could be trouble, I thought, so I played for time by pretending to be looking for something to buy. While the man was buying some cigarettes, I jumped on my bicycle and raced away at full speed. But he came right after me, the persistent so-and-so. Car vs. bicycle was not a fair contest. He finally caught me.  My hair was disheveled and I was covered in sweat, but he said: 'Your eyes are so beautiful I just had to talk to you.' Yuk! What a corny line! He didn't look like an odd person -- with his cellular and suit and tie, he could have been a middle-aged businessman. But he was definitely not my type! (So that's the problem!?)  In situations like this, you have to keep your cool. There was some Italian I'd memorized just for occasions like this: 'I have a fiance.' I was happy the day had finally come when this phrase was of use.  Sadly the man said, "Our encounter has come too late,' and finally left. Even his parting speech was perfect: I was routed. I felt goose pimples and a chill all over my body, but I realized for the first time how lucky I had been until then.  It's certainly true that Italians, both men and women, express themselves clearly, without trying to mystify you. That might be why they're so direct in their love affairs.  As far as the go-playing population goes, however, they are on the whole gloomy people or at least ordinary, serious types are most common. The kind of people who take an interest in an Asian cultural pursuit like go are of a different type from the typical Mediterranean strain.  That could be why no one has ever tried to chat me up in a go club.

Milan go club