To the beach!

Had a lie in. Got up about 11am. So much for not being able to sleep..... Think I got 12 hours on and off.

So put on my best vest, applied the suncream and jumped on the metro to the beach. I might add at this point that because it was a Sunday, all the other residents of Rome were doing the same. The train was packed. I felt like I was on the London Underground at rush hour. It was dreadful. We got to 'Lido Centrale' and the train emptied. I guessed this was my cue.

I followed the hoards of people out of the station and down the hill, presumably to the beach. At the bottom you can either turn right or left. I chose right. I followed an Italian family for about a quarter of a mile to a bar called 'Sangria'.

The family was made up of a Grandfather, his son (by the looks of it) his son's wife and their six children (all boys ranging from 21-5). They paid their €15 for access to the beach and got their loungers and umbrellas. I did the same and positioned myself behind them, unavoidably as it was already packed. I figured they'd make for good entertainment.

I was not wrong. No less than five minutes after sitting down, they were naked. Albeit for their swimwear, speedos - for all of them (mother not included).

The eldest two boys were very handsome. Perfectly Italian with olive skin and toned stomachs. I sat there in my vest and shorts, absolutely not feeling inferior (but entirely being it).

I've learnt that no one I meet knows me and will probably ever meet me again. To this end, I don't give a crap what people think.

I think that's one of the things travelling is teaching me, that is, to not be bothered about anything. If you're hungry, eat. If you're tired, sleep. If you want to shower, shower. If you want to sit and stare, very obviously, at a gorgeous Italian family for six hours, it doesn't matter.

I sat in the shade, drinking, yeah you guessed it, sangria for a good two hours when the second oldest boy (probably 19) came over to me, and rather alarmingly started talking to me. The conversation went as follows: (he speaks first)

Hello, English?
Yes...
What's your name?
Olly, yours?
Benjo. You have very beautiful eyes. (he sits on my lounger)
Thank you. You have a very nice.... (pause) .... Pair of speedos (I'm literally lost for words) and you have a beautiful family.
Thank you. You got the train with us this morning from Rome, no? You are holiday?
Yeah, travelling by myself. I'm going round the world alone and Rome is the first stop.
That's amazing! You liking Rome? It's very hot, we had come to the beach to be cold.

The conversation goes on for several minutes and we talk about the weather and how nice the beach is, what I've been doing in Rome, what he does for a living (he sells air-conditioning units in the day and waits tables at night) and then he invites me to join him for lunch. I politely decline and say 'I'd love to, but I've eaten and Bill Bryson wants me to dive straight back into him, the dirty bastard' (a joke, I don't think he got)

He looked slightly heart broken but smiled anyway, stands up and says 'that's okay, you can sit there and read your book and stare at me while I sunbathe. You're very beautiful'

'Thank you, my boyfriend would agree with you.' I replied. He smiled a slightly sad smile and said:

'All the best ones are always taken. Have a good day, Olly'

And he wondered back over to his brother who was laughing at him and rolling around in the sand in stitches. I had it all to do not to laugh along with him. This sort of thing never happens to me. In Italy, I guess, I'm foreign, and we all know the mystique that adds to one's personality.

I sat reading Bill for a good six hours and didn't even get half way through 'Down Under' which I thought was ironic because I was in Italy, reading a book on Australia.

Anyway, at about 4.30pm I got up to start getting my stuff ready to go and Benjo walked over again. He handed me his phone number and email address and said 'can I have yours, for penpal'.

I gave him my spam email address and said I didn't have a phone with me, which is actually not a lie. He then packed up his stuff and him and his family walked with me back to the station.

On the train I learnt their names, and the eldest two (Benjo and Amine) taught me some very hilarious Italian swear words. If I remember, their names were; (in order of age) Fredrique, Dominic, Romana, Amine, Benjo, Adam, Saylo, Thomas and Hayfar.

They told me of a lovely little restaurant which I went to for dinner, a bit apprehensively as I presumed that was where Benjo worked, but it wasn't. They also told me that I would suit Italian life, as I didn't move too fast.

Wasn't sure how to take that really.

Either way, at the station I said Ciao and Benjo smiled and walked away with his head down, his brother patting his back.

I'm such a heartbreaker.

Also, it made me miss Henry. Loads.

Went straight to dinner rather than back to the hostel (so as not to bump into Benjo) and had a devine spaghetti puttanesca (Ragdale people will know already) it had olives, tomato, chilli, lime, onion, anchovies and capers.

Until another fun filled tomorrow.

Kisses and hugs