So, picture this, it's getting late, we're in need of a spot to camp and we see some guy across the street making a huge bonfire out of olive branches.  "What have we got to lose?" We think and head over towards him.  I pedal my bike up the steep concrete driveway, flashing the guy a smile as I huff and puff to let him know my intentions are friendly (as if more than one person could be scared of me this trip (another crazy story)).  When I reach him, I pull out my phrase we have written down in Italian asking for a place to pitch a tent and show it to him.  He stares at it for a minute, stares at me, back to the page and then asks "So, uh, what is it that you want?"

Startled by his brazen English I stammer "uh, a place to sleep for the night, we have a tent and everything."

He immediately tell me that we are welcome there, and I beckon for Zac to follow me up the drive.  The man introduces himself as Joe, and asked what we are doing riding around the countryside of Sicily looking for a place to sleep.

"We're from Colorado, in the States.  We've been bike touring."  I say.  "We've been out for four months and tomorrow is our last day of riding before we go to Rome.  Then we'll fly home."

"Gettouttahere!!!!!!"  he exclaims, and adds, unnecessarily "I'm from New York."

"I know." I say, with a smile.

So Joe showed us around and told us that we were welcome to camp anywhere on the property, which was not currently his, but one that he was working on for a friend.  Zac starts walking around, scouting out the best spot in the soggy field that had been collecting rain the past few days, and I helped Joe heap piles of olive branches on the fire. 

After a while Zac comes reluctantly back over towards us and tells me that there is not a single dry patch of land and maybe we should try to pitch a tent on the front porch.

Joe walks over to us and lets us know that he has to be leaving soon.  He looks at us a moment.  "I'll tell you what," he says "If you promise not to damage anything..." 

"Oh, of course not, don't worry, we are clean campers, we pick up our trash, you don't have to worry."  we interrupt.

"I'll let you stay in the house then."  he says.

"oh, uh, ok, I mean, if you won't get into trouble," we stammer, surprised at this generosity.

"Yeah, so you can put your bikes in here, and sleep in there and I'll be back around seven in the morning and I'll bring you some breakfast."  He says, and gets in his car to depart.

Dumbfounded with our never ending luck, we move our stuff inside and look around our new Sicilian summer home (for the night)--fancy us.  We cooked potatoes and hot dogs over the giant coals from the bonfire, took refreshing water bottle baths outside near the intense warmth of the giant pile of embers, and went to sleep.