Images: Missy at the Trevi Fountain. Guiseppe at Le MansWhere do you start??
"You start at the very beginning, a very good place to start. When you read you begin with A,B,C. When you begin your Italian adventure, you start with : Volcanoes in Iceland?? Carpenter Ants?? Gianni?, Gabinetto Rotto???
So, first class was first class, we found SM, who had taken a different flight, at the airport, and Gianni, our tassista, was congenial, a good driver, and, as we were to discover, dystemporal.
SL, SM and I arrived at our albergo to be told that the toilets were not working (gabinetto rotto), and that we were being transferred to another hotel, where the toilets were presumable not on strike.
The three of us then went for an incredible lunch where we laughed till we cried, sampling unbelievable antipasto and vino della casa.
Then SL and SM went for a nap, while I went outside to wait for Gianni, who had promised to return at 5:00 to pick me up and take me to the aeroporto to meet Kathy, Lorraine's madre, who was arriving at 5:30. Five o'clock came and went, as did its close relatives 5:15, 5:30, 5:45, and its cousins once removed 6:00 and 6:30.
I was in panic mode, which seemed to work quite well as I soon had a crowd offering to help. Giovanni, Guiseppe, Beppo, Guido and Stefania, none of whom spoke any English at all, were all on their cell phones trying to contact the taxi driver on my behalf. "Pronto? Pronto? Catastrophia!! Ti Madre es ottonto anni!! Aspettate a aeroporto!!"
Eventually a new tassista arrivo: Gianni apparently being engrossed in shopping for a new watch. My new driver spoke English far better than Gianni, knew how to tell time, apologized profusely and swore we would rescue Madre from this catastrophia.
It was POURING rain and Guiseppe, my new driver, was driving 177 kmh in Rome traffic to get me to the airport. With my life flashing before my eyes, I realized that a fatal accident starring Guisppe and me would not really do anything to lessen me Madre's situation at the aeroporto. I politely asked Guiseppe to slow down.
I am not making this next part up...
Guisppe looked me right in the eye (which, of course meant taking his off the road), put his hand on my shoulder (now only one hand on the wheel) and said, "John, piano, riposate, I am a professional race driver." He was the world champion at Monte Carlo in 1994.
My champion got me to the airport where I found a thoroughly frustrated Kathy, who had not, in fact, been waiting excessively as she had been trying to track down her luggage for the last hour.
She had helped her cause immeasurably by informing the Italian airport employees that if they couldn't even track down one small suitcase, "It's no wonder that you lost the bloody war!"
Once we were all happily reunited, we went out for a wonderful dinner, again full of antipasto, pizza, laughter, wine, fresh-baked bread hot from the oven dipped in extra virgin olive oil, more laughter, gelato, creme caramel, and for dessert, laughter.
Kath went to bed and SL, SM and I went to the Fontana Trevi, which is spectacular at any time, but especially when lit up at night. We did our bit to help with the Euro debt crisis by ensuring that we used good old Canadian Loonies for the obligatory coin toss into the fountain.
We just barely made the last Metro back for a good night's sleep after one of the longest days I can ever remember....
So, first class was first class, we found SM, who had taken a different flight, at the airport, and Gianni, our tassista, was congenial, a good driver, and, as we were to discover, dystemporal.
SL, SM and I arrived at our albergo to be told that the toilets were not working (gabinetto rotto), and that we were being transferred to another hotel, where the toilets were presumable not on strike.
The three of us then went for an incredible lunch where we laughed till we cried, sampling unbelievable antipasto and vino della casa.
Then SL and SM went for a nap, while I went outside to wait for Gianni, who had promised to return at 5:00 to pick me up and take me to the aeroporto to meet Kathy, Lorraine's madre, who was arriving at 5:30. Five o'clock came and went, as did its close relatives 5:15, 5:30, 5:45, and its cousins once removed 6:00 and 6:30.
I was in panic mode, which seemed to work quite well as I soon had a crowd offering to help. Giovanni, Guiseppe, Beppo, Guido and Stefania, none of whom spoke any English at all, were all on their cell phones trying to contact the taxi driver on my behalf. "Pronto? Pronto? Catastrophia!! Ti Madre es ottonto anni!! Aspettate a aeroporto!!"
Eventually a new tassista arrivo: Gianni apparently being engrossed in shopping for a new watch. My new driver spoke English far better than Gianni, knew how to tell time, apologized profusely and swore we would rescue Madre from this catastrophia.
It was POURING rain and Guiseppe, my new driver, was driving 177 kmh in Rome traffic to get me to the airport. With my life flashing before my eyes, I realized that a fatal accident starring Guisppe and me would not really do anything to lessen me Madre's situation at the aeroporto. I politely asked Guiseppe to slow down.
I am not making this next part up...
Guisppe looked me right in the eye (which, of course meant taking his off the road), put his hand on my shoulder (now only one hand on the wheel) and said, "John, piano, riposate, I am a professional race driver." He was the world champion at Monte Carlo in 1994.
My champion got me to the airport where I found a thoroughly frustrated Kathy, who had not, in fact, been waiting excessively as she had been trying to track down her luggage for the last hour.
She had helped her cause immeasurably by informing the Italian airport employees that if they couldn't even track down one small suitcase, "It's no wonder that you lost the bloody war!"
Once we were all happily reunited, we went out for a wonderful dinner, again full of antipasto, pizza, laughter, wine, fresh-baked bread hot from the oven dipped in extra virgin olive oil, more laughter, gelato, creme caramel, and for dessert, laughter.
Kath went to bed and SL, SM and I went to the Fontana Trevi, which is spectacular at any time, but especially when lit up at night. We did our bit to help with the Euro debt crisis by ensuring that we used good old Canadian Loonies for the obligatory coin toss into the fountain.
We just barely made the last Metro back for a good night's sleep after one of the longest days I can ever remember....
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