Those Airlines—Gotta Love ‘em
I had carefully and methodically, some might say ‘anally’, planned and plotted out the third week scenario. I had searched the net and combed the possibilities out there for a ‘road trip’ across rural Tuscany. I had found a very cheap car rental; found we could rent out of Empoli after we got off the train. Had responses back from albergos and Seminaries in Lucca and Volterra, and was anticipating something back from the B & B in Montalcino. I had check train schedules, plotted driving scenarios that cris-crossed the Tuscan countryside, and looked for bus and taxi connections in each place we might stay. I typed it all out in various forms, and included (when possible) printed web pages and compiled a loose, unbound book that Marianne could easily go through and understand what the possibilities were and understand the trip. We had agreed to leave Italy the 3rd of July, and I had used every possible minute of that time—wisely. I was so proud of my accomplishment. The itinerary was complete and in a “publishable” form. Perfetto—right? That was all well and good, if you read the book. If you didn’t you’d end up with the problem that slapped us in the face during the second week of December.
I came home from work one night and Marianne was so happy and proud of her accomplishment: She had booked our fight, including getting the straight-shot flight from Portland to Amsterdam to Rome. She went on in detail about how the flights and connections would work so well…and how we would have to leave the Rome airport at 6:45 AM---on the second of July. I really didn’t listen to the date at first, knowing my wife, the reader, would have seen the plans and booked the flight accordingly. Yea, right. It dawned on me, in the bathroom later, that if we were leaving at 6:45 AM on the second, we would already have to be back in Rome. That would mean that the 5 plus hours it would take to make connections and take the train back to Rome Termini and then to Fiumicino, would wipe out the whole day of driving through the Val d’Orcia, La Foce, and Chiusi. I was stunned, but hardly said anything.
“The second?!” I screamed from the bathroom.
There was total silence from the living room. I knew in my heart that I could probably deal with this change. After all, we were going to be in Italy, what more did I want? I decided not to press it with Marianne. I retreat to the computer and the hot tub and did not talk to her for an hour, or so.
When we finally talked, I was ‘bravely’ feeling okay about wiping out a whole day of the trip, and absolutely blown away by the fact she never even looked at the itinerary. I was determined not to get upset.
“I really blew it,” she said admonished. “I wrecked the whole thing, didn’t I?”
“You’re damn right,” I thought, but never said it in words. However, as Marianne is quick to say, I always wear my heart on my sleeve, and my face is too expressive for my own good. I couldn’t believe she had just ignored all over my hard work and preparation and just made an arbitrary decision like that. Okay, yes, I was pissed, but I wasn’t going to let her know.
In two days Marianne had solved the problem—and gotten us trip insurance for the $3,400 dollar flight. I was happy, knowing that I could keep my temper and not over-react. I was, however, so freaking mad at the airlines for ‘gouging’ us with their price--taking an arm, a leg, and my right nut.
Amici en Italia?
Now our theatre friends started to ‘get onboard’ with the Italia idea. Most likely the two interested couples could not (or weren’t willing to) do the first week with Fernando and Rosetta, but they could be alright will Firenze. Penny and Charlie were ‘on’ again for about a week and then ‘off’ again. Now our friend Harry wanted to add in Pompeii. That sort of addition, you might think, would send me into orbit, but no, just the opposite. I have always wanted to see Pompeii. I grew up on the tales and legends of A.D. 79 (August 4th—want the time—1 PM). My twin and I, being as creative as we were, had a whole fantasy world about the buried city. I would even have dreams about being a Roman kid, who on the morning of August 24th, A.D. 79, was climbing the side of Vesuvius, and discovered the gapping, steaming fisher that fore told the eruption. Of course the rulers of the city sent me away, laughing at the child. But when the ‘big one’ hit at 1 PM, nobody laughed then. Doug and I even used the local clay, which was in ditch bank of or rural property in Rupert, Idaho, to fashion pottery, and other Pompeian ‘artifacts’—including mummified dogs, etc. that had been ‘unearthed’ in our excavations of our own ‘backyard’ Pompeii Scavi. We also created our own Yellowstone Park in the vacant lot next door after the family visited the park in 1966. Yes, so visiting Pompeii could be worth dumping Lucca—in a heartbeat.
Even though Penny and Charlie couldn’t commit, they did forward me her niece’s web/blog site url. Fiona Lapham is a chef, a good old Rhode Island girl, married to a cab driver in Firenze, and working in a fine ristorante. I found her website fascinating to read and I boldly sent her an email via her comments box:
Hello David and Marianne,
That's nice that you will be here in June, too bad about Penny and Charlie. My husband and I would love to meet up with you when you are here. I would also love to invite you to the restaurant where I work, but the future of the restaurant is a bit unsteady at the moment and I am not sure I will be working there in June. Hopefully I'll have another job somewhere in Florence. Keep in touch and we will think of a plan!
Fiona
Beautiful. An actual real, live, although we’ve never meet, person to meet with in Firenze. She speaks English and can probably give us the inside ‘poop’ on everything. Plus, her husband, the taxi driver, probably knows how to get any where. This seems like a very cool contact to have made.
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