It’s “Hey Rene J” Today!

It wouldn’t be true world traveling without missing one connection at least! We missed our train to Rome from Assisi by one minute today and had to wait another two hours. However, we cheerfully (!) made the best of our time by reading the material we had packed for the journey. I was reminded of another missed connection years ago.

My sister and I took a boat tour on the Bosporus Strait years ago while visiting Istanbul and Athens. My sister had a deaf ear, and why I let her tell me what the boat wrangler said is beyond me, but I did!

“Be back in 50 minutes,” she claimed he said as we were dropped off on the Asian side of the Strait. We wandered the quaint town, happy to have stepped on Asian soil, and returned to find we had truly “missed the boat.” It was 15 minutes, not 50! Perhaps that is exactly the tiny dock where the term originated? Our problem? No dock attendant or captain or anyone around to help us, except two young college students who spoke a minuscule amount of our language. They were able to find the ticket agent who told us to wait for the next public transport back to the city, pointing to the exact spot where we should plop. All of this communication was done via hand gestures, pointing, and cash.

We did the only plausible thing we could do after that. We went across the street and bought a beer to drink on the dock while we waited for our water carriage.

If everything had gone as planned, I probably wouldn’t even remember that day so fondly.

For as many people as there are running across traffic, and as many motorcycles weaving in and out of buses, trams, cars, police, bicycles and ambulances, we have thankfully only experienced three incidents.

The first was when we arrived. We got to see and hear the ambulance arriving to transport a woman from the Spanish Steps. She had climbed in the fountain in front, slipped and fell. She didn’t look so great. We got the message and didn’t climb in any fountains.

The second was only an aftermath witnessing. Our bus was stopped because of an accident on a side street. Lots of onlookers clogging the street kept us stalled. We didn’t join any crowds of onlookers either.

The third was the most interesting by far. A bus whacked the end of a car which was parked with its rear too far into the street. We saw it and heard it last night. No stopping by the bus, and nobody standing around thought too much of it. Clearly, the driver had been wrong to park so far from the curb, (about four feet) and you can’t stop transportation or the whole city will shut down! No one faulted the bus driver on that one.

We have learned to keep our rears clear of traffic.

The Road Less Traveled. With all due respect Mr. Frost, perhaps it was the road less traveled because it was a stupid way to go in the first place! There was probably a better and safer way to maneuver to the destination.

This comes to mind as we rest our tootsies tonight. Visiting the walled city of Orvieto today entailed a quaint funicular ride up the hill. It entailed the silly idea of walking back down the trail less traveled. Steep, traditional stone path, and greenery abounding. We were the only two who chose this method of transportation after a lovely day in the town, a delightful lunch with wine, and a little shopping.

Thankfully, we did not slip and fall, stumble over a rock, or get a hitchhiking tick. And we made it to our train on time and back to our ‘hood safely. Successo!

Did you feel a breeze today? It was just us waving across the ocean to all of you. We made it to the beaches on the end of the line and enjoyed the wind and brilliant sun. Along the way we visited Ostia Antica and logged a million miles through the ruins.

I managed to deposit some “Carpe Diem” notes to a group of young U.S. students. These notes were left by my sister when she returned home, and I just thought somebody needed the thoughtful quotations on them – all regarding seizing life and making the most of the day. Young ones seemed like perfect recipients.

At lunch I saw a young man I’d seen about two weeks ago on the Metro! I knew him because his neck wound had healed fairly well. Seriously. But really, I’m in an offbeat ruins site and see someone from Roma metro that I happened to notice weeks ago?

The crowning glory, however, was that I once again, today – for the entire day – wore my shirt inside out. And my husband knew. He just figured it was a normal thing for me since I’d already done it – and with this same shirt! My Aussie friend, Pauline, would tell me that wearing clothing inside out indicates that I will come into some money. (Her mother used to say that.) I think I need to get rid of the shirt.

And so, tomorrow, I am looking forward to wearing my clothing properly and finding some money. But I’m out of soap and notes. Maybe I’ll wash this shirt and pass it on?

My battles began with transportation yesterday. First, an escalator scrape on my left shin. Not too bad. Then I whacked my left wrist on a metro stall. Red and a nasty bump there. A little more walking than usual today brought a sore spot to my left foot. What’s left of me?

What’s left is what’s right! It was a grand adventure day, with us distributing little gifts of soap to some nuns we encountered. (Thank you, Daughter, for bringing them.) All I said was, “Grazie – a gift from the United States.” Smiles. When the priest in the Santa Maria dei Miracoli met us in the book store, I was purchasing medals. He said to just give “anything I had.” I gave him soap! Of course, that was after my compatriot paid him for the medals. (He blessed the medals and us, btw. Possibly figuring I definitely needed some help?) He smiled, too.

With that under my belt, I’m ready for a wonderful meal this evening. I will change my shoes and start off on the right foot.

It has taken three weeks to actually sit and watch an English narrated movie and be satisfied with the time. How could, “The Hunt for Red October,” disappoint in any language? It has been raining all day, throughout Mass at St. Peter’s and during our cooking class. Tonight we chill.

In spite of drenching rains, we managed to correctly whip up our tiramisu, ravioli, and pasta carbonara. Cooking classes are more fun than I anticipated! I only remember cooking under duress, with me being in charge of one meal, my sister, another. I made tuna and noodles, she made macaroni and cheese. Sorry, dear mother. You tried. It was tough with the fact that we were graced with the best beef on the planet and garden fresh vegetables our father grew. You were just trying to get us to provide a meal once a week. We were spoiled.

Yet, your daughters are excellent cooks, bakers, and hosts. We learned from the best! Contact my son. Apparently, I am proud to state, that part is truly genetic!

Our class was fun.

We saw them – the holy cows. Today took us to the beautiful Castle Gandolfo, opened to the public five years ago by our good Pope Francis. Known as the former summer residence of the popes, we enjoyed the beautiful gardens, and of course, the holy cows! The farm there provides the milk for the palace, as well as, we assume, the Vaticano. (We tend to make a few assumptions based on our incomplete knowledge or the hearsay of other tourists.)

Riding in our beautiful new Ford mini-bus were three Deutschland amici. (Notice the thoughtful interplay of foreign words?) Anyway, when I detected German I definitely had to practice. This kind of stupidity hits me on occasion.

“Sprechen Sie Englisch?” “Nein, Sprechen Sie Deutsche?” “Nein. Meine Deutsche nicht sehr gut.” “Ja! My English not so good.”

It was a riveting conversation followed with some other carefully chosen words from my year of study in the heartland of Nebraska. However, (and there always is one,) guess who chose our table for lunch? Our new Deutsche freunde! When we departed a nice “Wiedersehen” was had by all. (Followed by a “Ciao!” of course.)

Yesterday we rattled along, all right! Determined to reach Tivoli, we had a few missteps in our communications and directions. It seemed every mode of transportation we tried was noisy, and we ended up backtracking twice in our attempts. However, we persevered and found a beautiful hillside town, replete with gardens and fountains at the Villa.

When we had enjoyed our time in Tivoli, we wondered how to return? Did the ticket we had purchased for the bus include a return trip? (The answer is “no. It was only two euros.”) It never hurts to try though, especially when you are a silly tourist. We found a bus, which we thought could take us to either the train station, or eventually a metro. When I tried to validate my previously validated ticket with the driver, I just couldn’t get it in the little machine! She tried to help me, then she just took my ticket and ripped it in half and sent me on my way to the back of the bus, with my husband following. It would be nice to say that I was feigning stupidity, but in fact, I just couldn’t figure it out. Had I figured it out, I think we would have been denied and would have been hoofing it somewhere else.

Well, well, well. We rode home on a beautiful air-conditioned, plush bus. We saw new sights outside of Rome, stayed on as long as possible, (it did not go to the train station) and then hopped off for our metro ride home. We were pretty proud of ourselves with that little coup.

It’s just nice to have unexpected adventures and kind transportation experts.

We have taken to calling the largest room in our apartment, “The War Room.” It has two sofas, the television, three bookcases and a rather large eight person table. The table houses our map by day – where we get a good visual of our surroundings – and converts to a pool table by night! We have only played pool once.

Today the War Room gave us inspiration in abundance. I retrieved my old Rome guide – a missive 135 pages long – with everything you might want to see. I checked off what we had done. We (or at least “I”, it’s my old guide which I made notations in years ago) have seen almost all of it, save five weird sites. We will save these for other days. However, today we used the War Room to make some plans. Thus, we shall be traipsing to Orvieto, Assisi, cooking school, Montepulciano and Castel Gandolfo!

Every house needs a war room. Or perhaps a Viking Dining Hall as “Pancy” might say.

There is a “dead” vine winding it’s way on the lattice outside the kitchen. For the past two weeks we’ve been feeding it the coffee dregs and grounds. Lo and behold, buds! It’s nice to know we’re giving something back and contributing in a positive way to life Italiano.

Unfortunately, our watering of the dead life on the front patios has contributed in a negative way to our neighbors below us! Yes…we showered them two days in a row and got a note on our door. We have to empty watering cans with the condensation from our air conditioning units in the rooms. It seemed logical to empty them into the large pots with dead vines. Oops.

Today I shall try to compose a note in Italian with my apologies. I’ll attach a photo of my work for your enjoyment.