There and back again
Travel writer, Bill Bryson's philosophy is - travelling, and life itself, is more fun if taken with a series of impulses. I chose to leave for Italy without any assumption or expectation and in return, I had a great ride. I finally arrived in Rome after a 9 hour plane ride, where I was stuck behind a wishy washy passenger that couldn't decide if he preferred his light on or off, his window up or down, his air low or high and - the one decision that affects me most: whether he liked his seat just a little bit back, or all the way. Incidentally, his final decision was to move it all the way back, which rendered me immobile and useless. After arriving in the Leonardo DaVinci airport, however, none of that mattered anymore. I was in Rome. After retrieving my luggage, I breezed out through the revolving doors feeling very continental with my sunglasses propped up in my hair ( ok,I made that part up) and got into the taxi. And there, in the taxi, is where I seriously thought I was going to die. Italian drivers pay no attention to anything happening on the road ahead of them, while driving at a speed of...well, quite frankly, I stopped checking after it hit 130. We careened through an alley the size of a high school hallway while another car in the opposite direction, was flying in the same alley and by some miracle unbeknownst to me, they avoided a disastrous crash. Could it be that they have car accident immunity because they're such an ancient holy city? Regardless, I stopped paying attention to what was happening on the road when I realised that the white markings that are meant to be lanes, were merely decorative. I listened to all the facts that the driver was telling me about the city, but I didn't hear. Everything seemed wonderful; I even loved his ability to maneuver around the city without incident. I was incredibly charmed by him...also touched and grateful that he didn't get us killed in a spontaneous, driver created traffic circle. I had my reservations (pun intended) about the hotel, because it was chosen by my dad, but promptly changed my mind after being greeted by the cute front desk guy. After stumbling through a mixture of Italian cum English for several minutes, he wryly tells me that he speaks English and could I please use the language that I have been given and stop abusing his? OK, he didn't say that. BUT, it was necessary that I stop speaking. I arrived in my room, took in my surroundings and collapsed on the bed while my eyes crashed shut.
posted by Joyce @ 6:06 PM
1 Comments:
Stupid cross-Atlantic flights... Yay cute hotel guys! Why would you be dubious of the hotel because your dad chose it? I thought he had reasonable taste, or were you worried that he was going to err on the side of frugalness?
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