If the Boot Fits (part IV) -or- “Dov’è Firenze?”

(Continuing Story from “If the Boot Fits.” See side column for previous chapters.)

  Ahhh…Florence! As our train pulled to a stop that afternoon, our anticipation mounted.  According to every guidebook and many friends’ accounts, we were about to experience one of the most beautiful cities in Italia…Firenze.

We had read that there were a number of rental car companies in the area near the train station.  Our plan was to spend the night in Florence and pick up a rental car in the morning so we could see the countryside in the light of day as we made our way to the farmhouse we had rented in Umbria.  Our one-week rental there started the following day.

Optimistic souls that we were, we bypassed the tourist help desk and made our way out of the train station, setting out on foot to explore the surrounding neighborhood to find a hotel for the night.  Our heavy luggage in tow quickly became an issue (three females, three weeks of travel…) as we made our way over the cobblestone streets surrounding the station.  Daylight left us all too soon and not only was it not especially pretty, I dare say, it seemed a bit sketchy. Where was the beautiful city we had heard so much about?  -Eh, dov’è?!

We made several expanding loops around the neighborhood, -laboring with our heavy suitcases while desperately trying not to look like the forlorn, unsophisticated tourists that we truly were.  We stopped in at each hotel we came across, only to learn that no rooms were left.  No vacancies – “Completo.”  It appeared that every hotel in the area was completely booked for the night.  We hadn’t thought of that possibility.  Maybe our concept of footloose and fancy-free “Let’s wing it…It’s-more-of-an-adventure.” travel wasn’t such a great idea after all.  Mostly, I was concerned about my mom.  Alex and I had signed up for this, but she had come on our invitation and was probably wondering what in the world she had gotten herself into.

Eventually, we concluded we would need assistance.  Maybe the tourist help desk was not such a bad idea after all.  Defeated, we made our way back to the train station and took our place at the end of the line; a line that was still out the office door and well down the train station hall.

 

As we crept along ever-so-slowly, we were still concerned whether this was even the best course of action.  By now, it was quite late and there were many people still ahead of us.  Would there even be any rooms left after we waited this long?

 

It’s hard now to imagine a world without Internet cafes and cell phones, but they were much less commonplace at this time.  As far as cell phones go, it was still rare to have them in the states, let alone traveling abroad. (If you did have one, they were about the size of a briefcase.)  Further, the public phone systems in France and Italy were daunting.  It seemed each one worked different from the last, always requiring a code that we needed to know, but somehow always managed to get wrong.  Still, as we stood waiting in line we began to wonder if maybe one of us should try to find a phone and see if we could get through to a couple of places listed in our guidebook.  Maybe try the area near the Ponte Vecchio?  

 

Finally, a small group of German tourists were allowed inside the office doors and we perked up a bit.  We were next.  Everything was going to be okay.  A few more minutes passed and an agent came out of the office.  He at once looked apologetic, but resolute as he addressed us in a mix of Italian and English. “Stiamo Chiudendo. -We are closing for the evening. Mi dispiace. -I am sorry, but that is all.”

 

Our hearts sinking, we were turning to walk away when he put his hand on my shoulder. “Signorina. Miss. We will help you. You will be the last three.” and he motioned for us to step inside.

 

I swear I truly felt pangs in my heart for our fellow line-dwellers who were now left to their own devices.  That being said, my empathy was quickly overridden by the sheer joy we experienced at finally being inside those office doors.  At that point, all pride was gone and I did not care one little bit that our desperate, beleaguered appearance was probably why he couldn’t turn us away.  If given the same set of circumstances again, I would not hesitate to shove Alex in front of him with her big puppy dog eyes.  

 

Not to mention, it doesn’t hurt to be female when you need assistance.  That’s one thing we learned soon enough in Italy, -chivalry there is alive and well as far as we experienced.  Every time we turned around there was another male offering to help us.   Although we’re a family of stubborn, inordinately strong women by nature, I admit it was nice to know we could put our feminine wiles to use if needs be.  

 

After a few minutes of looking through index cards, followed by a couple of phone calls, he assigned us to a hotel not too far from the train station.  Once again, with luggage in tow but with our optimism renewed, we set out.

 

The front desk area (a small hallway of a room) was abuzz with people checking in.  We soon put together that the man there (who spoke a bit of English), was operating things under the direction of his loud Italian “mamma” at the other end of the desk. -A plump women with a perpetual scowl, her gray hair pulled back in a bun, she wore a floral dress and apron, more in keeping with images of the stereotypical Italian mamma in a Tuscan kitchen than the proprietor of a hotel in the middle of a bustling city.

Maybe she thought so, too, I speculated. Maybe she’d be in a better mood if she were in a cozy kitchen in the countryside…

 

“Adesso!  Vai!” -Now she was reprimanding him even more loudly.  It was in Italian…something about the fax.  Loosely translated, it sounded something like…

“The fax is not working! You gave me the wrong number! Listen! Listen to me. What number did you write down?! Go! Go!  Get the number.  Give it to me again. Hurry! I am waiting. I need the number!  Now! Go!”

He was grumbling under his breath, but still doing his best to keep up with her commands. He must have been in his late thirties or early forties, but he appeared to have resigned himself to no other life save performing his mother’s biddings.

 

Once we were over our initial shock, it really was more comical than anything.  I mean there was absolutely no pretending here.  No polite conversation….No “Welcome to our hotel.” or “How was your trip?” They had many people to accommodate and apparently not enough help to do it and everything (at least according to “Mamma”) was going wrong.

 

He hardly acknowledged us as he gave us our key and fired off directions to our room.  This was something new in and of itself.  We three blondes had been the center of attention everywhere we had been so far.  Every male in the country seemed to be aware of us save this guy who actually seemed more perturbed by our existence than anything.

 

The hotel wasn’t a huge building though, so we found our way easily enough and within a few minutes we were standing in front of our room door still chuckling at what had just transpired.  I worked the skeleton key and we stepped inside to a substantial sized room with at least 20′ high ceilings. Quite a surprise considering the overall size of the hotel or the fact that we had just ridden up -one at a time- on what must be the smallest elevator known to mankind. 

 

The room was minimally furnished with three single beds lined up in a row along one wall and a tile floor with a few old rugs scattered about.  Two large windows looked over the street below.  While it wasn’t the most opulent of accommodations, it was clean and the architecture of the room made up for the sparse bedding and rather unfortunate furniture choices someone had made.

 

The restaurant we selected for dinner was not too far from the hotel, as it turned out, although we felt lucky to have stumbled across it at all.  It was tucked away down a dimly lit walkway and flight of stairs and did not look too promising until we pulled back the heavy wooden doors.  Inside we were pleasantly suprised to find a warmly lit room with white linens and roses in delicately stemmed vases adorning the tables.  We looked at each other, realizing we were about to experience our first authentic Italian meal since we arrived, -Things were about to get serious!

 

For our aperitif, we decided to start with a bottle of spumante we enjoyed with a variety of breads and local olives and olive oil.  I could have made a meal of this alone, but we were only getting started… 

 

The next course was a delicious pureed vegetable soup (a somewhat uncommon preparation there, I’m told), followed by a simple pasta comprised of mushroom ravioli with a very light cream sauce.  By this point, I was also enjoying a glass of the house wine; -a chianti recommended by our friendly (and very attentive) waiter.  For our main course, we had “Bistecca alla Fiorentina” that literally fell off from the bone, followed by a salad of various Tuscan beans. 

 

We didn’t think we could eat another bite until an elaborate cheese tray was carted before us.  I selected a pecorino and a goat cheese and nibbled on these and figs while Alex and Gita shared a bowl of fruit and a small tiramisu.  All in all, it was the perfect meal and we commented how lucky we felt having discovered such a place on our first night.

 

It was near midnight when we finished and we were the last to leave the restaurant.  Our waiter Carmine (who, -despite the encumbrance of overly formal attire- seemed to have taken it upon himself to perpetuate the ideal in hospitality for which Italy is known), hugged us exuberantly and made us promise we would come back again one day. 

 

Normally, a nice walk would have been in order after such a feast, but our travel adventures thus far were dictating a good night’s rest.  This, coupled with the fact that we still weren’t sure about the neighborhood (whether it was wise for three females to be walking around this late at night), so we decided to head back to the hotel where we quickly settled in for the night.  

 

I must have fallen asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. The next thing I knew, the old-fashioned phone on the nightstand next to my head was ringing loudly. The room was still dark and it took me a moment to decide to answer it. Who would be calling us in the middle of the night? I picked up the over-sized receiver tentatively, “Hello?”

 

 Someone immediately began yelling at me in Italian. I realized it was our charming desk clerk and I pieced together that he was telling me our check-out time had passed. “Oh,” I said. “I’m sorry. Okay. Okay.” and I hung up the phone. 

I explained to Alex and my mom what had just happened and Gita groped around and found her watch. She said she thought the time said 11 am, but we couldn’t believe it. It was still dark-as-night in our room and all of us had been in such a sound sleep. Gita is the type of person who rarely sleeps past six, so even if Al and I had slept in, she surely wouldn’t have… -We just couldn’t wrap our heads around the idea that we could have slept so soundly for so long.

I stumbled across the room, pulled back the drapes and opened the wooden shutters…sunlight and street noise spilled into the room. A minute, maybe two had gone by while we digested this when the phone rang again-

“Get out! Get out now!” he shouted, this time in English. That was enough to set us in motion. We hurried about, dressing and packing as fast as we possibly could.

We were still laughing about the experience over breakfast in a little bar near the hotel. After our repast comprised of an immensely satisfying coffee and pastries, we were full of energy and ready to tackle towing our luggage once again across the cobblestone streets. It was time we found the rental car companies we knew were in the area.

In the light of day, the alleyways seemed much less ominous than the night before. The narrow streets were full of other pedestrians now; and Vespas, bicycles, delivery trucks and various miniature automobiles were zipping past us. We realized we wouldn’t be seeing the famously beautiful aspects of Firenze in this particular neighborhood, but we did discover a number of architecturally interesting buildings and quaint cafes with tables spilling out onto the sidewalks.  For now, it was enough to be immersed in the every day happenings of this city and absorb the sights, sounds and smells of another culture. -Everything was new and interesting.

After some walking and meandering about, we eventually found the street we were looking for only to find that every rental car office was either closed and/or had signs up saying they had no cars available.

We had read about (yet still not fully comprehended it would seem) the way businesses are run in Italy…specifically how they close for at least 2 hours midday and how they may elect to not be open at all on certain days. We were still in L.A. mode where a person can get virtually anything, any time, -day or night.  No. I’m sure we hadn’t fully embraced this Italian concept or we probably wouldn’t have dared hope to find a rental car agency open on a Saturday around 1 pm in the afternoon.

We had tried every place on the street. What were we going to do now? We stood there on the sidewalk for a moment looking at our guidebook map and discussing ideas when we looked up and noticed an open rental office across the street.  Had it appeared out of nowhere?!  We had just been up and down this street several times.  How could we have missed it?  To this day, we talk about how it seemed to have magically appeared out of thin air.

Incredibly, not only did the rental agency owner speak fluent English (he was born in New York but had been in Florence for 20 years), he was extraordinarily kind, -taking time to give us some helpful pointers and recommending what we should see and do and some restaurants we should try.

As it turned out, he only had one car left, but it was just the size we needed and he gave us a more-than-reasonable price. Once again, sheer joy was the only way to describe what we felt as we drove out of the parking structure and made our way out of the city.

It had been a veritable roller coaster ride since we arrived in France less than 48 hours ago. How many times in that short span had it looked like something wouldn’t work out and how many times had everything miraculously come together for us?

Although it was quite the initiation, we all agreed we wouldn’t have had it any other way. The basic necessities…the food we ate and the places we rested our heads at night became celebrations. We didn’t take the little luxuries or comforts for granted. They were hard-won rewards and we never slept better or relished our food more than we did those first few days in Europe.

 

to be continued..

~ by zenlifer on January 21, 2009.