Buon (and not so buon) Viaggio!
Sneezing, coughing, stuffy nose so you can rest medicine - NYQUIL - is NOWHERE to be found in Puerto Vallarta!! Arrrgh!! The week before my departure was plagued with the same horrid “air-conditioning-to-heat” malady that I had had before - and so have many others. Amidst my trying to pack six weeks into a carry-on and a backpack, I was still nursing my 18 stitches from the ceiling fan attack on my wrist two weeks ago. (By the way, the ambulance and Emergency care totaled a mere $276 US dollars).
Painters were finishing my bedroom wall, and patching unsightly blemishes in the ceiling, while Mary, the housekeeper, was hanging new curtains she made for me. Arturo was arranging a few decorations, and the landlord was surveying the improperly tiled terraza, which needs to be re-done in order to prevent complete drainage in the event of severe rains while I will be out of the country (and renters will be arriving). The apartment was a whirlwind of fixing, folding, fussing, and a little fighting (with the landlord). But Judith (the German gal who works around the corner at a Tequila shop and helped me through the “ambulance” episode, helped me carry my bags down to the street and hail a taxi, after having lost her job minutes earlier. Hers were tears of shock and anger, mine of disappointment, due to the fact that I had to abandon her, mid-crisis.
A five-hour layover at LAX - believe me, I prefer a hangover to an LAX layover - was followed by a flight to Indianapolis, with a six-hour layover, a flight to Detroit, and finally, my arrival at Allentown Airport where I spent a quick night and half day with my parents.
Back to Detroit, and on to France, I managed to catch a little shuteye, before I landed “home” in Paris. Ahhhh…deep breath. Before I even stepped onto the Metro, I felt as if a weight had been lifted. Truly, my soul feeds off the energy and ambience of the City of Lights. The sense of comfort and hope there is inexplicable.
 |
| An Evening at Pont d'Arsenal With Friends I have been blessed to have met wonderful young people over the years, with whom I stay when I am in Paris. Matthieu and Maite have visited me in Santa Barbara many times, as well as David. Joie d'vie! |
 |
| The Red Bike The French drink Rosé like Americans down water. It flows from morning til night. |
cobblestones. Some of my favorite buildings are on corners.
 |
| Rosé |
 |
| Matthieu and Me French Stripes |
 |
| A Couture Hat With Callaway |
I am carrying Lambchop with me, to show Hazel where her favorite little puppet is traveling with ZaZa!
Here "we" are at the Arc D'Triomphe, the Carousel at La Defense, and the Grande Arch as well.
Au revoir, Maite! Bisous! And good morning sunrise, as we prepare to depart Orly Airport.
After a wonderful five days with dear friends, plenty of croissants, café, rosé, pastis, river picnics and delightful shopping in the 18th arrondissement, I embarked on my Italian adventure.
My EasyJet flight was supposedly to Fumicino, Rome, where I was to have rendezvous’d with my friend’s parents and catch a bus to Roseto di Abruzzi. It wasn’t until I landed in Ciampino, that I discovered, with my very weak, but necessary attempts at Italian, that I was to board a bus to Fumicino, which would arrive after the Roseto bus’s departure. I quickly purchased an ATT international plan and was able to connect with my friend in PA, only to run out of battery mid-consultation. I decided to stay put and enlist the prayers of Padre Pio to bring my “companions” safely to Ciampino, where I would be able to join them on the bus.
Thank God I am not afraid to talk to anyone, at any time, in any language.
A lovely Scottish girl, fluent in Italian, held my nervous hand as we waited together for the bus. Praise God and thank you, Padre Pio, our prayers were answered. Once we hugged and breathed a sigh of relief, the two “seniors” told me that they hadn’t been worried at all, as they had asked Padre Pio’s intervention.
Carolina, despite her macular degeneration coupled with jet lag, identified every town, Church, and city along the way, and could tell me when we were inside the 10-kilometer tunnel carved beneath the mountains, as we rolled through luscious green farmland, set against a backdrop of snow-capped alps.
Just as my eyes began to roll back in my head, we arrived at the Guilanova Station, where Mauro, a close family friend, was waiting with his car to drive us the short jaunt into Roseto. Shortly after we pulled up at the couples’ expansive villa on the main street of this charming seaside village, the Italian yelling I’ve heard about, commenced. Loudly.
“Whatta you do witha the keys!!” Giovanni screamed at his diminutive wife, whose cluster of no less than fifty keys made Mr. Schneider, my grade school janitor, look like a small fry.
“They’re all here!” she barked back, squinting and scowling as she rifled through the pack of key rings. “Look! They’re labelled! I’ll find it! Just be quiet!” She was actually quite polite with her choice of words, but her tone was less forgiving.
Carolina relinquished the keys to me, and after twenty or so attempts, I found the right one for the front entry gate. Ultimately, Mauro’s brute strength jiggled, shook, and turned - voila! We were in!
Mauro and I carried our luggage to the front veranda and entered the house, only to find out that we had no electricity. We fidgeted with the fuse box, to no avail.
“Arrivederci!” and Mauro was gone, leaving us to fend for ourselves. Opening ten-foot windows and shutters, removing newspapers from furniture and beds, and navigating each nook and cranny without light, was a challenge, but not insurmountable. Though I wasn’t prepared for the post-winter dust, mold, and general disarray of the “opening” of this summer villa, I dove in with gusto.
Before complete darkness fell, about 11PM, I was able to put fresh sheets on beds, begin to tackle the kitchen, and walk a half block for pizza, a staple upon which Italians depend. I felt my waist bloating as I climbed into bed, opting for the room down the hall on the first floor, close to the elderly couple. The large apartment upstairs, as well as two ample downstairs apartments, would have to wait. Time for a siesta!
As I write, it is Day Four without electricity. After paying the electric bill which the Bank had failed to pay, enlisting the help of local friends and cousins, walking ten blocks in an hour to the bank, due to the “pace” of my senior friends, life is still a bit chaotic.
After putting up the Italian flag with Giovanni, I finally managed to stroll over to the Adriatic and wade in the warm water, while my friends took their habitual afternoon nap. Watching the sun-bathing locals and vacationers bare their bodies to the Western setting sun, their backs to the waves, their brown skin glistening gold, I breathed in the moment, the day, the purpose...the peace.
I wondered where to put down my towel amidst the myriad of beach chairs and umbrellas reserved for any of a number of Lido customers. There are many Lidos along the sand, serving café, drinks, sandwiches, and - pizza! I saw no one just sitting on a towel, so I decided to continue walking, feeling the fine, wavy sand work off my dead skin, giving my feet and my legs a pretty decent workout. Once home, I took my first shower - an extremely cold one - assuring the Powers That Be that I can live without electricity, but really prefer not to.
Last night, we went to Ricardo and Michaela’s restaurant, Four Palms, by car. Gabriele, a family friend finally showed up, after we had unsuccessfully tried to call him many times. Apparently my friend contacted him to come over to the house. As it turns out, the cell phone we have been using is not functioning properly. Not that knowing this helps us any! Calling for assistance of any kind is currently impossible, so we are relying on word of mouth, witnessing its effects, as locals come with help, handcarts (for the overgrown garden), and plenty of pastries, pizza, limoncello, and creamy bread-dipping sauce made with homemade sausage.
Giovanni climbed into the passenger’s seat, Carolina on her husband’s lap. and I into the back door of the van-type vehicle. In the windowless dark of the cardboard bed, I sang “O Sole Mio!” loudly, laughing at the chances of such an unlikely ride. I later told Gabriele that I felt like “mafiosa” riding in the “dead body-mobile.” Thankfully, he laughed.
Ricardo and Michaela graciously treated us to dinner and wine. I chose Pennette Arabiatta, and the couple shared - you guessed - a pizza. Red wine and friendly atmosphere contributed to a fulfilling meal. The walk home, Carolina on my right arm, Giovanni on my left, took over an hour. To illustrate the extreme, I can do this walk in 8 minutes. While Carolina pulled me forward, Giovanni dragged me back. Needless to say, after this “sideways” journey, I awoke with a sore back.
Grateful for nearby Aurora Bar, Alexis who works here, and Vittorio, 90, who frequents this establishment, I am able to re-charge my electronic and emotional batteries, Skype with Hazel and Violet and other family and friends, and enjoy the quaint town square before, planked by City Hall and the Catholic Church which we have been attending daily. I already feel like a local, hearing my name as I stroll or bicycle down the narrow shaded streets.
“Buon Giorno, Barbara!” my new neighbors call. I smile and wave, as in the depth of my being I pray, “Grázie, God, for this buon viaggio . Now, what would You have me do today?”
No comments:
Post a Comment