Thursday, June 7
On the train to Orbetello
I managed a quick dinner last night at La Delizie, a neighborhood ristorante with a nice al fresco area, then headed back to the room for a long and quite lovely Skype with Bridget. We're in that nice heady period when we excitedly make plans and look ahead. As long as that call was, though, we still ended the evening with numerous texts.
Sleep was much like the night before. I awoke at 5:00 on the dot then lay awake until 7:30. Still, I didn't get to breakfast until nearly 8:30. When this was done, I went back to my room, went online and found a nice hotel in Orvieto, two stops down the road. One thing that I did realize was that I'll need another night in Orbetello. Originally I had been hoping to spend two nights in Montevarchi with Gia and Beppe, but it turns out that his mother needs an operation so I had to cut it back to one. I hope the hotel in Orbetello can accommodate me for another night. If not, I'll have to find a place. But that's to worry about when I get there.
When it came time to leave for the station, the receptionist ordered me a cab. I carried my luggage downstairs and waited. What was supposed to be a three minute wait stretched to ten then fifteen minutes. Just as I was starting to wonder if I was going to miss my train, a small van-style cab barreled down the street then slammed on its brakes just in front of me. The driver leapt out, ran around the back, opened the boot then pulled my suitcase out of my hand and flung it in the back. He had the compact but powerful body and bush of thick brown curls with a high forehead that made him this week's winner of the Roberto Benigni lookalike contest.
"SMN," I said. "Treni partenze a..."
He waved his hand in the air as he cut me off. "Buongiorno," he shouted in response to nothing I had said.
Even before I was in my seat, he took off at a gallop. Given the display of driving skills that he then demonstrated, I'm not sure whether I should call him the most skillful driver I've ever seen, or the worst driver with the best luck. I'm leaning toward the latter.
Instead of taking the main roads, he went into a maze of alleys that were barely wide enough for a Vespa. People were walking down these little vicolos, but my driver didn't seem to notice them. My guess is that he just assumed that they would get out of the way if they wanted to live. Apparently they did because they pressed themselves up against the walls. My driver got us close enough to each to smell their fear.
We finally reached a real street at the Via di Fossi and crossed the Arno. As we got to the other side, a very attractive young blond on a Vespa cut in front of us. She turned off the Via and into an alley. Apparently this was some kind of a mating ritual because my driver swerved to follow. She then slowed down while my cabbie pulled out a phone, dialed a number with his thumb then started telling the person on the other end what a nice ass he was staring at. God knows we were close enough to it for him to be able to speak of it in detail. When he reviewed this portion of her anatomy, he used the classic Italian gesture of shaking his hand at the wrist. Of course in order to do this, he had to take his hand off the wheel because the other one was too busy holding the phone.
Finally we came out of the alley. She turned away from the station. I'm certain he debated whether or not he should follow her and forget about me. He grumbled something I didn't understand then turned into the station. It wasn't just because I was in a hurry that I didn't take the time to give him a tip.
I managed to make it to my train - barely. Once on, I had to get to Pisa Centrale to make my connection to Orbetello. I managed this one, too - barely.
We're currently passing through Rosignano, a picturesque and fairly upscale-looking town on the coast. In a moment we should be barreling along the Tyrrhenian Sea or at least be within hailing distance of it the rest of the way to Orbetello. We should be there in another hour or so.
This of course assumes that we will not run across a blond on a Vespa.
Late Evening
The local train was perfectly comfortable, if spartan. At least it was comfortable enough for me to get lulled into sleep. This is of particular concern since these trains do not have conductors announcing each station. The last thing I wanted was to sleep through mine. Fortunately, just outside the last stop before mine, another local train rushed past in the opposite direction. The resulting bang of the air pocket between two was enough to wake me up.
The station for Orbetello-Monte Argentario is in the middle of nowhere. My first thought was that this was going to be like last year at Montepulciano where the station is eight miles from the actual town and getting to it is up to one's wits. I checked with the woman at the magazine stand about taxis. She told me that I would have to call for one. I was just about to do this when I looked out the window and saw a bus pull in. I asked her if that one went to Orbetello. No, she said, but the next one did. It was due in five minutes. I didn't know how long it would take or where it would drop me off, but I figured that it was better to risk a 1,35 Euro bus fare than wait for what could be a 20 Euro cab ride.
Once I got on the bus my next problem was to figure out where the Park Residence Hotel was. I was contemplating this when I saw a sign on the side of the road that read, "Park Residence Hotel - 1350 meters". I can't say that I have any gift for metric, but I knew that would be fairly close. A woman behind me called for a stop so I took the opportunity to walk up to the front of the bus and ask the driver if he knew which stop would be best for the hotel.
"Questo! Questo!" he shouted. Like Americans, Italians think that speaking louder makes something perfectly clear to people who don't speak the language. In this case, I at least knew the word. It means "this".
I thanked him, ran back and grabbed my bag then got off. I was followed by two Brits. They had the same question but apparently understood loud.
The man at the front desk was very nice, but helpless. His English was fair, but his knowledge of hotel procedures was slight. I had several questions. The answer to all of these was, "Aspetto...you wait...she come soon next."
My room is pleasant. Like most Italian hotel rooms, it is too small to fit a desk or even a chair, but the bathroom is nice and it gets the light. The afternoon sun, though, was not enough to keep me awake. I lay down for what I promised myself was a few minutes and woke up nearly three hours later. Groggy, but hungry, I headed out to find something to eat. On the way out, I checked with the new woman at the desk. Thankfully, she did have the answers to my questions, including yes to an extra day (and, surprisingly, at the discount rate).
Orbetello looks very pleasant. There are still the remnants of its days as a walled city, a fact which must have made the place quite formidable. It is, after all, a peninsula (and a very narrow one) so the walled area had to be sufficiently built up so that it could be defended from possible attacks on three sides. It is also close enough to Rome so that the vegetation includes date palms as well as the cypress trees that are omnipresent in this country.
Of course, my reason for coming here has nothing to do with old walls or date palms. This will be fulfilled tomorrow, assuming of course that I don't miss my boat.
No comments:
Post a Comment