Then I decided I would rather spend the time in the South of France rather than on the island of Madeira. I forfeited our plane tickets ($680 down the tube) and rebooked a flight from Lisbon to Marseille, and another one from there to Rome. Only later did I question my snap decision to still go to Rome when we could have just spent those two days in Provence and flown directly to Florence. Instead of thinking clearly, I just did it. I didn't want to lose money on the flat in Rome! I can't even remember how much the non-refundable portion was, around 150 €, I think. The $680 didn't bother me but €150 did?
The only plus of this addle-brained decision was that the flat had a washer and we were were desperate to do laundry. We were to arrive on Sunday, May 28. I emailed the owner and asked if laundry detergent was in the flat. She wrote back saying no, but there a store across the street where we could buy some. True enough, but we arrived on a Sunday - stores are closed. As a result, I didn't get to do the laundry until Monday morning and I spent most of the day washing clothes in a small washer, and hanging them out to dry on one of those movable laundry lines on a pulley. I didn't do anything else but laundry that day. It would have been so much nicer if Paola could have put some detergent in the flat along with the bottle of wine and stale pastries she left as a "welcome basket." Maybe €150 per night just wouldn't cover the €4 bottle of detergent. But the apartment was lovely .
While I was busy with the laundry, Bob went to scope out the location of the Grayline office for our scheduled tour to Tivoli the next day. First we had to take a bus, then walk to the Metro and take the subway. It took an hour to make the trip.
On Tuesday we arose at 6 AM to get to the Grayline office for our excursion at 8:30 to Tivoli. We were to visit Hadrian's Villa and Villa d'Este. Leaving aside the unending debate between us about public transportation (with its transfers and walking between the subway and the bus stop, taking an hour) vs. taking a taxi (15 min.), we naturally went with Bob's plan of bus and subway.
This Grayline tour was billed as a half day tour. We were supposed to be back in Rome by 1:30, plenty of time to return to the flat (by subway and bus), pick up our luggage and get to the Termini to catch our 3:35 train to Florence. After spending a majority of our time with Hadrian, we arrived at Villa d'Este around 11:30. Our guide led us through a couple of open rooms in the Palace where the original frescoes had been restored, then at 11:40 gave us "free time" to explore the gardens on our own. We were due back at the bus at 12:45. Keeping in mind that we had to hike 15 minutes back to the bus pick up point, we had less than an hour to see these immense gardens.
As noted, these are terraced gardens. That means multiple levels. Lots of steep hills and lots of climbing. I went down 3 levels and declared myself done. Bob went on to the bottom, leaving me in the shade on a bench. After missing the Gibraltar tour out of Torremolinas, we agreed that if we split up I would always stay where he had left me and he would find me.
I also had some stupendous views from my level, and Bob takes such good pictures it was like I was there without the exertion.
He did take some beautiful pictures, but around 12:25 I was getting anxious. Bob is notorious for underestimating how long it takes to do anything and is usually late. So my worry was not unfounded. By12:30 I started getting really annoyed. Remember, we had to walk uphill to the bus pick up point. As the minutes ticked by I went from annoyed to really pissed. We had missed the damn bus and consequently would also miss our train to Florence Steam was coming out of my ears! But I stayed where he had left me. By 1:00 my rage turned to genuine concern. Was he lying dead somewhere in the gardens? Had he had a heart attack or something? Even Bob is never this late. Finally I walked up two levels to the base of the Palace, still able to see my bench, with the intention of asking the officials if there had been a medical emergency of some kind. When I got to the top, there was Bob.
First words out of his mouth: "Where the hell have you been? We've missed our bus! I thought you were lying dead somewhere!" My thoughts exactly. I told him I had stayed put and he didn't believe me! He was so convinced that he had checked that bench repeatedly and had decided I must have wandered off and gotten myself lost. He had pictured me going to the bus alone so he ran up there. The tour guide went back with him to look for me. He said he thought maybe I had gone back to Rome! How? By magic carpet? He just imagined all the completely implausible scenarios and never once did he consider the one logical conclusion - he had looked at the wrong bench! He was up a level from where he had left me. I had a landmark of a huge tree I was directly below and when I showed him that he realized the mistake his! But of course he couldn't admit this outright. His only concession was, "Well, if you insist that you never moved then I must have gone to the wrong place." Well, duh.
He said we could take a local bus back to Rome. I posted this part of this calamity on Facebook but it bears repeating for a permanent record. And there is more.
Bob said we could take a local bus back to Rome, according to whoever he asked. So we started hoofing it uphill to the pick up point for the tour bus, which was long gone. Halfway there I asked the question "Is this where we get the local bus?" He replied "How should I know?" "Because you asked about a bus. You didn't ask where to catch it?" So I asked a vendor and she told us it was back down the hill.
Once we found the stop there was no schedule. Bus after bus went by and they were just going around town. Finally we found one bound for Rome but he said we had to buy our tickets first, not from him. Once we had done that, we boarded another local bus and headed for Rome. It was now 2:30.
The bus was from the 60s, I believe. NO A/C. It rattled constantly and really reminded me of the movie Come September, when Rock Hudson steals a dilapidated chicken truck to pursue Gina Lollobrigida to Rome.
Of course it broke down, in the middle of nowhere. At that point Bob and I just started laughing at the absurdity of it all. Could this day get any worse?
Well yes, it could.
A replacement bus was summoned and got us to Rome, to the end of the bus line. From there we had to use the Metro to get to the Termini to find our if there was a later train we could catch. The trains run every half hour so it was doable. But we had to go back to the flat to get our luggage. For once in his life Bob went along with my plan and got a taxi to take us to the flat and back to the Termini. It only cost €40 plus I tipped him 5. Back at the Termini we bought our tickets (having forfeited the originals - more money lost) for only €104. The Termini his HUGE and very confusing. We had to find our train on the electronic board and it would tell us what platform. Just like at the airport. But our train didn't show a platform. The clock was ticking but it turned out the train was late coming in, and long story short, the platform was finally posted and we boarded.
All was well until we got to Florence. The train station is a 5 minute walk from the hotel. 5 minutes if you know where you're going in the maze that is the Old Town, and if you are not shlepping luggage! We had 4 suitcases, a backpack, my red tote and my travel purse. I begged to take a cab but Bob just ignored me. He had looked at his Google Map and the hotel was just around the corner. He said.
Bob headed out and I trailed along behind, calling him every vile name I could think of under my breath. I checked my own Google Map and it said it was a 7 minute walk. 7 minutes later, after dragging our bags over cobblestones and uneven payment,up and down curbs, we were still not there. I checked my map again. Now it was a 5 minute walk. Evidently, Mr. Magellan had made an unnecessary loop around the wrong block. We kept walking and found the Santa Maria del Figore Piazza and diagonally across it was the Hotel Roma. I spotted it while Mr. Magellanwas still looking around for it.
We arrived at the hotel and as I tried to pull my two suitcases through the narrow doors, one got off balance and took me with it. I fell right into the glass wall. Fortunately Bob and the bellman both grabbed me as I fell so there was no damage. But as I was going down I had visions of spending the rest of my "vacation" in an Italian hospital . . .
And that, my friends, is the absolute disaster that was our detour to Rome.
