Sunday morning, we were up early to get to the rental car location at the airport (much easier than renting in Rome). It was strange to leaving Rome. . .we had never spent four nights in one hotel on our foreign trips before.
Our driver, Pietro, was a short older man who spoke limited English, but had a big heart. As we walked together to the rental car counter (no easy feat to find), we communicated in a mix of broken English and Italian about the upcoming part of our trip. He heartily approved of our itinerary – clapping me on the back and saying “bravura.” He especially liked that we were going to Tuscany – “Vino!” was his exclamation.
The scene at the rental car counter was pretty funny. The young guy helping me awoke from his nap and spoke excellent English. He and I chatted, and then Pietro would talk to him in Italian to make sure everything was going fine – and then Pietro would communicate to me in gestures and broken English/Italian (Engtalian) exactly what the rental agent had just told me moments ago. I could tell Pietro was also filling them on about my family and where we were going. The rental car agent was flipping rapidly back and forth between English and Italian.
It took a while for the paperwork and all to be filled out, and when time is added when everything is explained three times – once in English, once in Italian, and once in gestured Engtalian. The agent noted that they did not have any seven seat minivans, so he would give us a nine seat Fiat Ducato at the same price.
Whoa, just what you need to drive the country roads of Umbria and Tuscany – the European equivalent of a Ford Expedition (although a different look). Julia has named it the Big Blue Monster.
Pietro drove it back to his van for me – he knew how to get there, and also how to drive it. He gave me a quick lesson on where everything is (how to get into reverse – neat trick they have to make it easier now), the rules of the road (there aren’t many), and how to get to the Autostrade (interstate).
I bid a fond farewell to Pietro – and then he had us follow him till he knew we were safely on the ring road (beltway) heading in the direction of Florence.
So far, every single Italian we’ve come into contact with has been extraordinarily friendly, patient, and nice. In America, a person in Pietro’s position would have been annoyed that he had to do so much to help, whereas Pietro went above and beyond the call. He complimented me on my family, and proudly told me he is a grandfather. Grazie.
As we drove North to our first stop, I blazed along at speeds between 75-85 mph. In a high profile vehicle. No problem. Take that Stefano. The Ducato is any smaller than what we went to Pompeii in, but I managed to drive the speed limit. Cars were still zipping past, but they were probably only going 90-100 mph.
One funny scene was when we stopped at a service area to hit the toilettes and get a drink – 15-20 people had to be crowded around the coffee bar drinking espresso or cappuccino. So, they had been driving as fast as possible, and then taking a leisurely break to drink service area coffee.
As we drove north, I felt like Chevy Chase in Vacation – “hey kids, look at that”– tended to elicit grunted replies from the back. (To be fair, when they actually did look up from their Game Boys they were impressed by the towns perched high on the hills.
The Big Blue Monster is a diesel, and it handles like a truck. It’s good in the straightaways, but I’ve got to rein her in on the curves. . .which is all there is in Tuscany!
No comments:
Post a Comment