OFF THE PAGE WITH RAYMOND ATKINS

OFF THE PAGE WITH RAYMOND ATKINS

Travelin’ Ray

After spending a few days in Rome, we rode the Fast Train to Florence. Fast Train is what the Italians call their high-speed rail service, and they aren’t kidding around. I love to ride trains and figured that this might be my only opportunity to go 153 miles per hour without subsequently taking flight. Unfortunately, due to the language barrier and the intricacies of seat selection, we made this journey while facing where we had been rather than where we were going. Now that my vertigo has subsided, however, I have to say that the Italians have really got it going on when it comes to rail travel. I have ridden several Amtrak trains, and they just can’t compare. I once rode the Amtrak to New Orleans, and the one time that the engineer pushed it above 60 I thought we were all going to die.

When we got to Florence, our first stop was to pick up a rental car, which was NOT waiting for us in the train station as advertised. We needed a car because after leaving Florence we were headed for the country, and while there is bus service to just about every little town in Italy, I didn’t think my Italian language skills were up to working with a 20-page Italian bus schedule. Plus, Italian bus drivers can sometimes be rowdy, especially if you are meeting them in the fog at night on a curvy mountain road. Most of them apparently used to be taxi drivers in Rome until their driving shenanigans became too much for the city fathers to allow to continue.

Anyway, we finally found the car rental agency a few blocks away from the rail terminal, and after they explained to me in halting English that they were within walking distance of the trains so no harm no foul and I explained back in halting Italian that so was PARIS within walking distance if I brought food, water, and good shoes but that wasn’t the point, we got down to the business of renting a car. I had arranged and paid for the car a couple of months prior to the trip because I am an old guy and like to have my ducks in a row, so I was very surprised at the number of random ducks just running around the lobby of the rental car agency, bumping into chairs, flapping their wings, and quacking as I tried to secure my vehicle. Incidentally, on the advice of Counsel I cannot tell you the name of the rental car company, so let’s just stipulate that it “hurts” me even now when I talk about my experiences and let it go at that.

I finally got a car after first refusing to leave as additional security my return airline ticket, an additional credit card, cash, or my passport. My negotiation method was to stand there smiling, tapping my chest, and saying “No Italian” while the line grew ever-longer behind me until finally they gave me a set of keys before I put them out of business. I got a Peugeot, which was a nice little French model that I actually had a bit of experience with from my days as an automobile mechanic. In the Seventies I worked in a gas station, and as a fledgling mechanic and the new guy on top of that I got to work on all of the vehicles that no one else wanted to fool with. One day a tow truck brought in a beat up old foreign car, and when my boss hollered, “Atkins, see what you can do with that Pew-gut,” my time to shine had arrived. I actually got the thing running, sort of, and luckily the brand has improved greatly over the 50 years since.

Driving in a foreign country is an interesting experience, but I want you to know that I came prepared. Before my trip I went to the State Department website where I learned that Italian driving laws are considered more as a set of guidelines by the locals than as hard fast rules, and that it is common knowledge among Italian drivers that they are awarded bonus points if they run over an American in a Peugeot. Okay, I made that last one up, but the rest of it is on there. You can read it for yourself if it hasn’t been Eloned away. There is also a link at the State Department site to obtain your international driver’s license. This stringent and exclusive process involves sending $20 and a photo to AAA, which will then award these credentials to you. Times have apparently been tough in the travel industry, and I am proud to have my international license even if no one has ever asked me to produce it.

Our next stop was Pisa. If you are going to travel from Florence to Pisa, you must get yourself to the Fi-Pi-Li (Florence-Pisa-Livorno) highway. It is only about two miles from downtown Florence, so allowing yourself two-and-one-half to three hours plus a mirror bump or two should do nicely. A mirror bump for those of you who don’t know is when you meet oncoming traffic on a narrow city street and actually bump each other’s side mirrors as you pass. I know what you are thinking, but if you DO slow down to let the other car proceed, then you get to have a trunk incursion from the vehicle behind you. It is right on your rear bumper, so close that you can see exotic Italian gestures from the driver in your rearview mirror, and the reason it is there is because of what is riding ITS tail. Believe me, the mirror bumps are better.

The Fi-Pi-Li is the major artery connecting east and west in the heart of Italy. Think of I-75 between Chattanooga and Atlanta. Now remove all but two lanes going each way, and randomly close some of these here and there for maintenance, usually in tight curves. Add potholes and rough pavement, remove the emergency lanes, throw in a few tunnels, completely fill the right lane with trucks, and bingo, you have the Fi-Pi-Li. I have to say that the truck thing is different in Italy, and better up to a point. There are plenty of them just like there are here, but they are a little bit smaller than their American cousins, and they never get above about sixty miles per hour. I can only surmise that this restraint is built right into the truck and that they will go no faster, because European or not, truckers are truckers, and they will always make what they are driving go as fast as it will. But the great thing is that they stay in the right lane and will not pass no matter how much they have to slow down for whatever is in front. I assume it is the law, and it is only the unruliest of truckers who break it.

I almost skipped Pisa altogether because I had read on the internet that it was a disappointment, but I went ahead anyway, and it was awesome from start to finish, which just goes to show that you can’t always believe what you read online, and that some people will put things out there which are just not true for reasons of their own. My theory in this case is that since Florence and Pisa have been mortal enemies since about 1100 AD when they were both city-states, the Florence Chamber of Commerce spreads these lies in an attempt to defeat their longtime foe. It is cheaper and more subtle than outright warfare and has the advantage of not having to move an armored brigade down the Fi-Pi-Li during rush hour.

The Old City where all the good stuff is has a mostly intact wall still around it with battlements, gates, and crenellated guard posts. The walls date from the 1100s, and if you are a history buff like I am, they alone are worth the trip. Inside the walls are the famous Leaning Tower, which I did indeed hold up with my hand but don’t judge me, the Pisa Cathedral, which was in my opinion the most spectacular of all of the cathedrals I saw in Italy, the Baptistery, which was built around 1400 AD and which has a perfect echo, and the ever-popular Camposanto, where you will find all manner of ancient deceased Italian folks entombed in the floor, so be careful where you step.

It was while in the Old City at Pisa that I had my pickpocket experience. I was standing in the Piazza dei Miracoli considering the proper place to position myself for my upcoming Leaning Tower selfie when I noticed a young woman making her way through the crowd. As she walked she kept bumping into people, but I didn’t think much about this because it was very crowded that day, and Italians don’t seem to move out of each other’s way when they meet, on foot or in cars, so bumps are pretty common. Then she bumped into me, and I felt her fingers slip into my hip pocket. Before I could react, she was bumping into someone else as she disappeared into the crowd. No, she didn’t get my billfold. It and my passport and my credit cards and my euros were all in a pouch hanging around my neck and tucked under my shirt, which is where you should keep yours if you travel.

There were two other high points in Pisa that I want to mention. The first is what has to be the world’s largest IKEA store. I am not an IKEA person because if I want to assemble a piece of furniture without benefit of all the screws I need to do so I will just go to Home Depot like I always do, but if you are, this is your store. The other honorable mention goes to the Pisa McDonalds, which is right next to the IKEA place. They have all the usual fare, plus a cappuccino bar complete with glass cups, and whatever you order will be brought to your table by a smiling waitperson.