Lost in Italy & The Lessons Learned

As the plane screeched to a halt, the stewardess announced Benvenuto a Roma, Welcome to Rome. A dream coming true and there began my lone journey into the sinuous ancient streets armed only with my naïve belief, I didn’t need a guide or interpreter or even a friend. Well the universe thought differently and thanks to an array of Italian angels along the way, most of my hinging on the brink of disaster mishaps were thwarted.

Due to an unforeseen delay with the random airline I took from Paris to Rome, then a bus ride from the airport through clogged streets and continual beeping, I leaped off the bus into the arms of the unknown. It was already dark, and I was clueless on the direction to head and… my phone stopped working. Neat. The station reminded me of an ant farm, people walking with purpose passing rapidly from one corner to the next. I needed to beg someone with a phone to look up directions for me when I spied a young couple huddled together. Ah ha, they were snuggled barely moving and looking at their phones. When I timidly approached and asked about their google maps, not only did they look up directions to the hotel, they walked me there!

Disheveled and starving, I thanked Angels one and two and knocked on what seemed to be an apartment building. It was locked with a box out front which I did not know the code to; something that the hotel forgot to mention in their emails. Thankfully though after a few moments one of the residents came out and I dashed in. Ah, there it was a beacon of hope, the name of the hotel on a barren door. It wouldn’t be long now before I could ditch my bags and look for food and wine, not in that order of course. Unfortunately, the place was also locked and with no code or doorbell. Finally, I found a phone number, but oh right, my phone is not working. Ugh!

Enter angel number three, Alessandro, a handsome Italian man with a salt and pepper beard carry a bag of piping hot food, I could see the steam and smell the tantalizing herbs. When I asked if he could help me, in my broken Italian, he replied sure, in his limited English, “just need to bring food to apartment.” He must have empathized with the desperate look in my face and to my relief, he promptly returned. I explained my situation as best as I could and asked if he could phone the hotel, which he did, but…the number was wrong. After several google attempts though, he finally got the correct number and dialed it up.

As he was speaking to the woman from the hotel in Italian, the look on his face alerted me that something was amiss. Alessandro motioned for me to take the phone and just as he did, a beautiful raven-haired woman stuck her head out of the window above and began yelling at him. With flailing arms and hands like an orchestra conductor he yelled back, pointing to me then beating his chest then waving his hands up and down. The screamer retreated and he smiled and handed me the phone and said, “no worry.” When I got on the phone, the hotel matron told me to come back in the morning, that she was no longer on the premise and that was because I got there late, fifteen minutes I reminded her. “Come back tomorrow.” Click.

It’s 8:45 by now, dark, chilly, and I’m in Rome with nowhere to go. As my eyes began to brim with tears, I bite the inside of my cheek trying to stay calm. In the meantime, Alessandro had been feverishly moving his fingers on his phone. Mission complete, he had found another hotel around the corner and handed me the phone again. While I was talking to the owner (an ex-pat from NYC, hallelujah he spoke English), the screaming raven from the window above stuck her head back out. Alessandro yelled back, looked at me, then the woman retreated again.

Done deal, the other hotel had room, was cheaper, and the proprietor was fluent in Italian and English and told Alessandro his location. As it turned out, it was about six blocks away. I picked up suitcase, bid Alessandro good-by, thanked him for saving my life, when he grabbed my suitcase and insisted on driving me. Not only did he drive me there, he carried my suitcase up the twenty-seven stone stairs to the lobby. Then we hugged, I thanked him profusely again and off he went. Wow, I was safe and, in a place, where I could communicate freely, I felt like a ransomed orphan. We chatted about why he stayed in Italy, and I told him, I would love to the same. The room was beautiful, and after I dumped my suitcases off, I skipped to the nearby pizzeria that was packed with soccer fans watching the latest game.

I felt right at home, the waitress, who was kind and smiled a lot, brought me a big glass of local wine, which was inexpensive, and tasted divine. It was a cozy spot with families and friends all chatting loudly while others were going wild about the latest goal made by one of the teams. I ordered some food that was incredibly fresh and by the time I got home, I felt like a child ready to be tucked into bed. It seemed I had a temporary case of narcolepsy, I was out in seconds, or perhaps it was the wine.

The next morning, I awoke to a brilliant sunny day feeling rested and ready for Rome! Reflecting on my good fortune last evening, I thought about how fear can trick your mind into a panic. It was a true lesson in surrendering to the universe and to the kindness of strangers. I knew that I would remember the night I averted sleeping on a park bench in Rome, forever…and that the next time someone here in the States is lost, I will take the time to show them the way.