Yeah, well, not exactly.
My friends, this has to be the overstatement of the year. And I am here to break it to you.
This couldn't be further from the truth.
The one thing I learned when I traveled to Rome, other than to drive there would be to take your life in your hands, but also that it is a lesson in futility.
Romans do not believe in street signs.
Don't believe me? Let me tell you a little story about a really dumb thing I did. And maybe, just maybe it will convince you.
In 2004, when we traveled to Italy for our two week, world-wind tour, I did all the planning. From soup to nuts. I crossed every I, dotted every T, you get the point.
I set up car rental, train reservations, hotel reservations, itineraries. Everything, for our all- out- assault on Italy- seven area's in two weeks. It was alot.
It was going swimmingly- all without a hitch. The trains, the driving, reading the maps and the roadsigns, all great.
Until we left for Rome, that is.
Now, the one that plans, also requires you to be the one to take full responsibility when things get all f**ked up, as is what happened to me.
We left for Rome, by car, a bit later than we had wanted based on the marvelous time we were having trolling about the Chianti countryside.
With our Michelin map as our guide, we made our way to the autostrada and set the car on high speed autopilot-due South, 130 kph.
We stopped to refuel at a gas station about ten miles from the first exits for Rome.
Chris turned to me as he climbed back into the car and said "OK, where do we go from here?"
I started to panic and began rifling through *my papers*. Beads of sweat started to appear on my forehead and I started to realize I had no stinking idea.
How could it be that I meticulously planned every little detail, except for the driving directions to the parking garage in Rome?
I had the address. I guess that's something.
Did I somehow just think that I would magically know what exit to get off and that since we were in Rome, the Lord Jesus himself would somehow miraculously guide us to the parking garage?
I really don't know what I was thinking, but it was clear I had screwed up. I had no idea how to get there. No detailed map of Rome, no directions.
At this point I turned to Chris to give him the good news.
"Uh, I don't know. I guess I kinda was focused on all the other difficult connections we had to maneuver in the earlier part of the trip."
Chris, being the unusually calm and patient one, was suddenly out of character.
I little tantrum ensued. And then I got defensive. And then it was ON.
After we both calmed down, we got back on the autostrada and said our prayers. I generally have an innate sense of direction, so I was confident we would be alright.
We both put our game faces on because we realized that this was going to be like driving to New York City and finding Central Park, without a map or a clue.
Oh, and without speaking the native language. Another added snafu.
We picked an exit from the Michelin map that seemed like it would be close to the Parcheggio di Villa Borghese and traveled down the ramp.
Surely there must be a sign at the bottom announcing the park, right? It is large, famous park.
To our dismay, not a one. No signs telling us anything.
This was the case for the next hour or so.
I was able to find a small map of Rome in *my papers*, but was never able to quite tell where we were on the map. We couldn't find one street sign telling us where the hell we were.
We drove round and round, back and forth. Nothing.
Frustrated and lost, I spotted a few young boys on bikes and we drive over, rolled down our windows and asked. Lucky for us they were young and spoke some English.
They even had a hard time telling us where it was, which in a warped way, made us feel a little better about our situation.
Thought the boys didn't solve the problem, it headed us in the right direction and after another bout of getting lost a few more times, I finally spotted the sign for the garage.
But that was a temporary high, because as Chris drove the car into what seemed like the entrance ramp, half way down the steep, curved ramp, he realized that he had made a grave error in judgment.
He had gone down the motorcycle entrance. And though we were in a tiny Smart Car, it was no match for the narrow concrete walls.
We couldn't make it any further down without taking the bumper and side-view mirror off the car and if someone were to pull up immediately behind us, we would get the second screwing of the day.
Where was the Lord Jesus when you needed him????
Knowing that I am the irrational and impatient one, I decided it would be best for me to just SHUT MY MOUTH!!
Instead, I closed my eyes, took several deep breaths and said yet another prayer.
It was a wise move on my part, because both the car and its inhabitants escaped without injury or further incident.
By now we were exhausted. But the fun was just beginning.
We trudged up the steep steps with our much too heavy luggage and made our way to street level. Now we needed to find a bus (we were determined not to take taxis, but I was really regretting that decision by now).
Again, I asked myself what the hell I was thinking!!?
Too tired to look around for a tabaccheria to buy a bus ticket, we hopped on the first bus we saw with the flashing #116, that by all accounts would drop us near our hotel.
We struggled with our luggage and some nice bus riders, who we later found out were American, helped us on.
I began to worry that we would be kicked of, or worse, jailed because we were now illegally riding the bus without purchasing a ticket. I was panicking again.
Then the nice family that helped us with our luggage started chatting us up and I quickly forgot about my law breaking status.
Turns out, they knew the bus line quite well. After we explained our hellish day, we told them our hotel was near the Piazza Navona. They must have felt sorry for us because before we could even start to worry about an exit strategy, the doors opened, they pushed us off the bus, luggage and all, promising that it was the right stop.
And we never did get to thank them. Nor did we get arrested.
Instead we spend the next half hour, marching up and down the street, looking for the little two block alleyway that housed our hotel.
No luck. When we finally found the road, it dawned on us that it was the exact spot the bus had stopped. If we had just looked down the tiny alleyway in front of us, it was the third building in on the right.
Go figure.
So, in the end we almost killed each other, avoided destroying the rental car, got to ride the bus for free,put our fate in the hands of some helpful Americans and realized that sometimes what you are looking for might be just be right in front of your eyes.
Even with a detailed map and the best directions, the fact still remains that the signs in Rome really do suck. It leads one to believe that though all roads may lead to Rome, that tidbit of factual information is best left for the unprepared traveler to discover from the comfort of the backseat of a very expensive, but reliable Roman taxi cab.
And a little prayer in the city considered to be the Catholicism capital of the world doesn't hurt either.
***
Have you ever driven a car in Rome before? Would you? Do you have a harrowing tale of misfortune to share?
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