Ciao Francesco Rinaldi

Livin' it up at the The Palace Hotel Moderno

When we last spoke, I was about to behave badly in a foreign country...Italy to be more precise.

After successfully being able to order coffee, a croissant, a boiled egg and OJ, I was ready to brave a very very light conversation.

Here is how it all went down:

Me: Caffe? (Coffee?)

Breakfast Lady: Si. Subitto. Zucchero o crema? (Yes. Something Something. Sugar or cream?)

Me: Due zuccheri, per favore. (Two sugars, please)

Breakfast Lady: Naturalmente. Niente altro? (?? Naturally. Something Something).

Me: Scusi? (Say what?)

Breakfast Lady: Avete fam? (Something something sounds like famished..I assumed it meant hungry only after I produced a stupid look on my face and I think she took it as I could not make up my mind on what to eat, so she pointed to a little menu thingee. Aha!)

Me: Si. Un croissant, un uovo bollito e succo d'arancia. Per favore. Grazie. (Damn, I'm good)

Breakfast Lady: Naturalmente. Per favore, ai uto voi stessie. (Or something like that. She gestured towards a towering table of sweet treats like muffins and other pastries...I assume that meant something like help yourself...)

---

Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, Wednesday, Friday, Sunday, Saturday...

It was at this time the 'Jersey' Boys ventured in and heard me with the Breakfast Lady. They did the smart thing and just headed towards the treat table and poured their own coffee (butI bet you mine was better!).

They turn towards me (only person really in there):

Jersey Boys: Excuse me, do you speak English?

Me: Inglese? Un poco. (I make a small gesture with my Peter Pointer and thumb.)

Jersey Boys: Where are you from?

Me: (I'm thinking...you dudes just heard the most grotesque Italian come out of my mouth. I have dark hair and olive skin and dark eyes....If I just answered that I don't speak English and we are in Italy ....I could, just maybe, possibly, be from ...Oh I don't know...Italy perhaps?? But all of that passes through my head in a few seconds.) Scusi?

Jersey Boys: Are you from here?

Me: (In a horrific blend of a Spanish immigrant who learned English from Erik Estrada soap operas and that Apollonia chick from the Godfather). Where I from? (They nod) Pordenone.

Jersey Boys: Is that a nice place?

Me: (Gave them a What-Face and didn't answer)

Jersey Boys: (Getting frustrated already...didn't take long) Is it a nice town?

Me: (Waiting a few seconds too late and then I point to the right). Pordenone? That way.

Jersey Boys: No, no. Not where is the town. Is it nice there. (As they begin to speak more slowly so I can understand them, I pretend to study what they are saying intently).

Me: OH! Si. Si. Yes. Nice town.

Jersey Boys: OK. Nice. Well, have a nice day. (They got a feeling I guess that a conversation with me would go no where, so they turned around and ate their muffins..)

The Breakfast Lady returns and asks if I want anything else...at least her gestures and tone said that.

Me: (In English) No thanks. Everything was wonderful, but I'm running late for a meeting so I really must go now. (I grab my purse and stand up). Grazie. Arrivederci. (And I walk out to start my day...)

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Would you like to play a game?

Trust me. It was funny. I guess you had to be there, plus, I tend to be amused by non-normal standards.

Anywhoo...I went to work...blah blah blah...meetings meetings meetings...yada yada yada. Only one photo came out OK on the drive to the office and after work, I got to spend about 6 hours in Venice (I wish I had more time, but it was already dark and I was still wiped out from my travel adventures).

I LOVED the look of this police car...and before you even think it, NO, it was not after me even if I have no concept of Kilometers vs Miles per hour...

I took a water taxi over to Venice that night, had dinner in a cozy restaurant, walked around and took a water bus back. How cool is that for a city girl from Massachusetts?

The Adventure Continues

The Adventure Continues (or, better yet stated...)

On I Merrily Stumble

When I last left you, I was attempting to get to Brussels.

In the morning before my next attempt to travel correctly, I met up with the same crazy crew of lost souls. We ate breakfast in relative silence, with only a few chuckles here and there to break the silence. We are all thinking the same thing..."Let's try this again."

I got a cab from the hotel and arrived at the same little airport to tempt fate one more time. In line to get through securing, more familiar faces popped out here and there and friendly hopeful waves of greeting were exchanged.

I get to the gate and... SUCCESS!!

I FINALLY got to where I was supposed to be. Thank you Sweet Baby Jesus (a.k.a. Little Baby God). I spend less than an eventful day working and then get to a 'real' hotel.

Calgon, Take me Away!

Now..this is a hotel room! At least it is compared to where I was for cryin' out loud! Self delusion is often the key to sanity...

Huge bed, room service, ash tray, enormous tub....ahhhhh Heaven.

I had just enough time after turning myself into a tub prune to do a bit of touristy sightseeing in Brussels before I had to get some sleep for my next day at work.

I must admit it was a bit anticlimactic when I finally found my way Manneken Pis. He was just a wee (pun intended) bit smaller than I expected.

Nothing else really crazy happened here. I think I used up all of the zany reserves I had just trying to get here. I had a wonderful dinner in the city and made my way back to the hotel to enjoy some tasty beer in the comfort of my own non-hillbilly hotel.

More work the next day and then off to Italy...Ciao!

That's Amore

Surprisingly enough, my flight to Venice, Italy went off without a hitch. After renting a car at the airport, I was off to Pordenone. It was supposed to be a 45 min to 1 hour drive, but due to some required course corrections (a.k.a. getting lost) I finally got to the hotel a bit after midnight.

I was too tired to take any pics at the hotel. As a whole, this hotel was OK. Nothing fantastic, but a wonderful fantasy land compared to that hillbilly shack I stayed in a few days earlier.

As I got in so late, I had enough time to drink and smoke (of course) and then hit the sack. The next morning at breakfast, the only thing of interest was that the hostesses kept speaking to me in Italian.

Now, before you start having smart-assed thoughts like DUH, you're in Italy! Of course they will speak to you in Italian, DUH, you're in Italy! Of course they will speak to you in Italian,  read on.

Scusi! Grazie! Arrivederci! Prego!

Ordinarily this would not make it blog-worthy, but I figured even after I responded in English, as they did not respond back in my mother-toungue, I figured they must not speak it. Hey, I think that is solid piece of deductive reasoning on my part.

My theory was blown though when they spoke good English with other guests. I think they thought I was Italian while these other dudes were obviously from New Jersey. So they got the English, eh? and I gots the Italiano, eh? Whassamaddu eh? You no speaky dah Italiano eh? (I NEVER have stated that I was politically correct.)

So, I start to act as I always act when I know that (1) no one knows me (2) I will never see any of these people again in my life and (3) I will be leaving the vicinity shortly...basically like a frisky kitten who just found and cornered a pretty little butterfly. Translation: I decided to have fun.

So, in between my coffee and other breakfast goodies (which were hellagood) I started to try to respond back in my best Italian as learned via my official correspondence course materials I have absorbed over the long years of my life. Below are some of the 'Do it Yourself Italian Language and Culture' course material references I used in case you ever want to behave as badly as I do:

Now fully armed with everything any red-blooded American needs in order to function appropriately in a foreign country by using nothing but the culture sensitive nature of mass advertising and blitz marketing...I was ready to make my way seamlessly and smoothly into the Italian culture.

More later on the results....

Now we’re cooking with gas! (sorta)

MBP Land

Because of my super-extended hotel stays, issues with the apartment building water-supply, nightmare-pace business trips, this place is pretty much devoid of any personal touches (not to mention, blankets, a TV, extra pillows, a robe, slippers, oh, and of course - food) as I have had zero time to acclimate to my own Stockholm apartment. Dang!

Water, Water everywhere, but Not a Drop in My Sink

Just a quick blurb here. I was in my apartment for approximately 1 week when I got a notice that the water was being turned off for about a 5 days due to contruction in one of the building’s units. Nice. I just got here and now I have to find some place that has water? Dang!

SO, as luck would have it, a co-worker was heading back to the States for about a week. How convenient, huh? So, I stayed there for the 5 days while my building was under construction. Cute place he had. I of course, ate all of his food and drank all of his beer (no exaggeration). I felt just a little bad about it, but I got over it as I thought that if I wasn’t there, everything would have gone bad anyway, well, except for the beer - which was hellagood!

SO, I left there and headed back to my own waterless apartment to see what was what. Water in water closet? Check. Water in kitchen? Check. Water in bathroom?........Let’s try that again. Water in bathroom?....NOPE.

(Just so you are aware, my toilet and shower are no where near each other in the apartment.)

I found out that construction wasn’t going as easy as planned. Water flowing through a broken pipe just happens to feed almost everyone’s shower room in this building. No one had working showers. Nice. If I wait 4 more days, it might turn on. I realize this is Europe, and some habits may not always translate overseas, but my God, 4 days is a damned long time to not be near any soap don’t you think?

So, as luck would have it, I was scheduled to be on a business trip (or an away mission as I like to call them) for about 4 days. How convenient, huh? By the time I got back from my trip, all water should be where it should, God willing.

Place your Head Between your Knees and Kiss your Sanity Good-bye

I was scheduled to leave Stockholm for Brussels, Belguim. I get to the airport (no panic attack, thank you very much) only to learn that the flight might take off a "bit" late as they had to fly in a replacement plane.

Did you read that last sentence? Here it is again, just in case. "I get to the airport (no panic attack thank you very much) only to learn that the flight might take off a bit late as they had to fly in a replacement plane."

I’m thinking, this cannot be a good sign. It’s not like you got a crack in the windshield of a car you are renting, so they offer to hand you keys to another car. This is a friggin replacement plane they had to fly in. The best part, the clerk told me (yet another crazy-flight-lady in my life),told me to my face, that the pilot is not as familiar with the model they are bringing in, so that’s why there might be a "bit" of a delay.

WTF. I start to freak out so bad, I was calm. Does that make sense? I figured, this won’t end well, I expect it to be a disaster so f*ck it, enjoy another crazy-ass-ride in Michelle-land. I had such a serious urge to watch Airplane!

I hate being right all of the time.

Langoliers

In summary:

Plane leaves 1 hour late. 20 minutes in the air, the flight crew keeps looking out of the windows and then speaking quite quietly to each other. 10 minutes later, they and close the curtain so we can’t see them talking quietly to each other.

A few more minutes in the air, we get notice on PA system "We are having landing gear technical problems and will have to return to Stockholm."

Did you read that last sentence? Here it is again, just in case: "We are having landing gear technical problems and will have to return to Stockholm."

Well, of course we are having technical issues with our landing gear! It’s not like none of us couldn’t hear the damn front wheel wheezing and whirling trying to get back into’s it bay. This is no shock.... afterall, we’re in Michelle-land now!

So, we land OK back at Stockholm but that’s it. We just land and move a few meters on the runway....maybe a bit to the right, but not much.

Buses show up to cart us miles away to the airport, where, we are given directions, in Swedish, on what to do next. Of course I had no real idea what was said - just context to work with and the crowd of angry passengers to follow and be swept away with.

I tried to get someone who looked like they might work for an airline to help me find a way to get to Brussels that night. Unfortunately, as the entire flight was trying to do what I was doing, I did not get very far.

So, I spent 2 hours on a plane only to arrive at my departure point. Did you read that  last sentence?

Arrived at my departure point 2 hours later. Trippy. I was having visions of the Langoliers by Stephen King as it seemed like no one except for the passengers on the plane we just de-boarded was around. 

I called the co-worker I was supposed to meet in Brussels that evening and said I’ll see him sometime in the afternoon tomorrow if I cannot find a way out tonight. After getting an earful of advice on what to do, how to do it, when to do it and what I was doing wrong, which really pissed me off as - had he understood EVERYONE was trying to rebook a flight to Brussels, I decided who gives a sh*t if I make it in at 3 a.m. or 10 a.m.? Either way, I’m not going to be in a meeting until 1 p.m..... C’mon people!!! Work with me here!!

Livin’ it up at the Hotel Arlanda

So, I stayed at the most po-dunk little Swedish motel known to man. 

Hilarious. The rest of the Langoliers flight (about 80% of them) stayed at the same hotel to all leave again together on the same flight to the same destination the next morning. About this time, I began thinking about one definition of insanity: repeating the same action over and over again and expecting different results.

I hung about with some nice people while we drank our one (as in single, solitary, lone, companionless, sole, and unaccompanied) complimentary watery beer. 

The rest of the Langoliers, as a whole, were really nice people. Well hell, we spent most of the damned day together and nothing brings people closer together than a flight emergency landing, frantic airline clerks, bad airport food, lost luggage, hill-billy hotels, and absolutely no customer service. 

So, eh, all in all not a bad day in Michelle-land.

I’ll fill you in later on what happened after I made it to Brussels (finally) , quick layover in Munich, Germany and eventually Italy (Venice, Porcia and Pordenone).