Three Sistene Chapels

     Driving down the Autostrata, we entered Italy. It was elevated through the high mountains, with miles and miles of vineyards sloping toward the sky. Venice beckoned, and a few miles outside, we stopped at a guest house, the Villa Widoman. We lucked into an English speaker, and got the lay of the land from her. Then, we headed into Venice by bus. It was very crowded, with standing room only in the aisles. Barbara got separated from me, a little farther back. She got groped, and came flying up the aisle to me, scattering people left and right as she came. Welcome to Italy. By the time I understood what was going on, the guy was getting off – on crutches. What could I do? Trip him when he stepped off the bus? I should have.

     Walking around, we just enjoyed Venice. It is truly an unforgettable place. A large number of African guys each had a sheet laid out, selling knock-off purses. Suddenly, they all grabbed each corner of their sheet, picked it up, and totally disappeared. Just like that. Looking ahead, we saw a group of policemen headed our way.

     On the bus back to our Villa, we had trouble recognizing it, until it stopped, right in front.

     The next day, it rained all day. We walked miles of the inner city, and did the boat tour. The Gondola ride was too expensive, but I did offer to sing to Barbara on the boat. She said, "Just forget it."

     We had assumed the boat would just take us back to our starting place. But no. It stopped, everyone else got off. We waited for it to start again. Finally, the driver came walking back, yelling, "Fini! Fini!" We got the message, got off, looked for another boat back.

     On the bus back, the rain was pouring down. We waited for the bus to stop at our villa, but it just roared past. We finally recognized it as it receded in the distance. We got off at the next stop, stood in the rain 30 minutes, and finally caught another bus back. We looked like a couple of drowned rats, and the bus driver laughed at us. Barbara was in no mood for an Italian comedian, and griped at him all the way back to the Villa. Once we were off, he opened the door back up, laughed, waved, and said, "Arriva darche!" Barbara said, "Yeah, uh huh" Arriving back at our Villa, Barbara explained to our English speaker, "We waited for the bus to stop, but it just went on by! I have no idea why it didn't stop, it did yesterday." She looked us over for a while, and said, "It stopped yesterday because I was on it, and I pressed the stop button." Duh! I guess that's about all you can expect when a hillbilly and a Delta farm gal go abroad.

     Moving on down, we stopped for the night in a small city. We had just about given up on their road map, and just looked for city names on road signs. The hotel was a four star, but not by US standards. The pizza place was at least four stars, though. All fresh ingredients, cut up while we watched.

     We continued our travel strategy of stopping a few miles outside of a major city, keeping our car out of such places, and taking a short train ride in. We could never find a parking place for our car when we got into those horrible traffic jams. The trains were wonderful, and not expensive.

     Florence was an unforgettable city, a mecca for famous artists and scientists. Where the Mona Lisa was painted, where Galileo worked, Elizabeth Browning lived. We missed the David sculpture. The lines were long, and reservations were required. We toured Florence twice. A fantastic place. An attendant at a pay toilet even gave me a receipt. What was I to do with that? Take a tax deduction?

     Back home at our little house, we hit another pizza place. But it was overran by a large group of Chinese tourists. They were very pushy. We've noticed this before. Now, why is that?

     We drove on down to Orvieto. We drove in circles, no English speakers, but found a hotel.

We went to buy train tickets for Rome for the next day. Have I ever told you, every single thing we do is hard? Well, the ticket agent just got so frustrated with us, just trying to buy two simple train tickets to Rome, just a few miles on down the road, that he pretended to shoot himself in the head with his finger gun.

     Unable to find a place to wash clothes, we recycled. Barbara felt absolutely filthy. I felt perfectly fine. We rode a finicula up the hill to the city center. Everything in town seemed to be all about this fantastic church they had. Well, it was spectacular.

     Boarding the train on our hard to get tickets, we went to Rome. We went to the Vatican, but the Pope just was not at home, or he snubbed us. We moved on to St. Peter's Cathedral – determined to see the Sistene Chapel, and it's ceiling. We thought we had seen it in two different rooms, then we accidentally stumbled across it on the way out. The Colosseum was spectacular, though we had to look and photograph it through the rain, and the dirty bus windshield.

     Arriving back at Orvieto, we got a "thumb's up" from the frustrated ticket agent from yesterday. I think he figured that if we ever found our way onto the train, we would never come back.

     When we got to Pisa, we decided it didn't look so big. Surely we could just drive around and locate a big, leaning tower. But no, we finally had to board a bus to get there. Barbara has a problem with straight and crooked, something we worked hard with tripods and cropping to keep secret while we were in the photography business. She snapped her first photo of the leaning tower, and in the photo it was standing straight up! She quickly deleted it, knowing I would make a lot of mileage out of that jewel.