Anxiety Travels...Frick & Frack Go To France And Italy

When our sons, Jack and Will were four and two, my husband, John and I took a 12-day trip to Europe with my sister, Lanie and her husband, Bill.  John's sister and my mom a dad took turns watching the boys. This must have been the point when my mom swore off any future babysitting that would require more than thirty minutes of her time.

I was very nervous about being away from the boys for such a long time, and also concerned that mom might get preoccupied with her sewing and that Will would find himself in harm's way.  One other apprehension was that I had injured my back the week before our trip by picking up a heavy coffee table in the Antique booth that I rented. I was taken via ambulance from the Antique store to the local hospital because I could not move my back or walk.  A relatively significant consideration, as it is mostly a walking trip.  We thought we may have to cancel our trip to Europe, but I said Doctor's prescription willing, I would try Europe on painkillers.

So, on that note, don't ask me to tell you anything about the contents of The L'Ouvre, as I saw Paris by way of Percoset.  Although, I do remember thinking, "That's it?!" when I saw the "Mona Lisa". And why were those guys dancing with whale tails in front of that fountain?  But try the restaurant near Notre Dame, Le Sargent de Recruiter...C'est magnifique! 

When Frick and Frack arrived in Paris...  We arrived at Charles du Galle Airport in Paris at six a.m. on August 8^th, 1998.  I was exhausted and rather nervous about my French speaking ability, as it had been years since I had spoken and what was coming back to me was limited and only present - tense.  Thank goodness, French was John's first language, and it was coming back to him slowly as we were staring at our francs while attempting to order deux cafes in the airport. Then we looked at each other like the two lost little American idiots that we were trying to determine what train to take to get to Boulevard Saint-Germain in the Latin Quarter. We had reservations at the Hotel St. George and were to meet my sister there at 3:00 that afternoon. Then in two days, the three of us would take a train to Rome to meet my brother-in-law, Bill. 

Bon Chance!  It was actually a fluke that John and I took the correct train.   

Everything we saw and ate was absolutely spectacular!  From what I recall, I absolutely love Paris! There we were in the city of lights, one of my absolute favorite places to be, (I think - or maybe I just really enjoyed being on Percoset) and all I wanted to do was sleep because of the painkillers.  I think that is when John started to randomly, secretly hate me. Along with the fact that rather than taking a cab from our restaurant to the Eiffel tower, like he wanted to do, I thought we could walk...five, long miles later, he was cursing me in French.  I just tuned him out, as I was not used to hearing anything negative in French, and those painkillers helped my attitude. 

"On y' Va!   Toute de Suite, John!" (Let's go, it's right there....just another mile or so!) 

What's the equivalent of bitch in French?  Ahhh, Paris....

The next day, we took a night train to Rome...upon arrival at the station we got pick-pocketed by a group of young gypsies while getting onto another train there.  I caught one of the girls with her hand in my bag and yelled at her,  "to get her hand out of my bag and that all she would get would be a MAC compact or an asthma inhaler; but if she took my favorite "MAC", ‘Twig' lipstick, I would have to kick her Gypsy a** off of the train". 

It's alarmingly scary how aggressive and irritable I can become as a result of sleep deprivation.  She backed off with her hands up in the air and they ran off of the train at the next stop.  John lost 78k in lire.  I lost nothing, not even my pride...I just felt violated the rest of the day and would not converse with anyone.

We took a cab to our hotel at the Piazza de Campo de Fierno in Rome, and stayed there for four days.  Those cab drivers can be crazy...they constantly cut each other off at busy intersections and then laugh at each other.  Those cab ride -induced prayers thankfully worked. We shopped the market right there at our own piazza, ate lots of pistachio gelato & delicious pasta dishes; visited the Coliseum, the Trevvi fountain, The Vatican - St. Peter's Chapel, and The Sistine Chapel. We were overwhelmed and in awe of the paintings, sculptures and tapestries, and the stories that they told. Our hotel had a rooftop deck that we visited every night for the most breathtaking 360-degree view of Rome magically glistening in white lights. 

It was sad to leave after a wonderful stay, yet we all questioned the excessive number of stray cats in Rome.  What is up with that?  In Paris it is dog poop, in Rome? ...it is way too many cats. Scary, mangy, independent cats. 

Anyway, we took a train to Florence to stay there for three days, and were able to view Michelangelo's statue, "David"

...Wow, what exactly did they do for workouts back then?  I've never seen a bottom like that before. Then again, he is a statue made of stone.  Nonetheless, I was moved to take a few close up shots with my new camera. I think it made John a little jealous when I then snapped a few from various angles.  I assured him he had nothing to worry about, After all, David is just a statue, and he's not going anywhere...The commute simply wouldn't work.  He took the camera.   (That would explain the pictures of topless women on the beaches of in Cinque Terre. Naturally, my brother-in-law, Bill was blamed for taking those random shots. At least my subject was a statue. )

Lanie made arrangements for the four of us to take a fifteen-mile bike tour in the Tuscan countryside.  I was very excited about this, yet also apprehensive, due to my recent back injury.   The first leg of the trip was brutal...it was all up hill. I was too exhausted from the heavy exertion of peddling to take notice of my beautiful surroundings.  All I could see was pavement and listen to the strained grunts and cursing of John behind me. I glanced back, and became a little concerned to see him beet-red, panting, and soaked completely through, and we were only on the first quarter of the trip.  

 We did stop to tour a vacant monastery in Fiesole, and then on to tour a beautiful, old winery where olive oil was also made.  Our last stop was for lunch at the local Trattorria for a buffet-style lunch served with Chianti wine.   John, and several others in our group drank the Chianti like it was Gatorade.  I decided to stick with Pellegrino water, as I remembered there was a bike parked outside that I would soon have to navigate down the other side of the hill we just trudged up. I don't think John was considering our method of transportation when he was consuming all of that Chianti.   When I reminded him that he had to get back on a bike, he immediately switched to water.

John was the last cyclist in the group after lunch, with the exception of our tour guide, Jonathan, behind him for safety.  John, now, "Mr. Suddenly Social", thought he would converse with Jonathan while traveling at what was probably 20 -25 mph, downhill, and turned his head around to do so. 

Vacation Tip: Chianti consumption, down hill cycling, and roadside ditches do not combine well on any vacation. A + B will yield C, in this case, the ditch.

All I could do was sigh as I came to a slow halt with my bike, pulling off to the side of the road to listen to John's fall come to completion.  It was slow and it was ugly.  It started as, bumpy, bump bump,  Top of his lungs: "UghUGHughhhh. Bumpety bumpBumpOHHHuuhhhhbumpBUMP bump.Ughghhhhghhhhh...AAAHHHHHH..more bumps....CRASH. 

I didn't want to look back, but thought I should since I am, after all, his wife.

Okay, take a deep breath - time to assess the damage, damn it. Envisioning an airlift, and I know only twenty or less Italian words, none of them medical. They all relate to food, directions, money, bathroom, or shopping for clothing. 

Only English is coming to mind right now and it's, "DUMB A**".   "Excusi, how do I get my "asino dumb" husband some medical care?  Insurance for DUMB American A** in Italy?"   Comment vous dire, Widow?   Oops, that's  French...

!%*!...I mean, excusi, or what is "help" in Italian? ...I so need some Italian help. 

It's times like this that reinforce that I should be playing Singles in Tennis, not Doubles....In Singles you rely upon yourself for the outcome....Not like in Doubles where you have to worry about the mistakes your partner makes that contribute to the end result. 

No city finals...no ‘bag tags' or a winning, engraved, pewter plate.  Just an exorbitantly, costly airlift out of a foreign country where you can't communicate with the pilot, and yet you don't want to leave. Hot flashes & confused mixed emotions surfacing.  Not "bella".

John slowly emerged from the ditch holding what was left of the bike. The rear tire was folded in two, and he had some pebble-engrained abrasions on his face, right arm and one leg.  I was so thankful that he wasn't injured more seriously, that I immediately let everything else go the moment I saw him get up.

He assured Jonathan and me that he was okay, but clearly he couldn't get back on the totaled bike. Jonathan made a call to his office to have the wreckage picked up, and just as he hung up, a small, blue car with a couple on holiday from Norway stopped to offer us assistance. The couple offered to give John a ride to the bottom of the mountain, our destination spot.  I still had to ride my bike back down, so I told him I would meet him there.

It was rather strange to see the three pass me by in that unusually small car, as I was cautiously braking the entire way down the mountain, alone.  The group was way ahead of me and unaware of what had just happened. Me, now alone, burning my brake pads past the olive and lemon trees, villas, and patches of terracotta, green, and gold.

There was John, this handsome, powerful, six-foot man, hunched down in the backseat of a tiny, blue car the size of a tin can, wounded and waving, from the back window, now passed me.  I took a deep breath and hoped that my brake pads would endure my slow descent. The image of me going through three Big Wheels as a child, because I burned out their brakes, now made its presence in the forefront of my mind.  I was taking in every particle of scenery that I could, and wanted to just stay in that moment, despite the lurking trepidation of falling.

My "winning prize"?  A blood-stained t-shirt saying, "I Bike Italy", and a water bottle to match...Deep breaths.  The experience.  Beauty abounds and the anxiety departed.