The Jotter Pages is a glimpse into one of my many notebooks.  The italics are the actual writings from my jotter and the roman type are my comments today.  This entry takes place in Rome, Italy 1984.

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Thursday, October 4, 1984

Right now it is 8:00 pm and I am so pissed off.   After a long trip from Paris, I am finally in a room in Rome.  I arrived here early, due to my hotel room in Florence resembling a jail cell.  I checked into the Florence hotel and checked out again within 10 minutes.  There were no other hotels available in Florence so I took the next train to Rome.  I was lucky to find a room here at the Holiday Inn until my reservation at the Pensione Merano begins in a few days.  There was a bottle of champagne and two glasses on my dresser when I arrived.  Welcome to Roma!

After a long day, I was too tired to venture out to a restaurant so I ordered room service.  Initially, the guy who brought it up to my room seemed nice.  On his way out, I asked him why I had received a bottle of champagne and he said because I was a VIP.  He didn’t speak English very well and I was too tired to try and convince him I wasn’t a VIP so I just left it at that.  A few minutes passed and there was a knock at my door and it was him again.  He said that the champagne was delivered to the wrong room but that I could keep it.

Later that evening, he returned to my room to collect my dinner tray and offered to open the bottle of champagne for me.  His name was Fabrizio and he was quite handsome with thick black hair and Italian features.  We began to chat and he poured me a glass….and then poured himself one too.  Before I know it, this bellboy was sitting on the edge of my bed very close to me.  I ‘m thinking, “What the hell is this guy doing?”  Fabrizio tells me he must leave and he leans over and begins to make out with me.  I pushed him away and pointed to the tray, telling him to get out.  He matter of factly collected my tray and left without a word.

I hope Fabrizio doesn’t come back here later.  I wont answer the door if there’s a knock.  From now on I am not going to tell anyone I am traveling alone….I guess it was stupid to tell Fabrizio.  Live and learn.

8:30 pm.  I just came back from putting my jewelry and travelers checks in the hotel safe.   I met Fabrizio in the hallway near my room.  He then proceeded to walk with me toward my room so I turned to him and said a stern “Goodnight.”  He asked if I would like to invite him in.  I replied, “No.”  Then he says he wants to apologize about before.  I said goodnight again and went into my room and quickly locked the door.  I am so glad there’s a chain on this door because Fabrizio could probably get himself a key.  A chair in front of the door wont hurt either.

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The Italians and I certainly had different ideas about room service.

I like to think that I am a much smarter traveler now some 27 years later.  Although, the thought of a little room service……

The Jotter Pages is a glimpse into one of my many notebooks.  The italics are the actual writings from my jotter.  The roman type are my comments today.  This entry takes place in Rome, Italy 1984.

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Monday September 24

2pm – Have had a very interesting day so far.  At 10:30, I went out for a walk.  I was wondering why all the shops were closed so I stopped a nicely dressed older man and we had the following exchange.

Jotter Girl:  “Signore, a che ora i negozi aperti?”

Signore:  “You must be an American.”

Jotter Girl:  “Why? Did I say that wrong?”

Signore:  “No, you said it perfectly and so clearly that I knew you couldn’t be a Roman.”

Maurilio Varalda was his name and he was probably about 65 years old.  A charming man with silver hair as straight as a porcupine’s quill.  He was short in stature and impeccably dressed.  His face was so welcoming.   I was immediately connected to him.

Signore Varalda took me to a lovely place for lunch where we enjoyed the most delicious prosciutto & melon, wine, fettucini alfredo, assorted cheeses and ended our meal with cappuccino.  Signore, reminds me of my grandfather.  He is so sweet & I was fascinated by his life story.  He speaks English, French, Chinese and of course Italian.  He has lived all over the world.  We talked for hours and had such a nice walk not to mention the lunch.  He offered to help me get a job so I can stay here in Roma.  When Mom arrives, he wants to take us both out to lunch.  Initially, she is going to think I am nuts but once she meets him, I am positive she’ll like him.

Friday October 19

Got up late.  Mom had a head ache so I went to the bar & got some pastries for us.  At noon, Signore Varalda picked us up and drove us to his home in the north of Rome.  We had a lovely lunch served by a young man who was introduced to us as “the Filipino house boy”.  Signore’s home was filled with wonderful Chinese art and we were serenaded by at least 25 small birds in cages near the window over looking the back yard.

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Maurilio Varalda and I remained friends for several years after that first chance meeting on a street in Rome.  We wrote letters back and forth, updating each other on our lives.  He was always going to China or coming back from Switzerland it seemed.

The last time I saw him was at the Waldorf Astoria in New York City in the late 80′s when we met for an afternoon at the hotel restaurant.  I have thought of Signore Varalda often over the years and have tried to find him several times but with out luck.  It was my good fortune to meet Signore that day and he has become a member of a small club of men who I have had a very special connection with.

A dear friend recently commented that she would love to catch a glimpse inside one of my jotters.   I thought this was an interesting idea so I’ve decided to make it a feature here at Jotter Girl.

But how would I choose which book, which page?

Yesterday, I got all 28 books out,  spread them on the floor,  grabbed one and opened to a page.  Not the best plan because here is what you’d get….

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April 8, 1973

I hate Sundays because there’s nothing on TV except Zoom.  Once a day.

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I’d need a better plan in selecting something more interesting than what was on television back in the 70′s.  After spending a while flipping pages is several books, I came up with a jotter page to share.  The italics are the actual writings from my jotter.  The  *roman type* are my comments today.

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October 24, 1984 

Yesterday, Mom and I went to the Vatican Museum.  As with the rest of Rome, it was gripping and tugging at my heart strings.  Later in the day we met Marco at the Villa Borghese where we took photos.  It was fun although these would most likely be our last photos together for a long while.

We are leaving Rome tomorrow and I will miss Marco very much.  Right now, I am listening to one of the two tapes he made for me.  I’m sad because these songs remind me of him.  It was very difficult to say goodbye.  With tears in my eyes, I watched him leave the Pensione Merano through my 3rd floor window.  *note: Marco did not leave through my 3rd floor window.  He took the elevator as he should.* As I looked down upon the Via Veneto, I could see that he too, was crying.  Marco looked up to my window and waved as I blew him a kiss.  I will especially miss him calling me Poppet and darling.

I am sitting on the bed beside my mother.  Our suitcases are in various stages of being packed.  We are taking a break and I am listening to my Walkman.   I was quiet  up until a few moments ago when the sobs burst out of my body and made mom jump a mile.  She ran to the bathroom and brought me back a towel.  What else could she do?  She’s been in Italy for about a week and has gotten to know Marco too.  I think she understands why I have fallen so hard.  I’ve been in Europe for 2 months and don’t want to go home.  I have such a headache and my eyes are stinging like crazy.  How will I manage with out him.

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The story behind this story is that I was someone who loved to be in love.  My mother, who was quite aware of my  ability to fall head over heels, hadn’t planned to come to Italy until she got the call from me telling her I felt like Cinderella and I had found my prince.  I am pretty sure she hung up the phone and booked the next flight to Rome in anticipation that I was going to elope with Marco and never come back to the United States.