Novoyavorivs'k

The Jotter Pages are 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 Florence, Italy 1984

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Saturday Afternoon

After my visit to the Galleria dell’Accademia to see Michelangelo’s David, I stopped at a souvenir stand on the street.  The guy at the stand was really funny and wound up taking me to a cappuccino bar for a drink, leaving his stand with no one to watch over it.  While we were sipping our frothy cappuccinos, he asked me to dinner.  I told him no, so he went out into the street and began telling strangers that I wouldn’t go out with him.  He begged for their sympathy while I giggled with embarrassment.  Returning to our table, he asked me again and I said okay.  We headed back to his stand where he sent me off to my hotel with a great book on Michelangelo, writing paper, pens and a bunch of post cards all free of charge.  He’s pretty cute with the exception that he has a mustache.  My biggest problem at the moment is that I don’t know his name.  I think it begins with a G.

Saturday Night

Have just returned from my date with ???? .  I still don’t know his name and it seemed a little too late to ask while we were on our date. We went to dinner at a small family restaurant which was very good and we had a lot of great conversation.  After, we took his motorcycle up to the Michelangelo Square which over looks the city.  It felt so cool riding on the back of  his bike and I wasn’t scared at all.  The view was the prettiest I’ve ever seen, with the city and Duomo lit up along the river.  We kissed at the overlook and the mustache wasn’t as awful as I expected.

I really like ???? a lot and have decided to stay an extra day to be with him but how will I ever figure out what his name is?

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In reading this entry 27 years later, I have a whole different perspective things.  I truly love the sense of fearlessness that I had while traveling alone throughout Italy, especially knowing that I could never be that way today.  When I get around to posting part two of this little romance with ???? you’ll see that I learned a big lesson about trust and my own arrogance.

Venice was supposed to be a place of romance, where May and Bess had planned to meet some nice Italian men.  So far, the ladies were very attractive to the local Venetian pigeon community but this isn’t what they were hoping for.  Now, if they could just figure out what kind of bread crumbs they could get that would have Enzo and Giovanni eating out of their hands too.

The photographs used in 30 Second Stories are images that I have collected from flea markets and do not represent anyone that I am related to.

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……

April 1, 2011

Dear Italy,

Today, in America,  we celebrate April fool’s day.  It’s a day of pranks, jokes and fakes.

This year, we have decided to share our holiday with you and have sent you 8 jokes to help you celebrate the day.

I have no other explanation as to why Snookie and The Situation are over in your country other than…..

Sviblovo APRIL FOOL’S!

Sincerely,

The Jotter Pages posts are 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 on a sleeper train from Paris, France to Florence, Italy on October 5, 1984.

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Rain.  The train arrived today almost 1/2 hour late to Florence.  I am so tired due to having the worst night’s sleep.  I was in a compartment with 3 men on this trip.  Two Frenchmen and  an American.   The cabin had two bench seats facing one another with the window at one end and the doorway to the hall at the other.   At bedtime, people got into their pajamas and waited in line to brush their teeth at the end of the corridor.  I would never think of putting on my pajamas for an overnight train ride.  After last night, I am glad.

Our seats were converted into bunks and I slept in the top.    At some point in the night, the man who slept across the aisle from me reached over and put his hand in my bed.    At first I thought I was dreaming, then I moved and felt warm flesh.  I turned on the cabin light and there he was leering at me.  I could only stare back.  With my heart pounding, I turned the light out and it was not long before he tried again. I quickly jumped out of my bunk while cursing him and trying to turn on the light.  I panicked when the light would not go on so I burst into the hallway and was relieved to find a border policeman approaching.  I told him what was happening and he shook his head not wanting to get involved.   I stepped back into the cabin and woke up the American  in the bunk below me.  I told him what was happening and asked for his help.  He very casually spoke in French to the man in the bunk and then told me that this is just something that happens when a Frenchman sees something beautiful, he wants to touch it. Angry and afraid, I got back into my bunk but didn’t sleep for the rest of the night. I lay as close to the cabin wall as possible to keep the distance between us.  I was scared but thankful I was dressed, as my clothes felt like the only thing on the train protecting me. The next morning the Frenchman didn’t look at me but once and I gave him a death stare.

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I think back to those days of travel and I am amazed.  Back then, there were no cell phones, I didn’t have a credit card or debit card just Travelers Checks.  There was not such thing as cash machines, internet or faxes as far as I knew.  I would be gone for weeks at a time and every now and then I would call or send a Telex to New York and let my family know I was okay.  Rarely was I afraid while traveling by myself.  It was all a wonderful adventure.

Today I have a wallet full of credit cards and a smart phone but sometimes just driving to the gas station scares me.