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mellifluously 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.  Part I of this story can be found by clicking here and apparently somewhere between  part I and part II, I found out his name.

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Yesterday I went to meet Gustavo where he works and then we went to lunch.  It was a busy afternoon of meeting his commercial artist friend to see about finding me a job and then going to visit his mother in the nursing home.  She was there due to a stroke and was the sweetest little lady I have ever seen.  He seemed so happy to introduce me to her and even told her how he wanted me to come back to stay forever.  We drove the motorcycle all over the city and ended the afternoon back at the same restaurant as last night.  I had ravioli again and it was so good!   Our conversation was focused about me coming back in January to live and pick up where we left off.  After dinner, we went back to his apartment.  It was a small studio walk up off of a narrow stone street.  His apartment was dark and although it was evening, I imagined that it was just as dark in the daylight.  I sat on the couch and we kissed for a while.  I needed to use the bathroom and was nervous when I closed the bathroom door to find there wasn’t any toilet paper.  Opening the door a bit, I called out to Gustavo that I was in need of some paper.  His reply was a little shocking in that he told me to use the phone book that was sitting on the floor next to the toilet.  I didn’t have much of a choice so I tore out a page from the directory and sat down on the seat.  Upon exiting the bathroom, I realized that I was suddenly looking at him in a different light.

While kissing him, all I could think of was the phone book.  Things began to turn physical and my “attitude” turned into an argument.  We bickered back and forth and finally, I asked him if he would like me to leave.  He said yes.  So I did.  It was late and the narrow little street was dark as I headed to find a bus back to my hotel.  I was aware that The Monster of Florence, a serial killer, was still on the loose so I was very nervous about getting to the bus quickly.   After a long wait, I realized that the bus was not coming and that I had better head back to Gustavo’s apartment.  With all the little side streets looking the same, I became lost.  Alone on the quiet street my heart raced as I saw a figure of a man approaching.  I could tell by his shape that it was not Gustavo and I prayed that it wasn’t the Florence killer.  Thankfully, it was a policeman and he helped me find my way back to the apartment after reprimanding me for being out on the streets so late with a killer in the city.

I truly don’t know how I found his door, they all looked the same.  I knocked several times before Gustavo let me in.  I asked, but he refused to take me back to my hotel until morning.  I apologized for leaving in a huff and things seemed to be smoothed over.  I went to sleep on the couch but had a very bad night’s sleep imagining what could have happened on the dark streets below and for a fleeting moment I wondered if Gustavo might be the killer.

We got up today and  went for a ride to the mountains where the view was so beautiful and he was so sweet that I forgot all about last night.  About midday, he drove me to my hotel so I could catch my train later in the afternoon.  I was expecting a long sad goodbye filled with I’ll miss you and come back soon.  But when I got off the bike, he said, “Thanks, it was fun.”   I was shocked that he was just sending me on my way, so I made some small talk thinking that he was going to say he was just kidding, but he never did.  My pride kicked in and I turned and said goodbye heading back into the hotel in disbelief sure that he would call after me, but he never did.

Once back  in the room, I packed my things all the while thinking that he would call and say he had made a mistake.  This couldn’t be happening.  I have never had a guy use me before.  Once at the train station, I waited for my train to be called.  I just knew he would pull up on his bike and run in to find me…but he never did. 

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This is a story that I don’t like to remember but I learned a big lesson that weekend which I have carried with me ever since.  I am aware of how lucky I was that it didn’t turn into something horrible.  However, this experience didn’t stop me from traveling on my own and I continued to have many more adventures…. but looked at handsome strangers with a different eye.

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.

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 London, England 1984 while traveling with my friend Anne.

Monday, September 3, 1984

Got up late and went to Trafalgar Square & The National Gallery museum (which smelled terrible).  In the evening, we stopped off at a pub called The White Lion where me met two English businessmen.

We had a fun evening with Richard and Nick drinking pints and telling stories.  That is, until the lights in the pub went off and we were in complete darkness for about 20 seconds or so.  The lights popped back on and Anne immediately realized that her big blob of a handbag was gone.  We had been sitting at a small pub table to the right of the door and Anne’s bag was on the floor near her feet.

I must interject here to let you know that Anne was the type of girl who carried EVERYTHING in her bag. Why she would need to cart the stuff she did all the way to the UK is beyond me.  This “blob” as I called it, probably weighed 10 lbs and must have looked ripe for the picking by the would be thief.

Anne went crazy.  Crying and screaming, she made her way over to the front of the pub and proceeded to punch a hole right through the glass door.  She had me so scared with all of her kicking and screaming.  Showing no sign of calming down,  I slapped her across the face.  She was a girl possessed and making such a scene, I really had no choice.  After the pub, we went to the Bond Street Police station where they took a description of the contents.  Of course as usual, she had everything but the kitchen sink in the blob and Anne used more than enough paper filling out the forms and making notes on what was missing.  Passport, wallet, make up, camera, key chain with all her house keys and car key, maps, gum, glasses and probably 25 other items that were near and dear to Anne.  Meanwhile, she was still going insane the whole time we were at the station.  Shocking that Nick and Richard remained with us and didn’t try to ditch the two American lunatics back at the pub.  When we were done at the station, they helped us get back to our hotel.

The next day, we were alerted by the police that the blob handbag had been found!  All the bazillion items were recovered with the exception of the money.  She was incredibly lucky to get her travel documents back.  Anne and I traveled together for 10 days; visiting London and Paris and I had many adventures.

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 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.