Day One: Campobasso

I've seen that road before, It always leads me here; lead me to your door…”

The Beatles, The Long and Winding Road

*Warning:  I had to have several glasses of wine before I could bear to describe the afternoon’s events…perdonami any errors…

We made it!  We left on time at 6:45 PM 10/26.  Our flight was uneventful, aside from some rather strong turbulence early on; however, we ended up landing about half an hour earlier than expected, so I won't complain.  Aside from the turbulence, it was a pretty great flight, mostly because we treated ourselves - for the first time ever - to flying business class.  It was like we were in our own individual pods, for lack of a better word.  We could lay flat! We got printed menus!  And huge warm blankets and full-size pillows! We got Bose headphones instead of those stupid little earbuds that always fall out of one’s ears as soon as you make the slightest movement! We felt like rock stars.  Of course, my sensible husband reminded me that a) he is now retired and b) I am currently unemployed; therefore c) it’s unlikely we will be treating ourselves like this again anytime soon unless we hit the lottery.  Aside from that splash of cold water, the actual flight was one of the highlights of the day.  

We arrived in Rome (Leonardo da Vinci-Fiumicino Airport) and made it through passport control just fine (yes, I got my timbro - the stamp in my passport).  Picked up our luggage…and then realized I’d never received any confirmation as to where exactly we would meet the shuttle van that would be picking us up to take us to the dealership where our leased vehicle awaited us.  We just followed the crowd toward the designed taxi/limo/bus pickup area outside of the Arrivals terminal…only to find that was not actually where we needed to be.  Two phone calls later (me speaking English/the other party speaking Italian), I was able to determine we needed to get back inside the airport to get to International Departures, Floor One, Terminal Three, Door #4 (side note:  floor numbers in Europe differ from floor numbers in the US:  Floor One is what we'd call the 2nd floor in the US).  

I didn't think to inquire as to why we were expected to meet them at Departures when we'd obviously just arrived.

The problem was that we were already outside the airport, and getting back inside required getting past the airport security carabiniere (police).  We were told that to get to the Departures area, we needed to show a boarding pass.  Of course, the only boarding passes we had were our those for our incoming flight, yet they seemed to suffice, as no one actually looked closely at them, and we were waved through.  Cool beans! 

We finally managed to meet up with the gentleman from Renault and made our way to the auto dealership to pick up our vehicle.  It is a Renault Captur; this was the closest vehicle I could find that I thought would be equivalent to the Honda HRV that we drive at home; turns out, it is a bit smaller and is more like my Mazda CX3 in size - which meant that the “way back” and the back seats were entirely taken up by our luggage (four suitcases and two carryon backpacks; don’t judge!).  A tight fit, but it works. 

The next task to accomplish was to get gas, as the car didn’t have much fuel in it at pickup.  We found that there was a gas station just down the road from the dealership. We forgot to ask whether patrons pump their own gas in Italy/in the Lazio region, or whether the attendant must do so.  The way it worked out was that my hubby pumped the gas, then paid the bill afterward.  Each pump had two diesel hoses, and one gas hose; our vehicle requires gas (and it’s an automatic, too - something of a rarity here, but I made the effort to find one because someone on this trip who isn’t me cannot drive a manual shift vehicle).

And we were on our way!  The drive from the dealership to Campobasso (about 244 km or not quite 152 miles) was, for the most part, quite picturesque:  we saw many super-sized hills/small mountains, with ancient-looking villages/fortresses/castles/monasteries perched atop of or nestled among the nooks and crannies of same; loads of olive trees; some cacti that I think looked very much like prickly pear cacti, and of course several vineyards.  While the scenery was perfect…the drive itself was quite nerve-wracking, because Italy.  In a previous post I hinted at the fact that that Italian drivers ignore speed limits, think stop signs are suggestions, and have no idea what the turn signals are for, or whatever I said there.  All of this was proven to be true today, and then some.  Imagine a nightmare combination of NYC and DC traffic - it was like that level of stupidity without the high volume - and that was on the highways (and don’t ask me what the actual speed limit was, because I do not think we noticed one speed limit sign - I am sure there were some, but we were concentrating so hard on not getting into an accident that we didn’t pay attention to such a minor thing as speed limits).  I must give many kudos and much love to my hubby for driving today; I would not have had the steady nerves to do it myself. 

The B&B where we’re spending tonight is located in the heart of Città (city) Campobasso, which is the capital of the Province of Campobasso, as well as being the capital of the region of Molise.  It’s a very old city; there were probably people living around here as far back as the 8th century.  In the oldest part of the city (where the B&B is located), the streets are very narrow - scarily so.  While dear hubby was driving, I took a bit of video - but as I am having trouble uploading it here; in the meantime, here is a still pic:

It was scary enough just being a passenger; I would not have wanted to be the driver!

And then the afternoon took a turn for the worse:  when we finally arrived at our destination, there was no on-street parking to be had anywhere near the B&B.  We drove through the nearby streets several times, to no avail.  So we decided that the sensible thing to do would be to unload the luggage from the car, and I would check in, while my husband would drive around looking for a parking space, then walk back.  Seemed like a good idea at the time…

Except it wasn’t.  At. All.

Now, what happened next may have been a little bit my fault, because I should have changed the SIM in his phone before we got off the plane - and I did not.  So when he got completely lost, couldn’t remember the address of the B&B, and couldn’t figure out how to bring it up again in the car’s GPS, he was not able to call or text me to let me know - and I wasn’t able to contact him either.  

While he was panic-driving around old town Campobasso, I checked into the B&B, hauled our luggage up several flights of stairs to our room (with the help of the very kind proprietor), and then went back outside to wait…and wait…and wait…and wait for hubby to return.  The proprietor left the premises (it seems he actually owns two B&Bs, same name, different addresses; or rather, one B&B spread across multiple properties) - and I found myself alone, sitting on the front stoop of the building.  There are no other guests in this building today; and it’s not a very busy street as far as pedestrians go (I guess people just park here and go…who knows where).  I just assumed that if my dear hubs had to drive around for more than a few minutes, he would come back for me, and we would set off together to locate a parking space.  But you know what they say about assuming making an ass out of you and me…

When he didn’t come back after 15-20 minutes, I told myself:  well, he probably had to park kind of far away, maybe several streets over, so of course it’s going to take awhile for him to walk back.  It’s quite hilly here, so the walk probably isn’t easy for him. And blah, blah, blah.  After an hour or so had passed, I started to worry - what if he got in an accident on one of these very narrow streets? What if he got hurt?  Then I started wondering whether or not he’d taken his medications today:  what if he got sick?  I stupidly tried calling/texting/messaging him before I remembered he didn’t have cell service - duh!  
I’m not normally the panicky type, I don’t think; but after about an hour and a half I really started to feel the cold fingers of fear squeezing my heart.  So I messaged the proprietor of the B&B to explain that I’d somehow managed to lose my husband, and to ask, could he help?  Note that the proprietor, Giovanni, does not speak English, and my Italian is next to nonexistent, so we basically communicated via the iTranslate app - which sufficed for our purposes, actually.  Giovanni was so kind - he came back to the B&B and decided he himself would drive around town in search of my husband, while I would keep waiting on the stoop.  Well, Giovanni's first trip around town was not successful.  He came back to let me know that he alerted the carabiniere to be on the lookout for our Captur with its French EU license plate.  Then our host set off searching once again.  Shortly thereafter, the carabiniere found my husband (because they stopped him for making an illegal turn), and led him back to the B&B.  Giovanni took charge of our car and drove off to park it…somewhere…nearby.  He says he will walk us to it tomorrow morning when it is time for us to leave.

I don’t think I was as happy to see my beloved on our wedding day as I was to see him back at the B&B this afternoon!  So all’s well that ended well.  We can laugh about it now, but in the moment it was rather scary - at least for me.

Before Giovanni headed back from whence he came, he made a reservation for us for dinner at Trattoria di Santis, which fortunately for us is right down the street, just a few doors down from the B&B.  The gentleman who greeted us at the door seemed to be the owner/waiter/chef all in one.  It’s a small place, not at all fancy, but with an outstanding yet simple menu consisting of what I understood to be regional dishes.  We shared the entrecôte, which was a beef dish, cooked rare and served on a heated slab of slate, with a side of some kind of potato slices and cooked spinach.   

The wine and the water (mineral water con gas) were also both regional.  Everything was delicious; the cares of the day melted away between the wonderful food and the chef/owner’s general good humor.  In spite of the language barrier, we had a fun time talking with him; he even gave us some interesting Japanese (!) whiskey on the house. And after such an excellent meal (and a few drinks), my hubby decided it was OK for me to share the above somewhat embarrassing story publicly.  So the day ended on a high note after all.

Tomorrow we are scheduled to meet with one of my interpreters at the Agenzia delle Entrate (the revenue agency here in Campobasso) to request my codice fiscale (somewhat like a US social security number, which I will need for various bureaucratic things) before heading off to see our new apartment home.