When we left you last time we were finishing up our Spainish adventure in what appeared to be a Granada sex den and heading to Tuscany. And Episode 4.5 covered most of the Vueling Airline debacle trying to get there. It actually got worse from the delayed flight / no car / urine soaked child situation that was described in Episode 4.5 as that was only the morning. From that point after a 3hr delay the flight from Granada was cancelled completely (after they actually lined us up to board an imaginary plane before telling us it was in Malaga), we had to catch a cab to Malaga (1.5hrs away) to find an alternative then the final kicker was that they lost our pram. Great work all round.
So I could scarcely believe it when it arrived – a customer feedback form from Vueling asking about our flight experience. After giving 0’s for every score Vueling provided a free-form box and asked the reasons for my displeasure and any final comments I may have. I never in my life thought I would write the phrase ‘I would rather have my testicles nailed to a tree than ever go near your sh#tty airline ever again’ in a formal feedback request. But that is what Vueling got. And I meant it. If someone ever tried to get me near that airline again I’d be off to the nearest hardware store to find the finest thread nails I could get my hands on.
But after an unplanned overnight stay in a Rome airport hotel, followed by allowing myself to get assaulted by a Europcar sales rep (I’m pretty sure he could smell my desperation – not many people turn up to a car hire office at 10pm at night looking dishevelled and without a reservation while looking for a family car to take immediately – he charged me so much I was wondering if I was buying the car or just hiring it for the week – he did it with a smile though) we were on our way.
Well kind of on our way – I’d hired what resembled a bus and was now trying to navigate it on Italian roads, all on the wrong side. But before even getting onto the roads, it was an epic just trying to get out of the carpark. Key phrases heard from Krys during the car park exit included ‘I think this is one way’, ‘maybe you should reverse up a bit and try again at a different angle’ and ‘aren’t you meant to be on the other side’. Seems her comments on my driving and bedroom antics have striking similarity. By the time we had made our way to Level 2 of the carpark Krys had resorted to her usual position when I’m driving in Europe – hands over her eyes and just hoping that it ends quickly and safely (the bedroom commonality continues?)……
But Tuscany was worth the effort. Our first stay was in the grounds of a beautiful castle where the girls picked dandelions among vineyards while crowing at a rooster across the valley (they were convinced they were talking to it). And mummy and daddy used this quiet time to get mildly intoxicated.
And our next stop was the magnificent walled city of San Gimignano. This city really is a amazing; an ancient walled city of timeless architecture with laneways meandering off a central plaza. Days were filled with the girls in the playground attacking gelato with as much enthusiasm as me attacking a suburban niteclub dance floor once the back catalogue of Bonnie Tyler gets opened up. And afternoons were spent sipping wine in the square before finding a nice restaurant to fill up on pasta and more wine before the stumble home (some nights I was happy to be pushing a pram for support).
And it was one of those afternoons sipping wine in the square that threw up one of the most interesting moments in Tuscany (well for me anyway). We were heading to our usual afternoon wine cafe when there sitting at the front and sipping a negroni in the afternoon sun was an attractive lady wearing what looked like a lacy black bra as a top, with a blazer draped over her shoulders for some sliver of modesty. Of course I couldn’t stare long enough to confirm (I’d look creepy to the lady and invite the comment of ‘did you get a good enough look’ from Krys) so deferred to Krys for confirmation. And after a stunned ‘oh wow’ Krys confirmed that yes, this lady had stepped out for an afternoon wine sans top, and had done so deliberately. Obviously she was a Seinfeld fan. Before long we weren’t the only ones to notice. A deepening pool of Italian schoolboys were milling about enjoying the wardrobe choice with indiscreet looks and giggles until one broke ranks, marched up and said to the lady in broken English ‘you are very beautiful’. This appeared to be the signal for the dam wall to break and before long the lady and her non plussed partner were swamped with adolescent Italian testosterone, where selfie after selfie were rattled off, no doubt to help some of the boys fall asleep in the coming months. Even an older Italian man in track pants broke off from his wife who was walking across the square to stand in front of the lady and snap off pictures on his iPad – I hope the pics were worth it because I don’t need to know a lot of Italian to know that the reception he got when he rejoined his wife was not a pleasant one. As we left we didn’t know if this lady was famous (she didn’t look familiar but my memories of famous attractive ladies end around the time of Belinda Carlisle) or if it was just a bra induced frenzy. I tried to encourage Krys to be the test case the following day and bra up in the square but she wouldn’t play along?
We have since been given a lesson in Italian road rules (careful where you park but drink as much as you want), and I have been rubbed vigorously by a man while wearing a small paper g-string backwards, but more on that later.
Ciao.
Trent, Krystal, Emelia, Olivia and bras worn under shirts.
smallthoughts 