damnhooligan
08-24-2005, 11:31 AM
After a good night's sleep and a couple of beers, I think I'm finally calmed down enough to tell you folks of the tale of the worst vacation ever. And unfortunately, the following story is entirely true and painfully long. For the "too long, didn't read" of it: crappy hotel, got lost, mosquito bites, car accident, stranded in Rome for two days, bank account was cleaned out, tore a muscle in my leg, fractured my nose, almost got into a fight with a pickpocket.
Map24 puts the drive from my house in Germany to Rome at a solid 10 hours. But with traffic, food, potty and leg-stretching breaks, it was more realistically a 16 hour drive. We managed to hit four countries on the way: Germany, France, Switzerland and Italy. The drive through Switzerland was absolutely amazing. We were kind of miffed at first at having to pay 45 CHF (30 Euro) for a toll sticker considering we were only going to be in the country one day, but the roads were clear and it took us through some of the most stunning countryside I've ever seen. A++ GREAT CONDITION! Will Drive Again!
At long last, we reach the outskirts of Rome. Our hotel was in a seedy part of town and as we drove up to park at the hotel, we watched a rather sharp dressed looking man pry into a parked car with a crowbar and casually rifle through the glove box while shoving CDs in his shirt. The room was rather nice (particularly for the price of 75 Euro a night) save for the fact that "double" bed was only microscopically larger than a "twin" bed, and in a drunken stupor one night, I managed to roll not only off the bed but through an adjacent door and onto the outside balcony. Actually, that was pretty cool.
Rome is one cluster**** of a city. The winding cobblestone streets are teaming with fashionable Italians with seasoned tans, wide-eyed pasty tourists clutching dog-eared guide books and the most determined beggars and pickpockets I've ever been victim to. It's fairly easy to get lost, so naturally half our time there was spent wandering the streets, desperately searching for a WC but we ended up finding a couple charming restaurants and a beautiful view of Rome from Villa Borghese, a park high atop the city. We saw the Colloseum, the Pantheon, the Roman Forum, the E.U.R. (a futuristic suburb commissioned by Mussolini) and the Cappuchin Crypt (the bones of 4000 monks used as decoration), the Vatican Museum with Sistine Chapel and St Peter's Basilica. I slipped going down a marble flight of steps in one of the Piazzas and re-pulled a muscle in my lower leg, then had to walk a couple kilometers on it.
On Sunday, we were absolutely relieved to be leaving and headed to Florence. In fact, the hope that Florence was going to be better was the only thing that was keeping us from ending the vacation right then and there. Instead, a dark blue Volkswagen Polo TDI ended it for us. Just outside of Rome in the sleepy little suburb of Casalotti, a 68 year old Italian restaurant owner ran a stop sign and plowed into our 6 month old Mini Cooper S, slamming us into a brick wall. All people involved escaped without so much as a scratch, and surprisingly the wall was fine as well though we took out a fiberglass electrical distribution box attached to it. Our car only vaguely resembled a Mini Cooper, with both the front quarter panels and wheels smashed in a good foot, whereas his car was almost entirely unrecognizable.
As we all stood around a little stunned, about two dozen people came out of f*cking nowhere, ninja style to gawk at the crash and generally just get in the way. To our relief, one of them turned out to be a very nice French lady who spoke a little bit of English (our understanding of Italian consisted of the general touristy basics: hello, goodbye, thank you, where is the bathroom, numbers, etc) who drove us to the nearest International Phone Center. But because it was Sunday, all the insurance companies, the US Embassy and the Defense Attache were all closed and unable to help us. So we towed the car, got a hotel in the outskirts of Rome and proceeded to get drunk.
The next morning we head out to see the Defense Attache guy at the Embassy who didn't have to help us, but because he and my husband are both in the Army, he wanted to look out for his fellow soldier. Hanging out in the Embassy was probably the coolest part of that whole trip, because it used to be private apartments of Queen Margherita during the 17th century and later, offices for Mussolini's National Fascist Confederation of Farmers. While playing phone tag, we learn that all police reports in Italy take a full month to be processed, so we shouldn't expect to see our car or even be able to make a claim with our insurance until then. Also, unless the police conclude without a doubt that the accident was the other driver's fault and he accepts (which he won't, because he was a raging asshole who tried to blame us) we're going to have to go back down there and attend court. We'd been told before we even came to Italy that Italian drivers were the worst in the world, but we quickly dismissed that. They weren't kidding.
By now, our checking account is kind of dwindling thanks to the hotel, taxi fare, phone calls, etc, so we head over to an internet cafe to move some of the money from savings into checking, fearing that we may be forced to stay in Italy indefinitely and pay thousands of dollars to get the car repaired. Only we find it that our savings account has been completely cleaned out, with a balance of $0. Nearly 2000 bucks was withdrawn the day before we'd left for Rome, and the account was closed. So with roughly a grand in checking and a couple hundred Euro in our pockets, we booked two train tickets from Rome to Bologna, and then a Ryan Air Flight from Bologna to Frankfurt.
The night train to Bologna was so overbooked that it was pretty much standing room only. It was so crowded that when I tried to wake my husband up as he slept against a window, he headbutted me in the nose and I was dribblin' blood for a while. Don't think it's broken, but maybe fractured. The train was full of an interesting mix of locals, tourists, backpackers and pickpockets. I nearly got into a bout of fisticuffs with one pickpocket as he roamed up and down the aisles mumbling "Scusi!" then blatantly shoving his hand inside everyone's pockets and purses. When he aimed for the inside of my husband's jacket, I smacked his hand away and he had the audacity to be offended and got all up in my grill. I ignored him and continued to cradle my nose until he backed down. Later, just outside of Florence, the police stopped the train and threw him out in the middle of nowhere. Sweet justice.
Fortunately, that was the end of our misfortune. Upon arrival at Bologna at 8am, we walked up to the nearest hotel, 60 Euro a night, ate their free breakfast and then crashed for 7 hours before our flight left for Frankfurt later that night. German never sounded so sweet as it did on that flight home. My husband's unit even sent someone to pick us up from the airport, and we ranted the entire way home.
All in all, this has been a very humbling experience. In a couple days, I may even be able to find humor in my own misfortune. But for now, home has never felt this good and I will never ever again take 8 hours of sleep, a decent meal and a safe place to sit down for granted again.
Worst Vacation. EVER.
Map24 puts the drive from my house in Germany to Rome at a solid 10 hours. But with traffic, food, potty and leg-stretching breaks, it was more realistically a 16 hour drive. We managed to hit four countries on the way: Germany, France, Switzerland and Italy. The drive through Switzerland was absolutely amazing. We were kind of miffed at first at having to pay 45 CHF (30 Euro) for a toll sticker considering we were only going to be in the country one day, but the roads were clear and it took us through some of the most stunning countryside I've ever seen. A++ GREAT CONDITION! Will Drive Again!
At long last, we reach the outskirts of Rome. Our hotel was in a seedy part of town and as we drove up to park at the hotel, we watched a rather sharp dressed looking man pry into a parked car with a crowbar and casually rifle through the glove box while shoving CDs in his shirt. The room was rather nice (particularly for the price of 75 Euro a night) save for the fact that "double" bed was only microscopically larger than a "twin" bed, and in a drunken stupor one night, I managed to roll not only off the bed but through an adjacent door and onto the outside balcony. Actually, that was pretty cool.
Rome is one cluster**** of a city. The winding cobblestone streets are teaming with fashionable Italians with seasoned tans, wide-eyed pasty tourists clutching dog-eared guide books and the most determined beggars and pickpockets I've ever been victim to. It's fairly easy to get lost, so naturally half our time there was spent wandering the streets, desperately searching for a WC but we ended up finding a couple charming restaurants and a beautiful view of Rome from Villa Borghese, a park high atop the city. We saw the Colloseum, the Pantheon, the Roman Forum, the E.U.R. (a futuristic suburb commissioned by Mussolini) and the Cappuchin Crypt (the bones of 4000 monks used as decoration), the Vatican Museum with Sistine Chapel and St Peter's Basilica. I slipped going down a marble flight of steps in one of the Piazzas and re-pulled a muscle in my lower leg, then had to walk a couple kilometers on it.
On Sunday, we were absolutely relieved to be leaving and headed to Florence. In fact, the hope that Florence was going to be better was the only thing that was keeping us from ending the vacation right then and there. Instead, a dark blue Volkswagen Polo TDI ended it for us. Just outside of Rome in the sleepy little suburb of Casalotti, a 68 year old Italian restaurant owner ran a stop sign and plowed into our 6 month old Mini Cooper S, slamming us into a brick wall. All people involved escaped without so much as a scratch, and surprisingly the wall was fine as well though we took out a fiberglass electrical distribution box attached to it. Our car only vaguely resembled a Mini Cooper, with both the front quarter panels and wheels smashed in a good foot, whereas his car was almost entirely unrecognizable.
As we all stood around a little stunned, about two dozen people came out of f*cking nowhere, ninja style to gawk at the crash and generally just get in the way. To our relief, one of them turned out to be a very nice French lady who spoke a little bit of English (our understanding of Italian consisted of the general touristy basics: hello, goodbye, thank you, where is the bathroom, numbers, etc) who drove us to the nearest International Phone Center. But because it was Sunday, all the insurance companies, the US Embassy and the Defense Attache were all closed and unable to help us. So we towed the car, got a hotel in the outskirts of Rome and proceeded to get drunk.
The next morning we head out to see the Defense Attache guy at the Embassy who didn't have to help us, but because he and my husband are both in the Army, he wanted to look out for his fellow soldier. Hanging out in the Embassy was probably the coolest part of that whole trip, because it used to be private apartments of Queen Margherita during the 17th century and later, offices for Mussolini's National Fascist Confederation of Farmers. While playing phone tag, we learn that all police reports in Italy take a full month to be processed, so we shouldn't expect to see our car or even be able to make a claim with our insurance until then. Also, unless the police conclude without a doubt that the accident was the other driver's fault and he accepts (which he won't, because he was a raging asshole who tried to blame us) we're going to have to go back down there and attend court. We'd been told before we even came to Italy that Italian drivers were the worst in the world, but we quickly dismissed that. They weren't kidding.
By now, our checking account is kind of dwindling thanks to the hotel, taxi fare, phone calls, etc, so we head over to an internet cafe to move some of the money from savings into checking, fearing that we may be forced to stay in Italy indefinitely and pay thousands of dollars to get the car repaired. Only we find it that our savings account has been completely cleaned out, with a balance of $0. Nearly 2000 bucks was withdrawn the day before we'd left for Rome, and the account was closed. So with roughly a grand in checking and a couple hundred Euro in our pockets, we booked two train tickets from Rome to Bologna, and then a Ryan Air Flight from Bologna to Frankfurt.
The night train to Bologna was so overbooked that it was pretty much standing room only. It was so crowded that when I tried to wake my husband up as he slept against a window, he headbutted me in the nose and I was dribblin' blood for a while. Don't think it's broken, but maybe fractured. The train was full of an interesting mix of locals, tourists, backpackers and pickpockets. I nearly got into a bout of fisticuffs with one pickpocket as he roamed up and down the aisles mumbling "Scusi!" then blatantly shoving his hand inside everyone's pockets and purses. When he aimed for the inside of my husband's jacket, I smacked his hand away and he had the audacity to be offended and got all up in my grill. I ignored him and continued to cradle my nose until he backed down. Later, just outside of Florence, the police stopped the train and threw him out in the middle of nowhere. Sweet justice.
Fortunately, that was the end of our misfortune. Upon arrival at Bologna at 8am, we walked up to the nearest hotel, 60 Euro a night, ate their free breakfast and then crashed for 7 hours before our flight left for Frankfurt later that night. German never sounded so sweet as it did on that flight home. My husband's unit even sent someone to pick us up from the airport, and we ranted the entire way home.
All in all, this has been a very humbling experience. In a couple days, I may even be able to find humor in my own misfortune. But for now, home has never felt this good and I will never ever again take 8 hours of sleep, a decent meal and a safe place to sit down for granted again.
Worst Vacation. EVER.