Written by Rod

The major highways in Italy are fantastic. Three lanes in either direction. Great signage. Cruisy driving. The roads/lanes off the highway and in the villages are a nightmare. It vaguely resembles some sort of video game; where you accelerate and pull out and pass a slower vehicle on a whim and slow down to squeeze past an oncoming vehicle in the narrower sections. Cars just seem to be parked wherever someone felt the need to hop out of their car for a chat or to pop into a shop. The locals drive care-free; on their phones and/or smoking. At least one hand waving in the air at all times. I drive with permanent white knuckles, in a state of constant apprehension of the next situation.  There is not a moment of relaxation to be had at the wheel once off the highway. I am getting sweaty palms and palpitations as I write this. I kid you not.

We reach Campagna. We have Sat Nav built into our leased, brand new Peugeot. We also have some directions written down by the former owner of our property. We also have the contact number of our host in Campagna. What could possibly go wrong? None of these prevent the drama of the next hour or so. In fact, they are all complicit. Firstly, it turns out the directions are very confusing. We ditch these when we get to the village. Next, we call the host, who, it turns out, speaks no English. We send him a photo of the roundabout where we are lost, hoping he will rescue us. I think, as I write this 2 days later, it is still sending. He sends us latitude/longitude coordinates in decimal format. I change these into degrees/minutes/seconds using my calculator and we decide to give Sat Nav a go. Biggest mistake of my life, not counting my ex-wife.

I figure Sat Nav can get us close with these coordinates, then either Plan A (the written directions) or Plan B (contact the host) will be more likely to succeed. Sat Nav had other ideas. I was led through the bowels of Campagna. Each new laneway was narrower than the last. “Surely not!” was my constant reaction. Jess had to get out of the car to check that we could fit through. Fortunately, the Peugeot has retractable side mirrors. Otherwise we would not have made it through. I am not exaggerating.

We then crossed an “intersection”, comprised of 4 buildings pointing towards a crossing of doom. Sat Nav wants me to turn right, but there is no room. I have to go across the “intersection”, into a dead end, so that I can then reverse and turn back into the intersection. There is a car parked in this cul de sac.

It restricts my turning room and I feel like Austen Powers, inching back and forward to no effect. Fortunately the owner appears out of nowhere and moves his car. It is still a tight fit and his experience in this “intersection” is vital in helping us to extricate our vehicle. He points me in the same direction as Sat Nav and thus instantly creates suspicion. I look at Belinda and she shrugs. So I follow our new Messiah, down the lane.

Now we come to a T “intersection”, just as narrow as the previous “intersection”, only with one less option. The Messiah tries to coach me around this corner. It’s like deja vu all over again with the Austen Powers thing. “Avanti” is his common command. He motions me to turn the wheel and, when I look puzzled, simply reaches inside my window and turns the wheel for me. Belinda thought he would climb on my lap at one stage. (This was not an option, due to the lack of room in the laneway.) Belinda, in one of her finest team-player moments, also thought about filming the whole scene. (This is on a par with her decision that I would do all the driving in Italy.) In hindsight, I wish she had; it would have been hilarious.

All the while, we have been on sloping cobblestones. Stalling and rolling back have been constant threats (and realities). The razor sharp corners of the buildings almost have me in tears. (I am cast back 30 years or so, to my Driver’s Licence test, when my legs shook like jelly on the San Andreas fault, as I tried to complete my reverse parallel park.) My left hand mirror did clip a corner at one stage, but sustained no damage.

Eventually he gets me around the corner and we drive around a real corner and park in a bit more space. This is the light at the end of the tunnel. Belinda has the bright idea to call our host and get him to talk to the Messiah. Not sure how we will know what the outcome is…

It turns out that he knows our host. He motions us to stay put and our host will be here anon. All the while, I had been so focussed on the Peugeot and the pointy buildings, that I had almost forgotten that Hamish had been sitting in the back seat all the while. I asked if he was okay. “That was fun”, he said.

Thirty minutes later, we are guests at a wedding, tucking into a yummy lunch with carafes of well-deserved red wine, whilst admiring the amazing view.

Welcome to Campagna.

We picked up the car and headed to our first night’s accommodation “Palazzo Rosa” in Torrice, about 90 mins south of Rome. If we had any doubt we were no longer in Australia, the Palazzo Rosa confirmed we were definitely in Italy. Narrow, hilly streets, lack of road signage, tourism brochure views, this was our first taste of the real Italy.

Our young host, Mike, spoke decent enough English and checked us in. He asked us if the price was correct – surely he knew how much his rooms sell for? Anyway, we were all pretty happy to get out of our travelling clothes, get through the shower and head downstairs to the café for dinner.

Neither the chef nor the waiter spoke any English, but we got by with a bit of help from Mike. We ordered 4 serves of pasta; 2 x mushroom fettucine, 2 x bacon/tomato spaghetti. We were given bread with cherry tomatoes and what looked like ham fat, drizzled with olive oil. Delish. The pasta was also lovely. Hamish started to lose the plot somewhat, so we hurried upstairs and all went to bed.

I’d woken up with a pounding headache at 4am and hit the Panadol. Still had it when I woke again at 8am – realised I hadn’t had a coffee for near on two days. 1 x espresso = headache gone. Breakfast (included in our price) consisted of breads, ham, cheese, yoghurt, fruit and lots of sweet bakery treats. Hamish had Nutella on pikelets, both Jess and Rod had some sort of cake; they were pretty happy to be able to legitimately be eating sweets for breakfast!

We headed off feeling pretty good to be going to our rental property in Campagna, for the next 6 days.

I would like to say the trip to Rome was uneventful; it was not. I can honestly say, and the rest of the clan would back me up with this, the best thing about it was arriving in Rome. It’s not what you think. Yes, the flights are long and cramped and yes, you never really get any sleep, but if that was the only issue, I’d have nothing to write about.

1. Customs Strike – Melbourne

Being super organised, we had no trouble booking in and getting through customs with plenty of time to spare. Our flight was scheduled to leave at 2255 and we were probably at the gate by about 2130. Unfortunately for the 400 odd people on board, there were nine people who, for whatever reason, had been not so organised. I think it was the pilot who announced customs staff would not fast track them. We waited for these last remaining passengers to get through customs and our plane finally took off just after midnight.

2. Hamish

Hamish promptly fell asleep soon after we boarded. Rod and I foolishly thought we were going to be set for the rest of the flight; I mean, the kid can sleep. Two hours later Hamish woke up in a terrible state, crying and screaming. I held him and tried to calm him. No good. Rod tried. No good. “I want my sister Jessie!” I think Rod was happy to hot foot it out of there and swap seats with Jess. Hamish calmed down and settled in to watch 8 back to back episodes of Peppa Pig. By this stage it’s about 0230. Awesome. 2 hours in.

3. Do you need a Nurse?

I think a few of you know I was keen to deliver a baby on my flight to Rome. I mean, I don’t know much about it, but I figured it would pass the time. I’ll let you off the hook. I didn’t deliver a baby.

I set off to take Hamish to the toilet. As we got there I noticed a pair of feet sticking out from the corridor where the toilets are. I didn’t initially get involved, but after a few seconds, I stuck my head around the corner to see a youngish guy with oxygen on and another young (and amazingly good looking) guy at the airway end of things. A couple of male flight attendants were also there, plus this guys’ Mum. I said, “Do you need some help? I am a nurse.” Well, they were all very relieved I was there. Turns out the airways guy was some sort of ambulance driver from London who knew a thing or two. He basically handed over that he had found this guy on hands and knees crawling to the bathroom; thought he was smashed. He wasn’t. Guy had leg cramps, dizziness and headache. In this middle of this ‘handover’ Hamish says, “Mummy I have to do a wee now!” I told them I’d be back in a minute. With Hamish hand balled to Jess, Mr Gorgeous and I did a bit of an assessment of vital signs and I did a neurovascular assessment on his calves/legs. They were fine. We all thought he was perhaps a bit dehydrated and had some soft tissue damage to his calf; turns out he runs 12km per day and had already strained his calf prior to the flight.  One of the flight attendants took him down to the back of the plane where there was a bit of space for him to walk around and stretch his legs. After a bit more of a chat to Mr Gorgeous about the guy, I went back to my seat. 30 minutes had gone by in a flash. Excellent.

4. You’ll have to call the flight attendant

Guy’s Mum came and asked me for more assistance for her son (who I suspect was in his early 30’s) a few hours later. He told me he was still dizzy and every time his head fell forward, it was hard for him to breathe. It was hard for me not to laugh! I told him to recline his chair; “It’s not comfortable,” he replied. I said, “Mate, look around you, no-one is comfortable.” He was turning into ‘that’ patient. He wanted the oxygen. Mum asked me to get some oxygen, I said she’d have to call for a flight attendant. To be honest, I don’t think there was much wrong with the guy, except he was probably needed fluid and electrolyte replacement and a big shot of cement.

5. Turbulence

I once read turbulence for a plane is like a bumpy road for a car. Tell that to Hamish’s stomach. Why is it when you need a spew bag there’s none. Fortunately I had my bare hands to catch Hamish’s late night snack as it poured from his mouth. Is this the greatest sign of love? I mean, you know you really love someone if you’re prepared to catch their spew. Of course at this stage, all flight attendants were buckled in for the bumpiness so Jess and I dealt with this hell until I woke Rod up to help find a vomit bag. At the same time, Jess who has been dealing with Hamish so well, looks out the window to see the haze of clouds brightened by the planes beacon lights. She shuts the window as a means to dealing with the turbulence which she hates; she’s feeling sick too.

So picture this. Jess is sitting in the window seat looking paler than usual with a vomit bag ready. Hamish in the middle, is covered in vomit. I am in the aisle seat, holding my hands up like a surgeon waiting to have his gloves put on. Like troopers, we just wait it out until the pilots give the all clear. We have a spare set of clothes for Hamish and he happily strips down to his boxers whilst we clean up. Great. Another hour down.

6. Dubai

The rest of the flight is actually, uneventful. My ‘patient’ has a team of paramedics waiting for him at the airport. I receive a first class toiletries pack as a gift from a grateful flight attendant. I tell him it was not necessary, but I love it anyway.

Dubai is the most organised, clean airport I have even seen. We arrive late, of course, and work out how to get to the next gate (by train) and board relatively quickly. Emirates flight is lovely. Food excellent. Staff all good looking. Hamish sleeps for the next 5 hours and only wakes up as we are getting ready to descend into Rome. Lucky child.

7. Customs Strike – Rome

It appeared the Customs Officers at Rome airport were also on strike, but it’s just the speed they go. The line for customs was extremely long, and just when you think you’re nearing the front, there’s a barrier that snakes around and around, so it just appears you’re getting close. The situation was not improved by Hamish yelling out, “I’m sick of lining up!” I mean, I guess it’s what everyone else was thinking too. Customs officer did not even look up at us as we gave him our passports; just stamped them and waved us through.

8. Peugeot who?

We were to pick up our Peugeot lease car from Rome airport. Rod had called to double check the booking Wednesday prior to our departure. You can probably imagine how we were all feeling getting to Rome. Excited to finally be here, I couldn’t even express in interpretive dance how exhausted we all were. We didn’t expect there would be someone holding a sign saying “Dunbar” so we don’t look for it. Pity. Spent the next hour trying to find out where the Peugeot booth at the airport was, had multiple fails at trying to use Rod’s newly acquired travel sim to call Peugeot Italy. Finally got through on a public pay phone and found out where to meet up. Met Marco who probably thought very little of us by this stage. He was very patient though, even when Rod went to drive the shuttle bus to the depot: “No Sir, I will drive.”