Driving through Italy

Let me just say to begin with that there are no words to describe driving in Italy. The drivers are insane. They drive fast; they switch lanes without warning; most puzzling, they drive between two lanes, apparently unwilling to make a commitment to a lane in case the other one works out better. Road construction backs up traffic for miles, bringing it to a complete stop. We’ve been able to figure out that the sign says men are working on the road. What we can’t figure out is why they don’t tell you which lane is closed ahead. We think it must be some cruel joke. The fact that Bill has been successfully driving is a tribute to his patience and his superb driving skill. That’s a fact.

The drive to Trieste today took about two hours. Trieste is right at the top tip of Italy, the bootstrap of the boot. It sits on the shore of the Adriatic Sea. Driving into the town of Trieste is one of the prettiest sights I’ve ever seen.

There was absolutely no parking to be had. I can’t even tell you how many cars there were parked all over the city, all the way up the hill. We finally found a spot to fit our little car at the top of the hill. As we began walking down the hill towards the town, Bill realized that there was a bus that went past our parking space. When we got down into the city center, we walked into a tobacco shop where Bill had read that you buy bus tickets. In Italian that would have made an Italian mama proud, Bill asked for four tickets for the bus. I was surprised, because up until this point, Bill has been reluctant to speak Italian. Once he realized he could do pretty darn well and people could actually understand him, he has been talking up an Italian storm!

Once we got down into the city center, (where, surprisingly, there were not that many people considering the parking situation) we walked over to look at the Adriatic on which the town sets. We then had lunch at a café on the piazza in Trieste. While the waitress spoke little English, we were able to order lasagna Bolognese and a rice and chicken dish, both of which were delicious. We then were able to find out from the waitress (using our new fluent Italian!) to find out how to get to the amphitheater which was up hill from town.

We trudged up the long hill in extreme heat, and were rewarded with the lovely site of the town and a fine church and amphitheater.

Those who know me understand in what high regard I hold Lidia Bastianich, the Italian chef whose program is on PBS. In fact, in our family, she is “Lidia” in the same way as you have Cher or Madonna. Trieste was the home of Lidia. She was not born there, but when her family was forced to leave Pula in Croatia, they located in Trieste. I looked and looked for Lidia around the town, but to no avail. Sigh.

We had hoped to get to Pula, but it turns out that our GPS (which we refer to as “the football” because we are as dependent upon it as the U.S. President is upon the black briefcase that he carries and calls the football) is not programmed for any place that is not in the European Union. Croatia is not part of the Union. We would never have returned and would have been driving around endlessly until who knows when.

We were so tired tonight that we didn’t even go out and get dinner.