Easy Rider
October 9, Rome Italy. When the Hotel Veneto sent us to the other hotel, they called a cab and had me follow it there with the van. The cab driver was then going to lead me to the car return depot, wait for me to check out, and take me back to the hotel. Now that’s service! So we get to the hotel, the driver drops off the luggage, and starts to leave. Sara stops him and reminds him that he has to take me to the rental agency. He now claims that he has no such instructions, and when Sara said she would call the manager to confirm, he jumped in the cab and took off. I later found out why.
We checked into the temporary hotel and I asked the desk manger how to get to the rental agency. He looked up the address and said it is very close, but difficult to drive to. He takes a map and starts to draw a line from the hotel to Budget’s office that looks like my cardiogram. He tells me when I come out of Budget, to walk straight down the street from the agency, about 10 blocks directly to the hotel. However, because of all the one-way streets, I have to take the circuitous route. “No problemo, signore,” I say. He hands me the map and says, “Si, si, easy. You go through the arch in front of the hotel, and follow the map.” I tell Sara to take the luggage to the room and get settled, while I return the car. Major mistake.
The hotel is situated on one of the largest piazzas in Rome, about a quarter mile wide. It is intersected by the Appian Way or some famous ancient viaduct. I jump in the van, and with the map in my lap, circle around to the viaduct. That’s when I had the first “Oh, shit!” moment. There were 14 arches with cars passing through, so I cruise around looking for the one with the street that starts with a C. The manager marked the map with a Sharpie, obliterating the names of every street I’m supposed to take. As I drive around the piazza, I can’t identify the right street. When I get to the fourteenth arch, I take it, knowing it is definitely the wrong direction. It puts me on a ramp that takes me about a mile out of the way. I start doubling back, looking for a cross street that I can identify on the map. Finding none, I get to a park that is on the route to the Rome Train Station (where Budget is located). Since I can’t read the obliterated street names on the map, I start counting the streets and alleys to find the lefts and right turns, and after about a half hour I turn onto a street and see the station about four blocks ahead. Am I good, or what? However, in front of me is total gridlock approaching the station. Cars, buses, taxis, and trolleys are all jockeying for position to get there, coming in from several side streets.
When I get to the corner of the street alongside the station where I’m supposed to turn right, just like the map says, the sign says “Left Only.” So I follow the gridlock around to the left, and make my way back through the maze of streets and alleys and after another hour I get onto the street I want in the right direction. The manager told me that the office was at number 36, and of course there is no 36, just the train station, which is easily a quarter mile long. And like any passenger terminal, cars are double and triple parked waiting for their arrivals. I realize that the Budget office is somewhere in the terminal, but I can’t leave the van to go in and find it. So I work my way out of the traffic, and try to find my way back to the hotel. Two and a half hours after I left, I’m back at the hotel, with the van illegally parked, and I stagger into my room. Sara, Chris and Bob are all frantic, but relieved that I’m still alive, although barely breathing from stress overload.
After I catch my breath and wash my face, I take the three of them with me, back for another crack at the terminal. I double-park and send Sara and Bob into the terminal to find out how to get rid of the van that was due back a few hours ago. After ten minutes, they come back and report that we’re not looking for Budget, even though that’s what the paperwork says, we’re looking for Tagament. They are located in a garage, a couple of blocks straight behind us, but of course it’s a one way street. So we drive through the gridlock again, go around the train station, down the other side, through a tunnel under the train tracks and to the garage. As I pull in, I realize that this garage was not intended for nine-passenger vans. Thinking that I am going to take out every light bulb and sprinkler head in the ceiling, we slowly make our way up to the sixth floor. The ramps and aisles are so narrow, that every turn at the bottom and top of each ramp is a three-point turn. It takes a full ten minutes to get to our destination. Some guy, who is at the top of the ramp directs me into a slot, takes the paperwork, checks the mileage, asks me to sign and tells me we’re done. I am so relieved, I grab the paperwork, and we head for the exits.
And just as the desk manager promised, the walk back to the hotel was direct and easy. We only encountered three hookers along the way. Even Sara recognized them for what they were. At six o’clock we completed the three and a half hour drop off that took place only ten blocks from the hotel. And then I had another “Oh, shit!” moment. What if this guy in the garage didn’t work for the rental company, and stole the van. I have no receipt or documentation, other than the original paperwork. I can’t wait to check my American Express Statement.
