drollman (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} drollman) wrote,@ 2005-04-20 12:25:00 |
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Rome If You Want To
The saying goes, "When in Rome, do as the Romans do." If that's the case, I guess I need to start ripping people off and being extremely obnoxious. I've been here a day and already had two screaming matches, both of which nearly came to blows.
My Ryanair (like Jet Blue only cheaper - some flights are 99 pence!) flight landed yesterday morning at a small airport on the outskirts of Rome. I had dreams of warm weather and Sophia Loren-like chicks. Instead, I was greeted with lousy drizzle and an army dude who waved his giant machine gun my way.
After avoiding being shot, I took a bus downtown and called my friend Gillian, a fellow London, Ontario native who's been living here for about two years. She works for Peacepath Consulting, a small firm that provides consulting for various international non-profit groups. (I don't really understand what means, either.)
Gillan gave me directions and told me to take a taxi to her office. “It shouldn’t be more than seven euros,” she said. And off I went to Peacepath in a meterless Mercedes-Benz. Which should have been sign #1 that trouble was coming.
Seven minutes later, the taxi pulled up in front of her office.
“29 euros, please.”
“What?!”
I couldn’t digest what the driver had said.
"29 euros."
"Are you serious?" I asked.
“OK, I be nice. 29 dollars.”
“But it shouldn’t be more than seven euros!”
“SEVEN EUROS? YOU CRAZY! TAKE THE BUS!”
On and on it went. It got pretty ugly. Less than hour in Rome and I was already having my first screaming match. Eventually I (stupidly) handed him a 20 euro bill and slammed the door of his taxi. Not a nice introduction to the city.
I met Gillian, got her spare keys, and walked through the pouring rain to her apartment (opted not to take a second taxi). En route, I saw a line of people crowded into a small pizza parlor. It smelled awesome. It looked awesome. And I was starving. Good luck at last! La dolce vita, here I come.
As I neared the front of the line, a smallish man with a high school moustache walked in and began pushing his way to the counter. The wrongness of what he was doing was actually pretty incredible.
The guy in front of me said something in Italian and stopped him, so he decided to try and bud in front of me instead. Which, of course, I wasn’t going to let happen. I'd been jerked over once already and it wasn't going to happen again. I didn't care if he was fuckin' Mafioso. I yelled at him in English. He yelled at me in Italian. What the fuck was up with these people?
We stood in line next to each other, anger still boiling. When it came time to order, I went first, glaring at him as I ordered. If he ever shows up at a burrito place in San Francisco, that dude better watch the heck out.
OK, off to (hopefully) find the beautiful side of this city.
The saying goes, "When in Rome, do as the Romans do." If that's the case, I guess I need to start ripping people off and being extremely obnoxious. I've been here a day and already had two screaming matches, both of which nearly came to blows.
My Ryanair (like Jet Blue only cheaper - some flights are 99 pence!) flight landed yesterday morning at a small airport on the outskirts of Rome. I had dreams of warm weather and Sophia Loren-like chicks. Instead, I was greeted with lousy drizzle and an army dude who waved his giant machine gun my way.
After avoiding being shot, I took a bus downtown and called my friend Gillian, a fellow London, Ontario native who's been living here for about two years. She works for Peacepath Consulting, a small firm that provides consulting for various international non-profit groups. (I don't really understand what means, either.)
Gillan gave me directions and told me to take a taxi to her office. “It shouldn’t be more than seven euros,” she said. And off I went to Peacepath in a meterless Mercedes-Benz. Which should have been sign #1 that trouble was coming.
Seven minutes later, the taxi pulled up in front of her office.
“29 euros, please.”
“What?!”
I couldn’t digest what the driver had said.
"29 euros."
"Are you serious?" I asked.
“OK, I be nice. 29 dollars.”
“But it shouldn’t be more than seven euros!”
“SEVEN EUROS? YOU CRAZY! TAKE THE BUS!”
On and on it went. It got pretty ugly. Less than hour in Rome and I was already having my first screaming match. Eventually I (stupidly) handed him a 20 euro bill and slammed the door of his taxi. Not a nice introduction to the city.
I met Gillian, got her spare keys, and walked through the pouring rain to her apartment (opted not to take a second taxi). En route, I saw a line of people crowded into a small pizza parlor. It smelled awesome. It looked awesome. And I was starving. Good luck at last! La dolce vita, here I come.
As I neared the front of the line, a smallish man with a high school moustache walked in and began pushing his way to the counter. The wrongness of what he was doing was actually pretty incredible.
The guy in front of me said something in Italian and stopped him, so he decided to try and bud in front of me instead. Which, of course, I wasn’t going to let happen. I'd been jerked over once already and it wasn't going to happen again. I didn't care if he was fuckin' Mafioso. I yelled at him in English. He yelled at me in Italian. What the fuck was up with these people?
We stood in line next to each other, anger still boiling. When it came time to order, I went first, glaring at him as I ordered. If he ever shows up at a burrito place in San Francisco, that dude better watch the heck out.
OK, off to (hopefully) find the beautiful side of this city.
