by Esther Chilton
PureTravel Writing Competition 2024
When my husband booked a surprise weekend away, I had visions of Scunthorpe or Skegness. But no, he assured me, we were going abroad for a city break. My eyes misted over. Barcelona? Paris?
When we arrived at Heathrow and checked in to Air Italia, I knew I was going to Rome. I’d always dreamed of Italy, of the glorious lakes, the mystery of Venice and above all, the wonders of Rome. And now I was actually going there.
I was most impressed by my husband’s ability to handle the bookings. He promised me we were staying in a lavish hotel and a car would be waiting for us on arrival. Though he did say he had gone slightly over budget. I groaned thinking about the Barclaycard bill thumping through the letterbox. But how could I moan? I was going to Rome.
On the flight I was hardly able to contain my excitement. Over the next two days, I would be seeing such sights as the Coliseum, the Trevi Fountain and the Roman Forum. Perhaps we would have time for the Vatican, too. Oh, such joy!
When we arrived, tired and thirsty, my husband informed me that he didn’t know where the hire car would be. I don’t know what I expected. Perhaps a car waiting for us on the runway? From the way I’ve started this paragraph, you know what’s coming next.
Yes, our first hour and half in the stunning city was spent walking round and round the vicinity of the airport trying to find the hire car company. It wouldn’t have been so bad if we weren’t being dragged down by suitcases and holdalls (I know it was only for a weekend, but I’m a woman and have to pack for every eventuality).
At that point, I would quite happily have caught a return flight home, but we decided to swallow our pride and hire a car with another company. Over a hundred pounds later, we were on our way. Hoorah! I was going to enjoy this holiday no matter what.
My husband went to get into the car. “I’d forgotten they drive on the other side,” he said, sliding into the passenger seat by mistake. “I’ve never done this before. I hope I’ll be all right.”
My eyes were out on stalks as he moved across to the driver’s side but not being a confident driver myself, I knew his efforts would be better than mine. However, I was beginning to change my mind as we lurched forward and barely missed the barrier.
After half an hour of seeing the same grim grey walls of the car park, we finally made it onto the streets of Rome. My husband took this moment to explain that the hotel was 30 miles away and perhaps I would like to direct him there. I knew I had forgotten something. My crystal ball was still at home.
Luckily, the hire company had provided us with a map (not to any particular scale, of course) and we crossed our fingers and headed east.
“Look out for any landmarks. We have to pass the Coliseum,” my husband said.
Well, I knew that was pretty big, so I couldn’t miss that, could I?
It was then that our minds were taken off all thoughts of the Coliseum and getting to our hotel. Staying alive became the most important issue.
It was fine on the dual carriageway, despite its being back to front, but my husband coped admirably. It was when we came off that we began to fear for our lives. You see, the Italians don’t seem to have the same laws of the road as us Brits. The rule appears to be: go where you like when you like, don’t worry about traffic lights, zebra crossings, waiting at roundabouts etc. And to make life more interesting, pedestrians leap out at you whenever they feel like crossing the road. Never mind that you’re doing 60 kilometres an hour at the time.
We did eventually find our hotel, minus a sighting of the Coliseum, some four hours after we left the airport and both parties had a much-needed drink. A firm decision was taken that no more driving would be done that day.
It wasn’t until the end of the holiday that we realised we hadn’t needed a car at all. We could easily have caught a train to the hotel as there was a metro station right by it and all the sights were nearby. Again, this wasn’t discovered until the final day as, by reading the map, everything looked miles and miles away and it took us so long to get anywhere. For
example, it had taken us two and a half hours by car to get to the Coliseum. On the last morning, my husband decided to take a short walk and, within 10 minutes, found himself in front of the Coliseum. We blamed it on the map, one-way streets, lack of signs and policemen who seemed to point us in completely the wrong direction. It couldn’t have been our fault, of course.
The Coliseum, the Trevi Fountain, the many piazzas, churches and other wonders of Rome were everything I had hoped they would be. Rome is a beautiful city and I hope to return there in the future. I don’t think we’ll be driving next time, though my husband now thinks he can handle any driving situation and is hoping to be signed up to Formula One next year.
Photo by Chris Czermak on Unsplash
