Wow, day 11, boy, can time pass when you're having fun.
I'm currently sitting in an outdoor restaurant in a piazza in Firenze (Florence for the geographically challenged). I just finished a large beer, some bruschetta, and watermelon. The day is quite warm and I'd forgotten how good cold watermelon was on a hot day. I'm so mellow right now I almost can't stand it. The only thing that describes my demeanor at this moment is picture a 55-gallon drum of White Rose Petroleum Jelly. Yeah, I make Willie Nelson look up-tight.
Took me three hours to do my business at the FedEx this morning. But, I found it in style. Since the address I'd pulled off their site was incorrect, I had no idea where they were so I decided I'd go into Prato and find a police station and ask them. So, I programmed Prato into the GPS and took off for the city center. That doesn't sound so difficult to me, but, evidently, it's a challenge for our friend Mr. Garmin. It seems he didn't know the roads very well so, when I programmed in Prato he showed me a road some 5 kilometers from where I was and drew the line from there. He was nice enough to hint at the direction I should travel to get to his road...and suggested the distance. Now wasn't that nice of him?
(You don't think, do you, that Mr. Garmin might be motivated to program in little lost adventures after your map update is about two years old? I do. I wouldn't trust 'em in an outhouse with a muzzle on.)
I then drove whatever roads tended to move me in the suggested direction. It wasn't as easy as it sounds. Over here the road engineer was a snake. They've never gotten straight to a point in conversation, let alone actual fact. But, after many turns and starts and stops, I managed to hit the "magenta" brick road and find my way into Prato.
My serendipitous streak continued. As I rode into town I spied a group of about four policemen gathered at the side of the street. I don't know what portentous problem they were mitigating, nor did I care; they were there, and fate had juxtaposed this meeting in time and space. Who was I to deny it? Added to the luck of the moment, two of them were motorcycle cops riding Moto Guzzies.
Interestingly, the one who talked with me was not one of the motorcycle policemen, but he spoke good English and translated for the others. He was quite friendly, but still managed to determine I didn't need a special plate (he took my word for it), that I had liability insurance (again, verbal...no paperwork was perused), and I was driving on my Texas license (again, verbal...THANK GOD). Then, hearing my sad luck story that I'd sent important documents to myself care of FedEx but couldn't find the place, they, collectively, decided that the motorcycle cops would show me the way to the FedEx facility. In fact, they escorted me, one in front, one behind.
It was not next door, we probably went about 10-12 kilometers, winding through the busy streets, without sirens, but with authority, if you know what I mean. On reflection, I'm sure they didn't know where it was either, but got radio assistance from back at the 'shop.' But, get there we did; all the while, I'm sure, with the local citizens watching our convoy, assured the local constabulary had caught yet another decadent American gangster motorcyclist and were protecting the community, if not their daughters, from fates worse than death. Personally, I sort of resent that last thought. I can't be that bad! Or their daughters that good. I mean, after all, have you ever watched their television programming? They make the T&A stuff out of Mexico look tasteful.
So, the net of it all, to paraphrase Steve Martin in 'The Jerk,' THE NEW DRIVER'S LICENSE IS HERE! THE NEW DRIVER'S LICENSE IS HERE!! Plus, I took advantage of the opportunity to send a couple of things to my grandkids. Makin' lemonade here, folks...makin' lemonade.
Now, I'm a firm believer in Geiger's corollary to Murphey's Law: nothing good happens after a plan has been successfully executed. I've managed to ride over 4,000 kilometers without a legal driver's license on me. So, now that I have one, doubtlessly, I'll be stopped, questioned, and lucky if I don't get a ticket now that I'm legal. Just hide and watch.
I came back into Firenze and began the mellowing-out process described above. Now I'm just chillin' out.
"Just gettin' high on gettin' by's my stock in trade
Living it day to day
Pickin' up the pieces wherever they fall
Just letting it roll, letting the high times carry the low
I'm just living my life easy come, easy go"
(Okay, Texas music fans...that's an easy one. Who gets it?)
Meanwhile, a little walk around the streets yields some more pictures.
I hate people with talent. They make me feel so inadequate.
Taking advantage of a patch of grass. A hippie friend used to say, "Find grass wherever you can."
I'm pretty sure this is what he meant.
As you walk down these old streets you wonder just how old those pavement pieces are, and who has trod them before you.
(Or, at least I do. But then I'm on 'cation...I can think about stuff like that.)
Well, it is a Catholic country. There's gonna be BINGO.
This store has a lot of neat stuff in it.
A little cultural exchange.
Square, square, everywhere.
A little post-script on my earlier comment on Italian engineering. The Romans, of course, were great builders. They built great roads, aqueducts, coliseums and other magnificent building all over the known world. Now their ancestors come up with things like the following:
I am staying at the Best Western Ognissanti.
As you can see, they have two elevators.
Unfortunately, there is a wall between them. You walk to the first one, push the button and, after waiting awhile the bell "tinkles" on the other side of the wall. This happened numerous times to me.
Now, what the heck were they thinking?
By the way, this notwithstanding, it was a nice hotel with a very friendly and helpful staff.
Tomorrow, south. A check of the weather shows some rain moving in north and west of me. (Though, admittedly, my riding togs could do with a little shower.)
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