Worst. Flight. Ever.

I was still a trifle exasperated trying to get the iPhone that I dropped on my flight from Florence to Paris back, so I wasn’t paying attention when my wife Anita was trying to relay some more bad news to me as we boarded the loooooooooong flight back home…

“I think they screwed our seats up.”

We had ponied up the extra dough for premium seats with extra legroom, like we had gotten on the overseas flight over. However, there was a mix-up somewhere along the way and our reserved seats had gone bye-bye.

I was trying to get some dumb old lady out of my aisle seat when the stewardess looked at my boarding pass and directed Anita and I to the middle two in a four-seat row.

Are you kidding me? At 6’4”, flying is never exactly comfortable for me, but this is looking like a death sentence.

At least each seat has its own built-in portable movie player, only the one on my seat doesn’t work. Of course it doesn’t…

And as soon as we’re off the ground, the person in the row in front of me decides she’s going to lay her seat back horizontally so she can get comfortable.

It’s okay… we only have ten hours of flying time ahead of us.

I break out my notebook and start writing a bunch of posts about my trip to Italy.

Thus concludes the adventures of Jack Sh*tily, Goin’ to Italy. Regular Jack Sh*t, Gettin’ Fit programming will continue tomorrow.

Misc Italy Pix

Goodbye, Italy. Goodbye, iPhone.

Here’s my problem: when a plane I’m traveling on lands, I’m ready to get off RIGHT THIS VERY SECOND.

My wife Anita said that on our next trip, I have to sit perfectly still until everyone else has left the plane, then slowly and casually get up from my seat, check that I have everything I started with and make certain I have the right bag.

Had we been following that protocol, I wouldn’t have jumped up out of my seat and had my iPhone fall out of my lap without me noticing it.

We were in Paris, and were on a long shuttle between gates when I realized that it was missing. Grrrrr…

I found an Air France representative who – miracle of miracles – was friendly and spoke some English. She made some calls and managed to get someone to board the plane and look under my seat, where they found my phone. My lucky day, right?

Nope, because she can’t get anyone to bring it over, even though I’m offering all of my remaining euros to anyone who’ll exhibit the tiniest amount of customer service.

The lady at the Air France desk is confident that my phone will be returned to me in short order and gives me an email address to write to in order to arrange delivery of the phone, which is going over to Bag Services. I make her repeat the email address three times, and then look over it to see if it’s correct.

I realize this isn’t going to end well when I send an email an hour or so later, while sitting on my flight back home, and get a bounce-back message telling me that it’s an invalid email address.

I spent the next two weeks explaining, begging, screaming, arguing and berating Air France employees. The bad news: my phone mysteriously disappeared again.

The good news: I learned to say “You suck!” in French (“Vous sucez!”).

Our Last Italian Restaurant Adventure

After a restful week in Cortona, Italy (with a few side trips to some surrounding towns), my wife Anita and I packed our belongings and headed back to Florence.

We spent a few hours buying last-minute gifts for our daughters and friends, and then started looking for a suitable place for dinner.The pressure was on because this would be our LAST DINNER IN ITALY.

I scoured the internet, reading reviews, checking out menus, considering recommendations. In the end, we just wound up (as was so often the case) just wandering around, but kept poo-pooing dining establishments for one reason or another.

“Too touristy.”

“Too expensive.”

“Too much fish on the menu.”

“Not enough fish on the menu.”

“Too not open.”

We were about to pull the trigger on another fairly well-reviewed spot that we weren’t exactly excited about when we turned the corner and happened upon a little dive that the couple entering was absolutely raving about, proclaiming it was one of the favorites of the Florence locals.

Even though it was kinda early, the place was jam-packed, and we got one of the last available tables. We overheard the group at the table next to us going on and on about this place, saying how great (and cheap) the food was.

We ordered, feeling confident that we’d lucked into a good choice and a fitting end to our Italian getaway. Then the food arrived and it was… really, really unremarkable. Not terrible, but nothing to write home about. Yes, it was cheap – the cheapest meal we had on our trip – but I can remember nothing about it other than it was cheap. Oh well…

Sometimes you win, sometimes you whine.

Postcards from Sienna

Another Crazy Italian Dining Experience

For the next couple of days, Jack Sh*t is chronicling his adventures on his recent trip to Italy as well as including tips to help you plan your own international travel. It is his special way of saying "Nanna nanna boo boo, I went to Italy!" to all his loyal readers.

 Our first dining experience in Cortona, Italy, turned out to be a lovely, up-scale restaurant that was just a slight bit unnerving because we were the only diners there. However, the food was fantastic, the wine was exquisite and the service terrific.

The next night, my wife Anita and I decided to try one of the city’s most popular places, a well-reviewed, don’t-miss spot that we (having not learned our lesson) haven’t made reservations for on a Saturday night.

But it’s way early, so we decide to give it a try right as the doors open. The owner/maitre d' is a friendly, garrulous godfather-sort, smiling broadly as we tell him our sob story about why we don’t have reservations (“We’re stupid!”).

He leads us to a table two feet away from where we’re standing, at the front door. With just the slightest hesitation, we give the wait staff our coats, take our seats and give an “it-all-worked-out” smile to one another. The waitress pours us some water and we start looking over the menu.

That’s when all kinds of crazy started to break out…

A group of would-be diners entered. Apparently it was some folks the owner knew, because they all stood there talking loudly and animatedly in Italian. Another couple entered and went to the bar, which was right on the other side of our tiny table. All of a sudden, it was as if we were sitting in a beehive.

Anita and I looked at one another, each of us getting more and more uncomfortable with the setting and realizing that it was only going to get worse as more people began arriving. However, considering that restaurants here charge a seating fee and no-telling-what for water, we were already on the hook.

It got louder and louder, until we finally agreed that even if the food was the best ever prepared, there was no way we were going to enjoy this meal. We were having the other kind of reservations, we told the waitress, who didn’t speaka the language. We wanted out!

The owner came over and made a big show of releasing us from our dining obligation. He was friendly enough, but there was a slight tinge of sour grapes that had nothing to do with the wine list.

Shaken slightly, we headed back to the restaurant we had enjoyed so much the day before, hoping we could finagle our way in on a busy Saturday night.

It turned out not to be a problem, as we were the only other diners once again. And once again, it was an outstanding meal (except, if I had it to do over, I probably wouldn’t order the sea monster).

Obviously, this was our place.

Postcards from Cortona

Under the Tuscan… Sunofabitch!

For the next few days, Jack Sh*t is chronicling his adventures on his recent trip to Italy as well as including tips to help you plan your own international travel. It is his special way of saying "Nanna nanna boo boo, I went to Italy!" to all his loyal readers.

 It’s been a whirlwind week in Italy for my wife Anita and I, filled mostly with touristy stops (feating our eyes on Da Vinci’s Last Supper in Milan, gondola gallivanting in Venice, art-appreciatin’ Michelangelo’s David and Botticelli’s The Birth of Venus in Florence, gulping down gelato… well… everywhere).

Now our vacation shifts out to a little house we’ve rented in Cortona, a little city surrounded by Etruscan walls - around 3000 years old - that was the setting from the movie Under the Tuscan Sun.

The city’s small enough to walk around the entire city in a day (though I don’t recommend you try it) and isn’t quite as… how do I put this?… English-speaky, as the big cities we’ve visited.

Staying in a house is so much more relaxing that living out of a suitcase in a hotel, even though the hotels we’ve been in have been fantastic). It’s so relaxing that I think I’m about done with all this vacation blogging.

My pants are gettin’ snug and my long-lost scale is starting to beckon to me again.

It’s been a great vacation, but it’s about time to get Jack back to gettin’ fit.

Driving in Florence… Kill Me… Please Kill Me…

For the next few days, Jack Sh*t is chronicling his adventures on his recent trip to Italy as well as including tips to help you plan your own international travel. It is his special way of saying "Nanna nanna boo boo, I went to Italy!" to all his loyal readers.

I woke up with the nightmare still freshly imprinted on my brain: I was driving, in heavy traffic, a car in which I couldn’t control the steering. Oh, I was yanking and turning the wheel, but the car wouldn’t do what I wanted, until finally we smashed into an oncoming vehicle.

My wife Anita and I had a quick breakfast, grabbed our suitcases and tromped the dozen or so blocks down to where we’d arranged to pick up our rent-a-car. To say I wasn’t feeling great about getting behind the wheel would be an understatement.

I hadn’t even gotten comfortable walking around in Florence. The traffic was insane and motorcycles zipped in and out of lanes willy-nilly.

So, with head hanging low, I took the keys to our car and squeezed in behind the wheel. It was raining – of course it was raining! – and the guy at the rental desk informed us that our GPS wouldn’t work in this part of the city for some reason or another – of course it wouldn’t work in the city for some reason or another!

And just redline my stress level, I had to grapple with the fact that I hadn’t driven a stick shift in roughly 25 years, and–back then– my overuse of third gear and underuse of the clutch chewed up my transmission in about six months.

I sighed, turned the key, said a silent prayer and slipped into first gear. It was noontime… I’m sure the very worst time to be driving around in a rainy, trafficy city with lots of one-way streets, roundabouts, crazy drivers and signs in a language I didn’t understand.

Let’s do this!

With my wife Anita navigating (“Next right, then next left… ummm… then something weird with a roundabout…”), we jumped into the deep end. We missed one of our turns, but figured we were kinda going in the right direction, so we motored on. What’s the worst that could happen? Oh yeah, a wreck in a terrible part of town in the rain. Quit asking me what the worst thing that could happen is! I’M TRYING TO DRIVE HERE!

Then we went through a tunnel and our GPS burped to life. We had one more scary, everybody-honking-at-us moment at an automated toll booth, but then we were on a major highway and everything was alright (after I realized that you need to drive 100 miles an hour in the slow lane).

About 10 miles outside of Florence, my butt finally unclenched and I let out a deep breath.

Next stop: Cortona!

Choosing a Rent-A-Car in Europe

For the next few days, Jack Sh*t is chronicling his adventures on his recent trip to Italy as well as including tips to help you plan your own international travel. It is his special way of saying "Nanna nanna boo boo, I went to Italy!" to all his loyal readers.

 There are a variety of choices available when it comes to renting a car in Italy. I've tried to provide some pros and cons of the most popular models available at the rent-a-car agencies.

 

The Dodge Deathtrap is somewhat safer than riding a bicycle, though not quite as fast. Pro: Easy to park. Con: Blows away in moderate winds.

 

The Ford Flapadoodle is a small yet sporty roadster that gets 75 kilometers per pint (tank holds two pints). Pro: Chicks think it's cute. Con: Can't get out of a pothole.

 

The Casalini Canoodle seats one and a half comfortably. Pro: Impossible to get speeding ticket. Con: Windshield made from Saran Wrap.

 

The Berkshire Brouhaha is a stylish, economical choice with enough trunk space to carry several pine cones. Pro: In accident, chances are other car won't have a scratch. Con: Only one pedal for clutch, gas and brake.

 

The Daimler Doodlebug offers plenty of headroom and can turn 360° in place. Pro: Dishwasher safe.  Con: Last mechanic that knows how to work on it died in 1997.

 

The Honda Hootenanny lets you basically go anywhere a motorcycle can go. Pro: Can fit into virtually any parking spot. Con: People constantly coming up to you and yelling "Was anybody hurt?"

 

The Fiat Flibbertigibbet has some parts that are actually made of metal. Pro: Glove compartment doubles as toaster oven. Con: Won't go in reverse.

 

 The Ford Filibuster provides more leg and headroom than you'd expect and fewer gears than you'd like (two). Pro: Fantastic gas mileage. Con: Zero to 50 in less than a week.

 

Oooooooooooooooooor... you can say "The hell with saving up for my retirement!" and go with the Peugeot 307 Coupé Cabriolet convertible like I did.

That's what I'm talking about!

 Ciaó, bitches.