We got ourselves checked out of the hotel, everyone's bags were carted off to the train ahead of our arrival to Santa Maria Novella and we found our seats on the Freccia Argento superfast speedy super duper train to Venice. It feels like a homecoming to me!
I gave my talk on the train about the history of feuding societies of city-states before Italy's unification as a country. Frank had a smirk over in the back that only I understood. I'm sure he was picturing the scene the night before.
We arrived in Venice to gorgeous sunny weather and stepped into the taxis awaiting us. We made it to the hotel and there was our friend the concierge to hand out the room keys. There was a lot of laughing from the clients in recognition of our former companion.
"But where's Maria-Teresa?" and "Where's your Mamma?" was asked more than once.
"She's bringing the luggage to your room." Oh snap! Marco made a funny!
The hotel is insanely busy and a conversation with the manager was had. He apologized to Frank and I that they were going to have to put us in staff quarters because they were overbooked due to a conference meeting with the European Economic Union. They had more people show up than had originally booked. I didn't care one way or the other, but think it's not a good idea business-wise to overbook. I recognize that the hotel throws the guides' rooms in with the group booking, but we are contracted as such. If even more delegates had shown up would one of our clients get bumped out of their room, or some other paying guest not involved with us? Do you show up in Venice and expect your room and find out they "misplaced" your reservation or something? Makes me cringe. However, I know that the new software Marco was training on in Padova is going to eliminate this possibility entirely; no double booking in the future. Whew!
I told Frank I was fine with not staying at the hotel at all if he was cool with it - I have an apartment to stay in. He said these scheduling snafus happen occasionally and we are to just roll with it. That it was fine if I went to the apartment but to be (1) be at the hotel before breakfast as per usual (2) make certain the concierge desk knows I am to be called for anything and would be a 15 minute walk away (3) after a reasonable "dinner hour" on the town, I should stay in the hotel until later in the evening before going home. Oh gosh, I think I can handle that, considering I usually am in the bar in the evening with my friends anyway. I would spend the night in a closet-sized room and then move my things over to the apartment in the morning after breakfast.
And with that I spent the afternoon on the terrace talking with my friends who were working. Davide the porter came in to greet me as well, giving me the customary buss on both cheeks. Met up with the clients in the courtyard to get them on their gondola ride.
I had two hours set as a "reasonable dinner hour" which is a normal amount of time in a restaurant in Italy and I struck out to go see Mamma at seven. She had a pile of pasta waiting for me. She was feeding both her "kids" in shifts today, as her son wouldn't be home until ten. She was still so excited over her trip and kept chirping about it while I ate. She had told all of her friends, so I'm sure the next time they see me on the street in their neighborhood I'll be asked about "la vacanza." I kissed her goodnight and headed back to the hotel for a few more hours.
The bar was quiet until the EEU conference meeting let out at eleven. Suddenly there were 45 people in the place, all wanting either beer, cuba libres or grappa. Serena and Aldo kept up with the drink orders flying at them fast and furiously. They were all staying at the bar to drink, four deep, crowding in on each other (and me) even though there were plenty seats - in the room, out on the terrace or in the corridor. It's not just any corridor - it was in "The Talented Mr. Ripley" you know. A beautiful corridor with big comfy couches and chaises. Get out of my face and go drink your drink out there, will ya?
I stepped out to use the bathroom, leaving my sweater and scarf on the back of my chair, my purse on my chair, my glasses and wineglass in front of my chair. When I returned four minutes later my things were pushed to the end of bar and a Belgian woman was sitting in my seat eating pistachios.
Oh. Hell. No.
I walked up to the chair and said "Excuse me."
She asked me if I wanted my purse.
"No, I want my seat back."
"You left. I didn't know when you would be back and I wanted to sit."
"Lady, you need to get out of that chair. Thank you." I guess the look in my eyes convinced her of her wrongdoing because she stood up and moved to the other side of the room.
Aldo was stifling a laugh when I looked over at him. I asked him if he had seen her move my things. He said he had, and had told her that I was returning in a moment to that chair. She sat down anyway. He and Serena were wondering how I would react.
I then told him the story of the French woman in Florence from the night before. Aldo said "These Belgians, have been absolutely rude people since they arrived. Che Brutta!"
So it's not just me having problems with non-Italian Europeans. Good.
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