Travel Love

4/7/1986 — Rainy Spring Sunday evening on the outskirts of Milan, Italy.

It is starting to get dark, light beams approach white through foggy rain and trail red on taillights of cars flowing past. A little cold, getting wet, standing on the side of autostrada with my sister, thumb outstretched into traffic — an open hand to the universe.

Three days into my first European adventure and true freedom felt in my life — I am jet lagged, tired and perhaps a little hungover from many beers the night before in bar located in a cave some 400 miles north in the small German town of Gottingen where I had met up with my sister who was studying for a year abroad.

Trying to save for graduate school, I was hoping to make my way around Europe for the next 6 to 7 weeks on less than $25 dollars per day (for everything, food, transportation, lodging). I had no idea how this would all work or what I would get into — the nuclear meltdown not far away in Chernobyl just days off, the wild dogs chasing me through midnight black Barcelona slums, jumping from a moving car to escape potential molestation in France, getting completely lost and almost giving up on life in the tarns and Highlands of the English Lake District — these events were all still days and weeks away — it sure was going to be good fun!

But I knew nothing of that now, I just knew I needed to travel cheap, and we needed a ride fast. A rendezvous had been set for tomorrow at noon on the Spanish steps in Rome some 6 hours south down this road and we were determined to make that date.

About 30 minutes after being dropped off in this spot by our ride from the North, a small non-descript box truck pulled over before us and a man rolled down the window to speak with us.

It did not look like an inviting ride and in the dark and rain it was hard to see and also understand the man who was before us. We did not have other options and standing on the side of the road was getting old, we asked if we could get a lift to Rome?

He seemed to indicate yes and got out and led us to the windowless back of the van. We entered and sat on the wet, cold metal floor of the empty cargo bay. It was cramped and when he shut the door the darkness and sense of foreboding enveloped the space. Should I be concerned only a couple days into my first international adventure things seem to be getting a little sketchy?

As rain dripped through the cold corrugated metal sides of the back of the van, we slid around on the floor while driving down curvy roads . I looked across at my sister thinking. Is this okay? Where is this guy that picked us up on the side of the road as we were hitchhiking going to take us? I was scared but tried not to show it to my little sister. A bit later had a feeling this doesn’t seem like the way to Rome? My internal compass felt like we’re going elsewhere.

How long before we know where we are really going, before we know what is going on, before we stop? Just then I wondered are we locked in the back of this thing? SHIT!!!!…. . About an hour and half into the ride, to my relief, we started to slow down. Then we stopped. Oh great, I thought, maybe we were getting gas, and this was way to soon to be Rome. The ride at this point was all was a little unnerving.

Shortly the driver, who would later we would come to know as Anthony Giallongo open the back doors and invited us out but that did not relieve my anxiety, this was not a gas station but an industrial looking area very dark and looking somewhat abandon. This definitely wasn’t Rome.

There were no signs, even street signs noting location to be seen and no activity or movement in the area. What there were was lots of dark buildings and seemingly abandoned cars. A great spot for foul play I thought!

Next we were invited to go through some rather tall institutional-looking metal gates into a courtyard. These were the kind of gates designed to keep people out, or perhaps in! Surprisingly the courtyard opened to a remarkably modern looking set of condominiums, we were welcomed inside. One short elevator ride up to the top on the third floor and what happened next was a complete surprise, unexpected and yet in some ways incredibly familiar.

We entered the condo into a beautiful and well decorated modern family home full of life and people. Probably 12 people in all welcomed us, from children to grandparents, seemly all part of the same family. We did not speak Italian and their English was sparce, but introductions were made. Next, we were invited to sit at a long table set for everyone that seemed to filled the small apartment.

Post haste the most delicious multicourse banquet began. It was perhaps 10 in the evening at that point and the feasting and drinking went on till 2:00 to 4:00 in the morning with no break. I don’t remember sleeping that night. Without really speaking a common language but with lots of hand gestures and smiles, we enjoyed each other’s company. I remember my sister could gesture and smile with the best of them.

There was beer, then wine, then champaign, then brandy, followed by coffee. Antipasto was followed by pasta, then fish then meat and vegetables, cheese and fruit were then followed by cakes and chocolates for dessert. All the while hand gesturing, warm eyes and family pride seemed to communicate passion for a variety of questions and topics.

A highlight of the evening was when we understood what was on the wall, the meaning of all the pictures and the pride and the joy that family felt for generations of men whose pictures were hung before us. There were 10–12 portraits in a similar uniform that seemed to signify something noble. Each portrait seemed older then the last. Men all dressed in regalia of some significant post or office. We still didn’t know at this point if we were getting to Rome but we were having a good time! Then we came to an understanding of what the uniforms signified.

The uniforms were of the Italian police in Rome and the gentleman who picked us up on the side of the road was going into Rome for his week of duty the next morning. Anthony was the latest in a line of first-born men in that family that all served in Rome as part of a special police force going back several hundred years! After vacationing in the North for the weekend he was stopping by home his parents’ home in Genova for the night before heading to an apartment in Rome where he lived for the week.

So we caught the commute with Anthony from Genova into Rome with the raising morning sun but covering the ground quick enough to make our noon rendezvous far to the south was still in question, it would be tight. The whole adventure was predicated on getting to Rome on the Spanish Steps by 12:00 that day.

Thankfully the commute was smooth, and Anthony delivered us to a transit station near his post in Rome about 10 that morning, We then needed to find the bus that could take us across town close enough to walk through the alleys to the Step by noon.

Luckily, we found and boarded a bus that delivered us near the Spanish steps close to noon. This was before cell phones and before the internet, so if you were going to meet someone somewhere you had to be there pretty close to that day and time. Otherwise you are going to have a misconnection!

At the appointed spot luckily it was a weekday and the steps weren’t totally packed so we were able to find each other relatively easily. I remember that being quite joyous to have that successful rendezvous with my sister’s friend Ellen!

Looking back it was amazing how it all came together. We went on to have a special afternoon and lunch together then I was off on my own journey through France, Spain, England and Ireland and some points between. Moya and Ellen went off on a grand adventure I am sure, I honestly don’t remember the details of where they went to but I remember it was a marvelous, crazy and wild time from there for me for sure. And what I remember most about the whole trip, and much of my life, was being with my sister Moya. I felt I could go anywhere, meet anyone or face anything, and it would somehow all turn out ok, because I was with Moya.

I felt that then, and even more so today, decades later. This story is for you Moya, happy Birthday, I love you. Your gift in life is wherever you go you seem to have an hand open and a full table set for those with you………..