Chapter 1: From the Crooked spire to the eternal city

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Chapter 1

From the crooked spire to the eternal city

Italy

The alarm clock rings the changes, time to rise sleepy heads! It was a wet, miserable Derbyshire morning, as our travellers are awoken by the sound of an annoying cockerel squawking, indicating they should be waking up. The annoying part of this wake up call was not the fact that it was a cockerel as such, it was the fact that the blasted bird noises were digital and emanating from the little black box next to the bed. Furthermore it’s batteries were beginning to fail giving it the sound of a dying cockerel squawking its last triumphant cock-adoodle-doo.

Chesterfield, a fairly small Derbyshire town, famous only for its crooked spire and the fact their football team once reached a semi-final of the FA Cup provided the back drop. Maya still needed to pack those last essentials, you know the sort of things, passport, immunisation record, E111, and Simon and Garfunkel’s greatest hits tape. Martin had already prepared the week before, as he wiped his sleepy eyes, it dawned on him that this was indeed a very big day.

Today was the result of a year’s planning, a trip of a lifetime, the culmination of all that gone before, and all that was to be. The make or break of this turbulent six-year relationship, a new start, a new life, a path never trodden together by these two. They were about to leave this British isle of past glories and unleash themselves upon a world unexplored, a world still to be savoured.

It was February 2nd 2004, almost a month later than originally foreseen. Excuses a plenty had delayed their start, but now finally there was no going back, flights and accommodation had been booked and paid for. The snow had melted and the floods were receding, insurance secured, ISAs in place, and Maya’s parents were truly ready for their departure (relieved though somewhat emotional). December 2003 had seen our two friends quit their fairly highly paid London jobs, the mid terraced house in Croydon had been sold to a Japanese doctor who insisted on keeping the Koi carp in the pond as part of the purchase. They had decided to leave the rat race, the stress of city life, the constant smog induced colds, and the anger exploding daily from the most trivial situations.

First stop, Chesterfield, Derbyshire. The home of unfriendly bus drivers, pork pies, Zanzibar nightclub and Maya’s parents. Just for a month, they decided was enough as a base to say farewells, to plan the itinerary, and spend their final Christmas with the Maya's parents. (A tradition Maya had adhered to from her first Christmas to her 30th one). The festive season hurried along, filled with charades, Derbyshire hospitality and Auntie Lesley having one of her turns again. January flew by without incident, and finally here they were, weary eyed at 4.00am, finally packed and ready to go.

A lift to the station and some tearful farewells saw Chesterfield’s Central Lines Trains take our heavily backpacked twosome to Ely in Cambridgeshire. Home of Oliver Cromwell, stunning cathedral, and the Ely folk weekend, also home of a railway station with connections to Stansted Airport. A quaint little airport, which provided Maya with several double brandies, who feeling a little agitated with the prospect of flying, needed the alcoholic intake to settle her nerves. The check in was lightning quick and onto the waiting lounge for Flight EZY3327, the 15.10 to Rome Ciampino. It had been Martin’s profound idea that if they were going to see the world, then why not start in Rome, if all roads lead to Rome then all roads must lead away from Rome.
Just twenty minutes before boarding, Maya popped her Valium, a measure supposedly to counter her fear of flying. In mental health patients, one tablet usually subdues the patient sufficiently; Maya popped three of them on top of the two double brandies already consumed. The plane awaited them both, and even though it had only been twenty minutes since taking the tablets, Maya became convinced that they were not going to work, so she took a fourth pill, enough to fell an ox. A free for all ensued as no seats are allocated on Easyjet flights, just grab what you can.

That would have been the plan, were it not for “ Maya the high “ insisting they sit in the least noisiest part of the plane, namely the front. Martin did manage to get a window seat, with Maya next to him, and her imaginary fat lady in a floral dress squashing her child sat next to her. Months before, she had gone to a hypnotist who had told her to imagine somebody that made her laugh sitting next to her, so the fat floral lady it was to be.

Take off was delayed, just what was needed as Maya started to speak utter waffle. Three passengers had failed to arrive after having checked in, so their bags were removed and they were left behind, much to the pleasure of the other passengers.

“ Ladies and gentleman, welcome aboard, etc…just to inform you that there will be some turbulence for the first five to ten minutes whilst leaving London, but the good news is that the rest of the journey should be smooth”.

This was not what Maya had wanted to hear, though a little blurry eyed, she was still very aware of her surroundings. Turbulence = Hell! They took off, and after some very minor bumpiness, the plane was cruising at 37,000ft and all felt safe and smooth. They were flying high, though Maya at this point had been elevated far higher than a mere 37,000ft. The Valium had really kicked in, and the conversation had become to say the least, a little confusing. Having never before wished to look out of the window, Maya was leaning over to do exactly that. She began to question the cloud formation, though her eyes could not really assimilate the skyline. In fact her eyes couldn’t really assimilate very much at all, she was away with the fairies. The concoction of brandy and Valium had sent her soaring to a place of pleasant air-travel. She may not have reached a point of actual enjoyment, but this had truly been best effort yet.

Outside the sunset was breathtaking, deep oranges with black shadows encompassing the horizon, a perfect way to approach Rome. For a mere two hours and ten minutes later, they were approaching the runway. “ Where’s the runway?” Oh wow there it is, touchdown. Welcome to Rome Ciampino.

Through the airport in very quick time, luggage collected and bus provided at 8 euros each. (A taxi upon asking was 40 euros) All this had been effortless, well almost, except for the fact that Maya was like one of the walking dead. The bus was fairly comfortable, just a twenty minute ride later, they were deposited near the Stazione Termini (Rome’s main railway station). Back in England, the hotel had been booked online and was advertised as being near the station, what it had failed to mention was the fact that were hundreds of hotels also based around the station. They walked aimlessly for a short while; rather stupidly they hadn’t printed a map off with the location of the hotel. (There’s planning for you) Suddenly whilst strolling along the streets of Rome, Maya accosted an elegant old gentleman to ask for directions, which must have been rather terrifying for him as this Northern English girl with eyes like a zombie demanded to know where the hotel was. Though his elegance may have been admirable, his map reading skills left a lot to be desired. Ten minutes later, it was actually Martin that pointed out the road to the gentleman who kindly pointed it out to Maya.

It was actually the next road on the left, on Via Palestro, nr.88. A fairly well lit street, peppered with many other hotels and a very colonial looking Embassy, very much in the Graham Greene style. At the far end of the street, they find the Hotel Gabriella, a tall edifice, comprising of several other hotels. The building had been split into a different hotel on each floor, quite novel really. Up the rather grandiose staircase, not ideal when wearing a 25kg backpack, though an out of order wire elevator would have provided an alternative, if it had in fact been working.

Glass sliding doors open up to a modern reception desk, with a young blonde Italian woman sat behind the desk. It was assumed that this must have been the daughter of the family who had been running this hotel since 1954. (H: - Hotel Gabriella: - offers comfortable rooms, modern amenities, restaurant, buffet breakfast, set in ancient city centre). With the booking confirmed, keys handed over and breakfast to be served between 7.30am-9.30am (Reasonable time for most except these two), they headed to their room, room number 32. A little on the smallish side but with a large matrimonial bed. (For once it wasn’t two singles pushed together) In the words of Stephen Fry, “Compact and Bijou”, clean and more than adequate for our two travellers to crash out in. It was now around 8.00pm and Maya was still very much in the land of pixies so off she went to pixie-land.

Showered and hungry, money was obtained from the nearest cash point and around 10.00pm they stumbled upon a small “ trattoria “ nearby to the hotel which was to provide some much needed fuel as Easyjet do not provide meals. Friendly Italian waiters, well interspersed seats and a Serie A football match on the television provided the entertainment at this diner like establishment. Maya had the broccoli pasta; Martin had the swordfish, washed back with a nice Vino Rosso Della casa. A perfect end to the first day of this adventure. Well not quite! Two English women, one of them very inebriated left the place after having given their contact details to the other waiters. Rome, the city of love had obviously confused these two into believing that it was perfectly acceptable to act like two inebriated slappers on heat. It had been a very long day, and both our companions were ready for their first night’s sleep under the Roman skies. Day 1: Highlight: getting there!!!

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