Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
Seven hours later, Kindness One was running on fumes, and I was running on my last
drops of adrenaline. We drove into the main square of the ancient town. Like most Italian
piazzas, it had been a part of the city for hundreds of years, its stone structures worn smooth
by time, a reminder of the millions of people who had lived there and long since gone.
If you listened carefully, you could still hear the horse-drawn carriages clacking down the
road.
Unfortunately for me, I was receiving little help in this Italian town. You see, in order
to call my Torino friends, I needed to find a phone, and in order to find a phone, I needed
to find someone who would be willing to let me use theirs. This was apparently a far more
difficult request than I had anticipated.
Finally, I came across a local man who spoke English and seemed willing to hear me
out. Ricardo was in his twenties with blonde hair and an easy demeanor, as though he were
waiting to go out on that yacht I had been expecting in Saint-Tropez. He couldn't help me
with a place for the night, but he offered to let me use his phone to call my Italian friends.
Unfortunately, it went to voicemail, but then Ricardo offered to call a friend who lived
about twenty minutes outside of Torino. He spoke to him briefly and explained my situ-
ation.
He hung up the phone, “Filipo says you come stay with him.”
“What?” I asked, flabbergasted.
“Yes,” he smiled, nodding with an easy smirk as though he did this all the time. My new
Italian friend drew me a rough map and sent me on my way.
I was so excited I didn't even bother to ask him anything else. I had the man's name.
Filipo. I had his address. Roberto Street. And I had a crumpled up piece of paper with a
pathetic attempt at a map. Turns out, I was heading toward disaster.
I started riding, and then I realized the patently obvious: I was lost. And not just, “Oh,
it's only around the corner” lost. I was Italy lost. Which meant I was in the middle of a field
in the middle of the night in the middle of nowhere. I pulled over to look at the map again.
Whatever road I was supposed to take I had clearly missed, and whatever road I was on,
I couldn't find on the chicken scratches Ricardo had drawn for me. He said it was twenty
minutes outside of town, but that was an hour ago. So I did what any good sailor does when
lost at sea, I started to pray. Out loud. In a field. In Italy.
So um, universe, I'm really grateful for this map. And I am grateful to Ricardo for giving
it to me, but I could really use your help right now. Because I'm lost. Like, really lost. And
scared. In fact, as I'm sure you can see I am in the middle of absolutely nowhere. Don't
