flashback: adventures in italy -- part 3

we spend the afternoon exploring the old part of the city on foot.  naples is known for its biblical kitsch, in molded ceramic or plastic or rubber.  i become convinced that we absolutely NEED an electrical biblical pastoral scene, something i can display in the front window at christmas that will make passers-by really wonder who we are.  we collect a few of those pieces and then add a piece in which a man shovels pizza into an oven with the flick of a switch.  "that'll really shake em up," i think.  i am completely tickled by the little start to my collection.  joe and tally come away with little plastic figurines-- joe a biblical warrior, tally a busty lady with a baby on her hip.  (she lives now in tally's doll house) 

as we walk, i repeatedly dial 
the number for a doll hospital that is located in this part of the city.  i know that tally will love something like that.  at first i only receive a recorded message, but then a man answers.  he speaks no english. undaunted, we head toward the address.  

the shop is locked up tight.  but in the window we behold an array of dolls and puppets, some intact, some in various states of amputation.  i can't peel myself from the window and i prattle onto tally about what we see.  she looks for a long moment, then turns to me with big eyes brimming with tears and says "mimi."  she is so distraught by the sight that she needs her pacifier!  i hand it over, and she stays for a moment longer, sucking the life out of it and rubbing the decapitated head of a doll that sits in a planter in the front of the shop.  

to cheer everyone up, i suggest cocoa.  aah, the soothing properties of chocolate.   this stuff is the real deal - melted chocolate in a mug.  the kind that will forever leave faint marks on the kids' clothes.  

we then head back to the hotel.  chris secures a sitter so we can go out for dinner.  she speaks no english but the kids could care less.  this isn't their first sitter who speaks no english.  "no" is universal.

we decide over our dinner (which we eat like real italians -- all courses --  and they are all fabulous) that we cannot keep the kids and ourselves entertained in the rainy weather in this city.  when we get back to the hotel we book a flight back home, via milan.

we finish out our stay in naples by losing our way to the airport and having our car attacked by a pack of dogs.  we comfort ourselves with the thought that once we hit milan, it will be smooth sailing.

we do have a quick turnover in milan, but somehow we make it to our gate with time to spare.  

and then we realize that my new collection is back in the overhead bin.  "you have to go back for it," i plead to chris.  he does.  the children and i wait for him.  and wait.  and wait.  and wait. the airline announces final boarding and the woman behind the counter implores me to board now.  at that moment, chris whips around the corner, in full sweat.  empty-handed.  

"they apprehended it."  

"what do you mean?"  

"they thought it was a bomb."

"you're kidding, right?"

"it was whirring, jenesse."

the switch for the man shoveling pizza must have somehow been jostled into the 'on' position.

"and you don't know what it took me to get back here so don't EVEN be angry.  i took a wrong turn and ended up outside the terminal.  OUTSIDE.  and you have the tickets.   all of the sudden i turned around and there was NO ONE THERE.   it was like the twilight zone."  

i can do nothing but laugh and laugh, because i know now exactly what this trip has been, and it's not an episode of the simpsons nor a scene from an independent movie.   it has been a journey into the twilight zone.