The flight to Pisa takes about 2 hours from Manchester. My wife who hates flying, had taken her "happy" pills and was now wearing her "I don't care about anything" look while smiling inanely. I exchanged pleasantries with a lady on my right sat next to the window who I discovered was flying alone to meet up with her family in Italy. With oceans of pasta on our minds we munched somewhat half-heartedly through our "lavish" in-flight meal of sausage, fried (?) egg and beans.
The white peaks of the Alps passed far below us...as the man in the seat behind tapped the lady on the shoulder asking "if it was her money under the seat?" almost instantly she plunged head first under the seat...I couldn't help notice the sudden appearance of a couple of new rounded Alpine hills that blocked my view of the peaks. My wife gave me a "what on earth.. but I really don't care anyway" look.. after several minutes with her head under the seat and various bodily appendages appearing and disappearing.. the flight resumed its "normal" course.
For the English a flight to the sun usually involves divesting several layers of clothing in anticipation of warmer climbs. We had begun our descent from 30000 ft with the blue of the Med clearly visible through the window, when the lady inquired. "Are you of a nervous disposition......?" Not a question I could answer too confidently when flying at 30,000 ft.
"Would you mind if I changed into a wig ?"
"Errrr no..... I don't mind..." was I think my less than convincing reply.
"Well its like this...a few days ago I got a phone call from the family in Italy, to say my son had broken his leg and not to worry. Off course, I was beside myself with worry... and was ready to jump on the next flight out. After a few minutes they revealed that it was all just a joke."
"So I thought to myself how can I get them back...the thing they really hate is me with short hair...so I have bought this short wig...so that I can wind them up"
Now off course this was all perfectly plausible ...bizarre certainly, but just about believable. But as she reached into her bag and pulled out a bundle of hair and... a thought sprang into my mind that she could be a hijacker...after changing her appearance...no... she didn't look like a hijacker...no. By now Norah had had a couple of glasses of wine and was nodding with another "whats going on.. but I don't care anyway" look on her face.
A few minutes later we dropped out of the sky and avoided the Leaning Tower as it zipped past and came to a halt in sunny Pisa. We followed several crying Italians mumbling things like "thiiis is my home (sob) eeet ees soooo beautiful..I am never going back to Manchester" and yes the bewigged lady had her little joke with her family waiting for her family.
After picking up the hire car we traveled along the Autostrada towards Pescia. The road was quite busy and the shock of Italian driving was becoming apparent after a few kilometers the motorway traffic ground to a halt. Almost immediately cars bikes and wagons started driving at high speed down the hard shoulder not one or two but by the hundred while other drivers on the motorway jumped out of their cars to have a smoke or catch the last few rays of sun and have a chat. We sat inside our four wheeled bastion of Englishness giving each other looks of amazement. Unfortunately but not unpredictably the town we wanted was not indicated on the road signs even though our guide said it was and we zoomed onwards towards Florence.
As darkness fell, we finally realized we had missed our turn off, and I left the motorway at a place called Montecatini. After a further ten minutes driving round in increasingly desperate circles we found ourselves confronted by a member of the fearsome Carabinieri. I had read how these guys had bloodily busted the "Red Brigades" a few decades back...so it was an "uh.. oh"
The only English he knew was "No" and he looked like he meant it..... and all we could manage in Italian was a pathetic "si". There followed a brief "yes"... "no" interlude. A few seconds later his colleague ambled over..."it is an offence to drive in the pedestrian zone," he said in perfect English. (A crime only exceeded by olive oil theft and murder in these parts! ) The grim prospect of a night filling in forms in an Italian police station loomed.
I explained that we were looking for a place called Pescia and must have taken a wrong turn...ominously he indicated for us to follow the police car. So we followed ...flashing blue light and all...until he pullover into a lay-by and they indicated for us to do likewise. It's very busy in Montecatini at 10.00 pm on a Sunday night and the sight of our car being pulled over brought the traffic to a standstill and a crowd of onlookers out on the street from the nearby bars.
The policeman now produced a sheet of paper and leaning on the roof of our car began drawing a map of the road to Pescia...indicating the distances in miles (not kilometres) and giving the major landmarks all written in English. They then jumped back into the car indicating for us to follow them ...and after several more miles they pulled over and waving a cheery "goodbye" pointed us in our direction. Could you imagine an English policeman providing map details in Italian ? To say, we were impressed is an understatement....we thought only the likes of Tony Blair received a police escort...but not in Montecatini !
We followed their map right through Pescia and onto the Abetone road. (Italian police 1 English Tourists 0.) After getting lost a couple more times we finally arrived.
It was just a routine uneventful sort of journey.