Bob Finds A Dry Spot
A totally fictional account of life on the road with a totally fictional family!!!
The following story about Bob and his travels to Pompeii is purely fictional. It in no way has anything to do with the McKinney family travels through Italy. Any similarities would be purely coincidental.
Bob looked up and smiled as he sat upon the great white throne. Things were finally falling into place. They had caught the ferry to Italy from Greece the night before and aside from some minor confusion over the sleeping arrangements and a brief incident with foot odor, things had gone swimmingly.
They had secured two rooms with two beds for the trip and the children were excited about the prospect of sleeping in bunk beds. Dobbie and Harrah were to sleep in one room while Bob would bunk down with Bobbin. As they had settled in for the night however Bob had become aware of a rather pungent aroma that was getting stronger and stronger. Thinking it was Bobbin in the top bunk, Bob viciously poked upward with his foot at his eldest child through the mattress. Sitting upright suddenly, Bobbin clanged his head against the metal ceiling.
Now with both parties awake, Bob had turned on the lights to hunt down the source of the odor. It turns out it wasn’t Bobbin after all, but rather Bob’s own hiking shoes that he had placed under his bunk. Too many miles, too little ventilation. Sorry Bobbin…
Despite the slight misadventures from the night before, Bob was pleased because he had time. He had set his alarm and had gotten up early to take a shower, get the kids up and have a leisurely breakfast before docking in Italy. By his calculation he had over 90 minutes to accomplish these rather simple and mundane tasks.
Bob’s being in his happy place however was to be short lived. As Bob was just stepping into the shower, a brief but loud announcement made it clear that they would be docking in 15 minutes. Panic has now set in. “How could this be?” Bob wondered as he was frantically trying to towel off, get dressed, and get Bobbin up all at the same time. Struggling into his trousers he jumped out into the hall. All the other passengers had bags in hand and were headed down to the car decks getting ready to disembark. Running to the other side of the ship he pounded on Dobbie’s cabin door only to be met with “THE FACE OF FURY”. “HOW CAN THIS BE?” shouted Dobbie in her half dressed state. “You must have forgotten about a time zone change. You must have gotten our arrival time wrong. You must have MADE A MISTAKE!”
In full flight now, the family pulls itself together, grabbing their bags and jumping out to the stairs in a rather disheveled state. Interrogating a purser it turns out that the crossing was smoother than normal and we arrived ahead of schedule by an hour. “Lucky us” grumbles Harrah.
In any event, the panic is put behind the family as they disembark in Bari, Italy. By nightfall they would be in their little hotel on the other side of Italy in the city of Pompeii. Off they trundled to grab a cab to the train station.
Bob was particularly excited about the train station as it was to be the family’s first time using their Super Duper Eurail Pass. It was guaranteed by the lady back home to be easy to use and accepted everywhere in Italy, Austria and Hungary. Turns out that Giuseppe the ticket guy (real name on the tag) had never spoken to the lady back home and had never heard of Eurail. Trying to convince the gentlemen that it was a valid ticket and what he had to do in order to validate it took some doing on Bob’s part. It was made all the more difficult with the line of angry Italians shouting behind him as they were all missing their rush hour trains.
Having finally accomplished the registration of the card and tickets, Bob was duly informed that they would have to wait 90 minutes for the next train as things were running a bit late that day. “Oh and watch out for the evil Gypsies” indicated Giuseppe the ticket guy as Bob was finally leaving. He emphasized this point by touching his nose knowingly and winking at Bob as Bob was being elbowed away from the counter by an 80 year old, 80 lb Italian grandmother.
The family actually took this news much better than Bob had hoped. Absent breakfast they were all “Starving” and thought that 90 minutes would give them an opportunity to find something suitable. It was decided that Bob and Harrah would park themselves on the park bench and guard their 4X90 lb bags from the evil gypsies while Dobbie and Bobbin would hunt out breakfast at the local McDonalds as identified by the big billboard across the street from the train station.
Bob lamented this selection greatly. How could their first meal in Italy be McDonalds? It just seemed so wrong. As he was in mid grumble he was interrupted by a sharp tapping on his head. A little old lady holding a small stick had taken to beating him to get his attention.
“Wanna buy a Rolex?” she asked as she pulled up her sleeve to show Bob a huge watch wrapped around her wrist. “Or wattabout a nice-a ring?” as she palmed a huge gold ring with a large black stone.
This must be one of those Gypsy people thought Bob. Who quickly indicated “No” and tried to politely ignore the old lady. Unfortunately silence on Bob’s part did not do the trick. “WANNA BUY ROLEX?!!” came the next response. But this time Bob stood up to make his point and the lady wandered off muttering loudly to herself. About what, Bob wasn’t sure but he hoped it wasn’t some sort of curse.
He settled himself back down on the bench and started to restudy the train schedule to figure out their transfers. All of a sudden he felt a sharp poke in his shoulder.
“Wanna buy Rolex?” This time it was a different lady. Much younger but Bob could swear that it was the same watch. “Wattabout a nice-a ring?” God thought Bob they not only have the same merchandise; they even have the same lines. This time Bob shooed the second lady away and got the same grumbling in return. He was sure he was cursed now.
By this time Dobbie and Bobbin came trundling back to the bench, bags in hand. They couldn’t find the McDonalds and they had to settle for a delicatessen that didn’t do breakfast but made a decent sandwich. Breakfast out of the way and Gypsies behind them it was finally time to catch their train.
It took some doing to figure out the track system, and Bob paced up and down the tracks before the train arrived to make sure he had it straight. He didn’t want to get on a train going the wrong way, and he didn’t know how much time they would have to board once it stopped.
Finally the train pulled in and stopped. The car door opened. Bob was throwing the bags in… “Stop” shouts Dobbie. “It’s not a first class car”. “But the train…” Bob points out. “We gotta get on the train”.
“We paid for first class tickets, we have to find a first class car” Dobbie insisted. “Fine” mutters Bob as he picks up 3 of the 4 bags and starts heading to the head of the train, fighting all the other passengers trying to board. The others start rushing behind him.
Past one car. Past two cars. Past 3 and 4 cars. By this time Bob is not only in total panic but is about half dead from running with 3X90 lb bags. He turns to Dobbie and shouts “There is no freaking first class car”. At which point he pitches the bags onto the double-decker second class car they were parked at and ushers the rest of the family aboard.
The family is now aboard, but faced with a very difficult decision. Do they sit up or do they sit down. “Up/Down” shout Bobbin and Harrah simultaneously. Argument ensues until Dobbie settles things. “We will see Italy better from the top. We go up” she declares at which time Bob lugs all the luggage through the narrow stair case and even narrower doorway up to the 2 nd level. He dumps the luggage and collapses into the first seat he finds.
“Too hot” declares Dobbie all of a sudden. “It’s too hot up here. These windows make it like a hot house. If we can’t go downstairs to where we can open some windows we’re going to die”.
“No arguing with that” mutters Bob as he suits up with the luggage again and squeezes through the small door and down the stairs and through the smaller downstairs door and down the crowded aisle to a set of 4 open seats on the lower level.
“There, this is much better” claims Dobbie as she settles in beside him and pulls down the window. “Why Bob, you’re dripping with sweat. I told you it was too hot up top.”
An hour and a half later they are approaching their first stop. The family has to disembark here and catch the train to Naples. They have 15 minutes and Bob is ready.
This time everybody has their own bags and as they disembark Bob runs to the big monitor that says what track trains are departing from. No Naples. Bob looks again. Still no Naples. No Napoli. No Pompeii. No Sorrento. That sinking feeling begins to set in again, and Bob picks up the bags and heads down to the ticket office.
“The train to Napoli is late until 3:30 this afternoon” indicates the ticket man. “You should take the bus, it is much faster”.
“So much for the stupid Eurail tickets” responds Bob as he returns to the family to inform them of the situation and to start looking for the bus line. By this point a group of 6 other Americans joins Bob and the family. The Americans are a little confused by the train system in Italy and “Bob looks like he knows what he’s doing and can we just tag along?”
Forty five minutes later, the family and tag-alongs are now on a bus headed for Napoli. In fact they are making pretty good time and things are running on schedule. “Maybe buses are faster than trains” Bob ponders. “But how can that be?”
As they make progress towards Naples, Bob begins noticing two things. First it is getting much hotter and second, it is getting much more humid as they move towards the west coast. Bob is sitting next to Harrah on this portion of the trip and as they approach Napoli the road is also getting very curvy and twisty. It is about this time when Dobbie sticks her head through the seats to offer a “bit of a snack” when she notices that Harrah has taken on the colour of a snowball.
“Bob, I think Harrah is going to be sick. I think she’s about to barf!” observes Dobbie. Harrah acknowledges the predicament with a silent and pale nod of her head when Bob takes control of the situation. “Harrah, we are only 10 minutes from the station in a crowded and hot bus. You are not going to be sick!” “Harrah, it is simply an issue of mind over matter…Look at me Harrah… Look at me… You are NOT GOING TO BE SICK!”
Dobbie however is not buying into Bob’s mind over matter philosophy and is frantically rummaging through her day pack for a barf bag. Since leaving Canada, Dobbie had been collecting every barf bag she could find. On airplanes, boats, buses. You name it; if it offered a barf bag then Dobbie was collecting it. “You never know when you might have an emergency” had always been her motto.
She thrusts her arm through the seats and waves the bag in Bob’s face. As frustrated as Bob is becoming he is also beginning to see signs that Harrah is not a true believer in his philosophy as well. In fact the louder he commands Harrah “You are not going to barf young lady!” the more and more it looks like this is exactly what she is going to do.
Not 15 seconds later and midway through Bob’s announcement that “You will not get sick!” Harrah buries her face in the small plastic lined bag (courtesy of Slovenian Airways). 2 minutes later, deed done, Harrah smiles and hands the bag back over to Bob. Having failed to instill the “mind over matter philosophy” in his daughter, Bob is relegated to bag holder for the remainder of the trip.
As they disembark in Napoli in front of the train station, Bob is hit with a wave of heat. “Oh well” says Bob, “it’s only for a minute then we will be on the train.” As he shoulders his pack he looks across at Harrah. “They would have to work on weight distribution” Bob thought, because poor Harrah looked like she was about to topple over backwards and turtle under the weight of her pack.
Bob quickly helps out and shoulders Harrah’s bag. By this time the heat is starting to have an impact on Bob and little beads of sweat begin to erupt on his forehead. The smaller plastic lined bag is starting to emit rude odors and draw attention as well. They quickly find a trash repository and the family heads into the train station. Fighting their way through the exiting crowd, they start down a long hallway that says “To the Trains”. Bob knows that they have to deal with a private railway here to take them to Pompeii. “How do we know we can buy tickets there?” he asks. “Because Bob, the sign says “To the trains”” Dobbie replies. “They wouldn’t say to the trains if you had to purchase tickets back there” she argues pointing the other way down the hallway. “That would be stupid!” So off the family trudges in the heat, down the little hallway with hundreds of other people who are all carrying their tickets….
Turns out some things in life can be stupid. Back down the hallway the family goes and this time Dobbie stands in line to purchase the tickets. “Track 6” she announces as they make their way down the 500 meter long hall to the trains.
The platforms at this point are really full and really hot. The sign says the train to Pompeii is to leave in 2 minutes. 10 minutes later the sign still says that the train to Pompeii is scheduled to leave in 2 minutes. Both Dobbie and Bob know that they can’t just catch any train to Pompeii. Their hotel was very close to one of the stations and not the other one. This was a very bad time to forget which was which.
It was made even worse as a train pulled up to an adjoining track and the entire crowd began to migrate like lemmings to the cliff face. Some instinct has arisen in the crowd that the new train on the wrong track is really their train. Swept up in the crowd, Bob, Dobbie and the kids are crammed into the train. Crammed in like sardines with their 4 packs down at their feet the family struggles to identify if they are going in the correct direction. After the first stop all appears well, they are indeed headed towards Pompeii.
Thirty minutes later they pull up to what must be their stop. After all the sign says Pompeii Scavia. They fight their way to the exit and deposit their bags on the platform.
“Shall we take a cab to the hotel?” Bobbin enquires hopefully in the hot afternoon sun.
“Nope. Load up the packs, we’re going for a walk” announces Bob. “It’s not far to the hotel according to the brochure and after all, this is what we purchased packs for.” As the family dons the packs it is clear that Harrah is in no condition to shoulder her pack. Bob is going to have to do double duty if they are to make it to the hotel.
Exiting the train station, Bob smiles at the line ups fighting for the cabs. “Suckers!” he mutters under his breath “A cab is going to cost them at least 10 Euro. We’re going to do it for free. That’s 10 Euro we will have saved” Bob proudly explains to the family as they march down the street.
It’s a warm afternoon and by the time the family has reached the tourist information station a couple hundred yards from the station they have all broken into a slight sweat. “Aw” says the tourist agent shaking his head after Bob poses his question. “You should have gotten out at the other train stop. Dis hotel is about 1-2 km down the road. You go out the door, you turn left, you turn left again, you come to a Y in the road and turn left again. It is about 500 meters further down this street on your right. You can’t miss it!”
Bob is in shock. How could they have made such a mistake? Oh well it’s only a kilometer or two and the two bags aren’t that heavy. As they exit back out into the heat, Bob hears Bobbin muttering under his breath. “You got something you want to share son?” Bob asks pointedly.
“I was just thinking we would have been better off taking a taxi” Bobbin explains.
“Don’t be stupid” Bob responds. “Suck it up it’s only a little ways down the road”.
Not wanting to leave any room for debate on the taxi issue, Bob marches quickly out the door and does the left, left thing heading down the long street at a blistering pace. Twenty minutes later and now openly sweating they come to the Y in the road. “So far so good” pants Bob. Then he looks up and sees a sign offering directions to the hotel down the right fork in the road.
“I thought the travel agent guy said to go left, not right!” observes Bobbin.
“Well they were obviously mistaken!” shouts Bob, getting increasingly frustrated with the whole situation as well as his son’s useless comments. “It’s called an error in Translation!”
As he turns to follow the sign to the right, Bob is suddenly aware of more muttering from the crew behind him. Bob knows that he must nip this mutiny in the bud if they are to have any chance of getting to the hotel. And he knows just the ring leader he is going to have to attack.
“Bobbin!” Bob pounces. “One more word from you until we get to the hotel and you’ll find yourself sitting out the rest of the trip in the room”.
“But…” counters Bobbin.
“NOT. ONE. MORE. WORD!” commands Bob, who then proceeds to pick up the two bags and march at an ever faster pace down the right path.
Twenty five minutes later, Bob is now in a state of profuse sweating. It has also become increasing clear to him that maybe; just maybe they should have taken the other path. Not only were they quite a distance from the site, but they are now in a neighborhood that didn’t look like it saw backpacking tourists all that often.
With a glare to his mutinous family, Bob turns without another word and starts to backtrack. Back twenty five minutes to the Y and down the left path. Attempting to spit on the sign as he walked by, Bob is increasingly aware of how much he is now perspiring.
10 minutes later it is clear they are now on the right track and getting close to their destination. Looking for addresses however Bob begins to get puzzled. There is #20, #22, #24, then it skips and there is a #28. No #26. “How can an entire hotel get so totally misplaced?” wonders Bob. Bob frantically begins to pace up and down the street carrying his two packs while the family lounges against an alley way wall.
“Uh, Dad” mutters Bobbin who is raising his hand to get permission to speak”. “What is it?” barks Bob. “I think the hotel is down this alley.” Bobbin declares. “I can see the door down there” he points.
Sure enough they have made it. It has taken 90 minutes and 5 km of heavy marching to make what should have been the 1 km march from the train station. But they made it!
As they pull up into the lobby of the hotel, the Concierge gives Bob a funny look. As Bob is pulling off his pack, he looks down and notices that there is a growing puddle of water around his feet. Water is pouring off of him. He reaches into his pocket for a hanky to help stem the flow, but the puddle keeps growing.
Bob panics. He can’t check in like this. He’s a mess. He’ll leave a puddle on the registration desk. His signature will smear. He quickly ducks behind a large pillar to buy himself some time and to try and dry off. Maybe they haven’t noticed him yet. Maybe he’ll have a chance to dry off. Maybe he can send Dobbie up. It is a useless effort.
“Can I help you sir?” asks the desk man. “Dam” thinks Bob. “It’s even in English; I can’t pretend to ignore him”.
Bob slowly walks up to the desk pulling out his limp registration documents he had tucked into his now wet shirt pocket and using his handkerchief in a failed attempt to stem the flow of water flowing down his face.
Bob hands across the soggy papers that contain his registration details. As the desk clerk peels the folded papers apart and smoothes them out on the counter top Bob continues to drip, drip, drip.
“Sir, I think I can manage this. Why don’t you take a seat on the couch…? Over there.” The clerk points against the far wall.
As Bob collapses into the couch, he looks into the eyes of his sniggering family. They are barely containing themselves.
“Traitors” he thinks.
A few minutes later, the desk clerk has completed his registration and Bob gets ready to approach the desk. The clerk however waives him back down and signals Dobbie up to the desk. Bob has been shunned! Shunned by an Italian desk clerk!
Three minutes and one cramped elevator ride later the family finally arrives in their room. Bob is now parked in front of the air conditioner and is stripping off his shirt in favor of a dry one when he notices the stain. Time to cool down.
“Damn!” he swears. “On top of everything else I stained my shirt. This bleached spot right here” he indicates pointing to a small patch of off colored fabric on the front of his shirt. Dobbie inspects the shirt carefully. “Why Bob” she comments, “That’s not a stain. You just found a dry spot!”
Saturated by the day’s events, Bob can only sit down and mutter. “Welcome to Italia!”.