Beware of Roman Taxis

We were on a mission. Peka, Barb and I--plain old Arkansas school teachers--were about to conquer Rome! Landing at the Roma Airport, we were swarmed by a convention of taxi drivers insisting that we needed their services.

“How much?” I asked.

"In lira, 120,000,” replied an evolutionary-looking little man. Using my handy-dandy calculator, I quickly converted lira into dollars.....$76!

“No, thank you." I steadied a huge black plaid suitcase while the drivers jabbered in Italian around us.

“Buses no longer running today. One hundred thousand lira," offered another driver.

"No, thank you." We had been warned about these fellows and we were determined to escape their tourist traps.

Barb and I began looking for alternate transportation as Peka--a head shorter, a decade older, and a born-again worrier-- guarded our luggage.

Fortune smiled on us as Barb and I found a train to Obes Station connecting with the subway to Termini Station......just where we wanted to go. From there we'd get a taxi to our hotel. A perfect plan.

We fortunately found an elevator to get us to the train. I pulled Peka's small travel wheels over-loaded with four bags. It was extremely heavy and I worried that the cart would collapse. I had to change "pull" hands often to keep the handle from cutting my hands.

“I hope the bags aren’t too heavy for those little wheels” Peka always mentioned things that I thought were best left unsaid which therefore grated on my nerves.

Settling on the train we cackled about how smart we were! Those silly taxi drivers couldn’t outsmart us!

At the end of our ride, we found many, many, many stairs to climb to get to earth level. That seemed pretty funny or maybe we were just giddy being in Rome. While I pulled the four bags on the little wheels, Barb was in charge of pulling my humongous bag that consistently listed to one side. Occasionally just fell over. OK, maybe more than occasionally. You can imagine the struggle we had to get our luggage up the stairs......the steep, lengthy stairs! Everyone stopped to gawk at our struggles. No one offered to help. It was like we had signs on our backs, which read: “SWINE FLU. BEWARE!"

Reaching the top of the stairs, we congratulated ourselves on our perseverance. We turned the corner only to face more stairs. This continued to happen every time we thought we were about to see sunlight. Getting to Termini Station must be like trying to walk to Heaven pulling a Boeing 747 on a tiny luggage carrier.

We hoisted the bags trying desperately not to drop them and lose any headway for well over an hour. Barb and I began laughing like hyenas and couldn't stop.

For a change of pace, we next encountered “down” stairs. I thought they’d be easier on us but I should have known better than to think. We did, however, learn two important rules for going “down” stairs with the heavy loads:
1. Stand to the side of your burden, lest it become a runaway and kill you.
2. Stop every three steps to re-pack, re-align, re-strap, and/or return your luggage to an upright position.

Huffing and puffing we made it to the track with minutes to spare. As Barb and I wiped the tears from our eyes, we noticed Peka standing a little further from us than usual.

We eventually found ourselves in gorgeous sunshine crossing a quaint, cobblestone street. This loveliness was what we had come to Rome for. And, hark, what did I see by yonder subway entrance? Five taxi drivers! Rejoice! They wanted to take us to our hotel. They quoted us a price of $60,000 lira. I replied negatively as the girls' eyes bulged in horror. I assumed we were almost to Termini Station. Why pay for a taxi when a short subway ride would be just as good and much cheaper.

The taxi drivers begin to guffaw for some reason and jockeyed for positions to watch us go down the next staircase. I would like to report that we initiated these steps with grace and aplomb. I would also like to be Angelina Jolie. I forgot my first rule for going down stairs and teetered vicariously on one leg and ankle while eyeing my runaway baggage cart and it's deadly cargo hurl toward me. I scored some bruises. The audience applauded me. I believe it was at this moment I fell out of love with Italian men.

After another hour of hiking, we reached Termini Station. Barb and Peka wer in the lead and went through the turnstiles. I started through the turnstiles and had the bags in, but they weren’t coming out any time soon. I was unable to call to them because of my kinship with hyenas.

The girls got further and further ahead of me. Barb eventually noticed I was MIA and came to my rescue. We began to try and free our luggage. It was no easy feat. Those around us seemed to enjoy the free entertainment. Finally, we were through and soon exited into the bustling Termini Station.

We cheered as a very friendly taxi driver came rushing to our aid. We helped him get our luggage into the trunk, the front seat, and the back seat. Peka and Barb got in. I tried to sardine myself into the backseat, but the door wouldn't shut. The back seat was too full of luggage and Peka. Undaunted, the driver came and slammed the door very hard throwing me across Peka. More bruises. I was sure that when the driver opened the door at our hotel, we would pop out like those snake-looking things in the fake candy tins.

Our wonderful driver drove us around for fifteen minutes. He showed us beautiful sites on the way. We couldn’t understand him, but we smiled and nodded as he narrated. We were very impressed with his kindness.

Our hotel looked like a hole in the wall from the outside, but—hey—we were in Rome! Who cared?

The foyer of the hotel looked nicer…marble, mirrors, gold and glass doors. We checked in and were assigned a room ten feet from the desk. Could Heaven have been any sweeter? I hope Heaven will be furnished a bit better, but I love local color.

We couldn’t get the castle-like key to work in the door, but that was okay. It added a touch of romance to our adventure. The manager finally came to help us. I noticed he had trouble manipulating the key also. Finally in, our room had a window with rustic wooden shutters that overlooked the street. There was a quaint sidewalk café across the street. We noted seven holes on the back of our door. Probably some inconsiderate vacationers had plowed their fists through the door for the fun of it. How irresponsible.

We rushed around unpacking, using the facilities, and getting ready to go out. Finally, we were ready to explore and soak up Rome. We couldn’t get out of the room. The door would not budge. We were locked in. I tried to call the desk, but the phone didn't work. The holes on the back of the door now took on a significance we could not have imagined! We beat on our door and yelled. No one came. In desperation, we opened the shutters and hoisted Barb down to the sidewalk.

When we were finally freed, we asked for directions to Termini Station in order to book a tour to Florence. Image how surprised we were to find that we were exactly one block from Termini! We had paid over $30 to be driven one block. The darn taxi driver had gotten the best of us!

(1295 words)