No Crap for Kim - The Crisis

Shit.  Seems like No Crap for Kim has gone into a gigantic skid.  It all started with that weekend away to Nova Scotia where to feel like I was contributing to the community table, I made a copious number of things to snack on.  Not that they were completely unhealthy - homemade hummus, fresh guacamole and black bean salsa.  Full of fibre and flavour  - and if you're going to snack, why not on beans and fresh vegetables, I say!  So yeah, nothing bad there!

No, the black beans, avocado and garbanzo beans weren't the problem.  The problem really began with the homemade cinnamon rolls I made for the Sunday Hangover Breakfast.  I had never made homemade cinnamon rolls before...but you know my theory - if you can read, you can do anything so I cracked my faithful Better Homes and Gardens cookbook from 1971 and looked up a recipe.  I had about 20 to choose from.  I chose the one that had the most ooey-gooey components and holy moses, were they ever good!  Light, buttery, cinnamon-y, and full of caramel and walnuts.  The Colonel had nothing on these buns because I am here to tell you they were finger lickin' good!

There were two left over, so of course I brought them home and once they were in my kitchen I couldn't bear to see them sitting, lonely, in their little tupperware container.  So every time I walked by, I lifted up the lid of that little container and took just a pinch.  A pinch here.  A pinch there.   Here a pinch, there a pinch and before I knew it, I had pinched both of them into oblivion.  Well, thank God, really, because honestly I didn't need THOSE hanging around the house.

But then, then I was cruising the Foodtv.ca website and right there on their home page was a glorious looking orange cake.  It looked so good and hey, I needed to figure out a dessert recipe for the dinner party last Thursday, so, one quick look at the recipe and another foraging mission in the pantry and lo and behold, I had all the ingredients, so of course I had to try the thing.  Holy shit was it ever good.  Moist and flavorful with little flecks of orange rind running through the cake, with a light orange glaze on top.  Being that a main ingredient was orange, it was almost enough to convince myself that this wasn't really a bad dessert after-all...well except for the half pound of butter in it.  Ahem.

In between the cinnamon rolls and the orange cake I made a batch of coconut macaroons.  When I die and go to heaven (hopefully) I dearly dream that those clouds will be stocked with unlimited coconut macaroons.  Before they were completely cooled I ate 3.   The rational side of my brain eventually returned and I put the remainder in the freezer to save for another time.  Do you know how good frozen macaroons are?  I'm here to tell you...even better than a frozen Snickers bar!

Our friends came to dinner on Thursday night and in honor of their visit I made homemade herb be provence bread, mussels, lobster, and for dessert that incredible orange cake.  The  macaroons only made it 'til Friday - I had to get them out of the house - their mere existence was too tempting.

Last night, we went to the drive-in movies.  One of the things we love about going to the drive-in is that we can bring our own treats and so we spent the latter part of the week discussing what exactly each of us would have for our special treat at the drive-in.  By this point, the treat has taken precedence over the damn movie.  The movie is merely the conduit by which we can indulge in junk food.  And that we did.  The one whom I adore ate salt & vinegar peanuts - if you can imagine anything so vile, while I noshed on Smart Corn.  Have you ever read the label of Smart Corn?  Despite its name it is considerably less than "Smart" for your waistline.  In fact, it has so many calories, I'm ashamed to admit, I ate most of the bag.  The resulting bellyache kept me up half the night and if I were to ever look back on this episode it should be enough that I won't ever eat Smart Corn again....but I'm not holding my breath.  I love the stuff despite how it makes me feel.

Which brings me now back to today.  Today is the first day of the rest of my life.  And the first day of No Crap for Kim - the Redux.    With all the baking eaten and the junk food now gone, I stand a fairly good chance of getting back on the wagon...if it isn't rolling down the hill at breakneck speed without me.

Black Bean Salsa

2 Cups black beans, rinsed & drained

2 tomatoes, seeded

1 red or yellow pepper, diced

1 red onion, finely diced

2 cups Cilantro, finely chopped

1 TBSP Olive Oil

2 TBSP Each Lemon Juice & Balsamic Vinegar

1 clove minced garlic (about 1 tsp)

Combine beans, tomatoes, peppers, red onion & cilantro.  In small bowl whisk together vinegar, lemon juice, oil & garlic.  Pour over bean mixture and toss to combine.  Refrigerate 1 hour prior to serving.

Guacamole

2 to 3 ripe avocados

1/3 cup finely diced red onion

1/3 cup diced & seeded fresh tomato

2 tbsp mild green chilis

Pinch of kosher salt

Juice & zest of one fresh lime

1/3 c fresh cilantro

Dash of hot sauce or tabasco sauce (Frank's Hot sauce preferred)

1 tbsp ground cumin

Cut avocados, remove pit and using a potato masher, mash into chunks.  Add tomato, chilis, diced onion.  Mix in lime juice, hot sauce, cumin & chopped cilantro.  Taste & adjust for flavour - add more cumin, hot sauce, lime juice as needed.

Hummus

1 Can chick peas, rinsed & drained, reserving the liquid in a separate dish

2 garlic cloves

7 tbsp Tahini paste

4 Tbsp lemon juice

4 tbsp olive oil

1 tsp ground cumin 

to taste - salt & pepper

In food processor combine chick peas, garlic, tahini, lemon juice and olive oil.  Add cumin, salt & pepper.  Depending on the thickness, add liquid from the chick peas and continue to blend until smooth.

Garnish with olive oil & paprika.

Birds of a Feather

I stepped out of the shower yesterday and was face to face with a gigantic hawk who was lingering outside our bathroom window.  I stood there transfixed, watching this enormous bird swoop and soar around the backyard.   He seemed to have all the time in the world - I couldn't tell if he was hunting or just practicing his maneuvers but he was amazing to watch as he glided back and forth, swooping low then soaring high.  Have you ever been at eye-level with a bird in flight?  It really is a sight to behold.

We have lots of birds here in the OBB and we often watch as they hunt for prey in the fields surrounding our house, and once or twice watching them help themselves to one of the partridges that live in evergreen corner.  Yes, here in the OBB we have a partridge family.   Aside from the  hawks, we have osprey and eagles, not to mention ravens and let's don't forget about those Mo-Fo pigeons, who as an aside seem to have given up summering over at our house this year which is fine by us.

This morning as I sat with the dogs in our muskoka rockers on the front porch, sipping tea and watching the world go by I saw him again.  Except this time he was with his mate.  Yesterday I watched as he gathered sticks twigs and flew away to the field behind our neighbors house where clearly he's building a nest.   

You know real estate is all about location, location, location and I guess it holds true in the avian world as well, because the hawks are building their nest beside the Osprey nest which is like having the equivalent of a drive through next door.    Very clever those hawks are.

Russian Routlette

Have you ever been somewhere where you were speaking say, English and everyone else around you was speaking in a tongue that relied solely on the Cyrillic alphabet?  That’s how I felt every day for the first six months of my new job when I moved to Jasper.

I once went to Russia for business…well, business and curiosity.  As an incentive meeting planner and a person who could sway influence over where some of America’s leading companies held their international events, I was invited to visit Marriott’s newest properties in their collection; a brief visit to London and then on to Moscow, home to the KGB, the Kremlin and lots and lots and lots of vodka.  

Landing in Moscow and waiting for what felt like hours to go through immigration formalities, I stood in line trying to make sense of the signage that surrounded us.  The only problem is, the Cyrillic alphabet only has one or two symbols that even remotely resemble the same character in English.  Really, this wasn’t going to be a problem because the entire time our group would be in Moscow we would be escorted by a lovely guide, Wanda, who spoke impeccable English. 

Wanda was exactly what you would imagine a Russian tour guide to be.  She had blonde hair and black roots, she wore lipstick that was far too red for her peaches & cream complexion and she liked to sport 5” stiletto heels while she herded us through the cultural and architectural highlights of Moskva.    She was exceptionally efficient.  We drank vodka and ate caviar and blinis in front of St. Basil’s Cathedral, overlooking Red Square.  We toured the Seven Sisters, those buildings that look like Manhattan’s municipal buildings, but to us looked much more like giant cathedrals.  We saw Lenin’s tomb a creepy experience I would never want to repeat.  We visited a Russian Circus, complete with cycling dogs and the requisite ring-master who could not control those crazy Russian clowns.  We explored the countless treasures of the Romanov Dynasty at the State Historical Museum and we even rode the Metro, Moscow’s subway system that boasts stations made of marble, with mosaic works of art and, of course, crystal chandeliers.   

A special treat for us, however, were seats for a performance at the world-famous Bolshoi theatre where I fought off jet-lag and exhaustion while some of Russia’s most prima ballerinas twirled about the stage.  Not such a fan of the ballet (how could I be when at the age of 5 I was advised I really wasn't built for ballet and perhaps should find some other outlet for any creative endeavors I might have), a night at the Bolshoi was somewhat of a waste on me…but our hosts were so very proud to show us the best  of Russian culture and the arts,  so how could I refuse?   

Afterward, we were to take a taxi back to our hotel as arranged by Wanda, the lovely tour guide.  Except that she forgot to find us an English speaking cab driver and I’m here to tell you, our ride from the Boilshoi to the Marriott was one I’ll forever remember as one of the most terrifying nights of my life...okay, that and that night in Rome with the guys with the machine guns!  My imagination, never short on things to concoct, was full of stories from all those Cold War spy novels I’d read.  I sat in the back of a dilapidated Lada, wondering just when exactly the Russian mafia would burst through the door of my cab, hijacking us and taking us to some underground nightclub where we would be sold to rich Russian men, never to see our families again. 

So yeah, our cab driver didn’t speak English but we thought, no problem, we’ll show him the room key to our hotel, which in perfect branding was emblazoned with the Marriott logo front and back.  Seems like the Cyrilic M and the English one, don’t look so much like each other.  So we rode around and around those wide expansive Moscow boulevards late at night, desperately hoping that the next turn would reveal our hotel and we could safely retire for the night.

Eventually he made the right turn and amidst screams of STOP!  HERE!  He finally clued in that this was where we wanted to go.  It took us 15 minutes to go to the Bolshoi, it took an hour to get home.     If only we had enough rubles to pay the cabbie....but that's a story for a different day.

The Eternal Question

If you write and then you post and no-one reads...are you really relevant?

Yesterday in History

Yesterday was a very big day in the world of pop culture with the funeral of Michael Jackson.  Just like when Princess Diana got married and then later died, the whole world tuned in to watch the ceremony of laying the king of pop to rest.  While I could watch the events unfold live along with the rest of the world, the one whom I adore had to work.  So to ensure he didn't miss anything I live updated him throughout the 2.15 hour event.  

Following are excerpts written to the one whom I adore.  While I realize someone has died and the world has lost a great entertainer, none of my comments are meant to minimalise that.  All comments are simply my observations of the memorial - things that struck me as interesting...or odd...or both.

2:06 PM

It's a star-studded line-up of celebrities that will honour Him. Kobe Bryant? WTF?
Also, Lionel Richie will lead a big chorus of We are the World.  Cool - I've always liked that song.  I'm sure it will be very moving.

2:14 PM

Smokey Robinson is reading condolence letters from Nelson Mandela and Diana Ross

2:35 PM

A gospel choir is singing and they just rolled in the coffin. The pallbearers are all wearing one white glove.

The casket is gold.

2:37 PM

people are screaming out "we love you Michael" while the pastor is speaking. Very uncouth.

2:40 PM

Mariah Carey is singing "I'll Be There" 

And not very well, either, if you ask me.

2:46 PM

Queen Latifah is speaking now...representing "the fans". She's doing the "robot".

Odd

2:51 PM

Actually Queen Latifah was pretty good...she read a poem Maya Angelou wrote. Now, Lionel Richey is singing....some song about Jesus is Lord - he won't let you down

2:56 PM

here's this gospel choir singing back up for Lionel. Two things: it's an all black choir EXCEPT for the platinum blonde in the front row who stands out like a platinum blonde in a sea of black people

Plus, there's a guy in the back of the choir who looks so angry he looks like he'd just as soon hit  someone.

Now some guy with a lisp is speaking. Oh, it's Berry Gordy - isn't he the former mayor of Washington who was just served with a stalking supoena? Oh, no, he's the head of the Motown record label - my bad.

I'm bad. Who's bad?

Interesting side note. Jermain Jackson has a son named Jermajesty. I shit you not.

3:04 PM

Berry Gordy went on and on and on about how he made the Jackson 5 what they were. Maybe he did make them stars...but really, is this the time to make that point?

And he kept saying Michael Jack-thon (lisp). The undithputed king of pop...a kid who fulfilled his wildeth dreamth.

They just panned to a wide shot of the Jackson brothers - all in black suits with yellow ties and red rose boutenniere and dark sunglasses inside the dark arena.

Now they're running a montage of his videos and the crowd is going CRAZY.

3:10 PM

They're running this thing commercial free - that's gotta be costing a pretty penny to the networks.

Stevie Wonder just came out. At least it makes sense that he's wearing sunglasses inside the arena.

He really should just shave off that mullet of dreads he's sporting. He's singing some song he wrote that Michael recorded but I've never heard. He's singing out of tune. 

3:17 PM

God that Stevie Wonder song was LONG and depressing. More like a dirge than a song.

Now Kobe Bryant & Magic Johnson are speaking about Michael being a humanitarian.

According to the folks at NBC News Kobe and Michael were "great friends".

Jesus Magic Johnson is one big mo-fo.

3:20 PM

I guess Magic was in an MJ video "Remember the Times". Who knew?

According to Magic, MJ loved eating KFC. 

So yeah, you and Michael have The Colonel in common.

3:24 PM

Jennifer Hudson is singing one of his songs now.

When Kobe and Magic were done speaking the Jackson 4 got up to give them a big hug. The camera got a shot of his kids - they're a little odd looking.

The background choir is step dancing and signing the words of the song. Shit, now they're dancing in a circle around Jennifer Hudson while a voice-over of Michael plays in the background. Creepy!

He may just pop out of that coffin yet!

3:28 PM

According to Al Sharpton Michael was a civil rights god. A leader in breaking down barriers.

I might have to remove myself to the bathroom instead of listening to this.

3:30 PM

Did you know that because of Michael Jackson Oprah got to be on TV and Tiger got to play golf? And EVERYONE got to vote for a black man for president.

The sound you hear is  vomit exploding from my mouth.

3:36 PM

Now the only white guy to grace the stage so far - John Mayer is playing electric guitar - MJ's "human nature"

BORING.

3:45 PM

Brooke Shields is speaking now and can hardly control her tears. Very sincere. Very real. She used to give him shit about the one glove thing.

So far her and Magic Johnson seemed the most genuine. Lots of others seem to be there for the show of it.

3:49 PM

Whew. that was emotional!

Okay, next up on the cavalcade of stars is Jermajesty's Dad, Jermain Jackson singing MJ's favourite song "Smile though your heart is aching".

I think it's pretty cool he can keep it together enough to sing at his brother's service.

BTW, in addition to the black suits/yellow ties/red roses all the brothers are wearing one sequined glove.

3:53 PM

Okay, Jermain struggled through that one. Now all the other brothers are giving him the love. They look like the mafia. 

Now up: Martin Luther King III?!? WTF??

4:00 PM

Those MLK children took what seemed forever to get through their sermon. The sister is a better speaker than MLK III.

Surely it's got to be over soon?

Just noticed Gidget shit on the deck at some point. Guess the grass is too long for her little princess ass.

Oh my god, some woman is now speaking on behalf of the Congress of the United States of America!

4:04 PM

That broad needs to  give the stage over to someone else. Maybe time for another song!

Hey, today's our 3 year anniversary!  Happy Anniversary Honey!  Who'd have thought 3 years ago that we'd be doing this today?

4:09 PM

Oh good, it IS song!
Sung by Usher!

Another guy not blind but wearing shades in doors. WTF?

Nice song though "Gone too soon"

Funniest Tweet on Twitter so far: "When will we know the memorial is over and the circus has begun?"

True, so true!

4:13 PM

Usher is singing to the casket. 

He broke down trying to sing the last note. Finally took his damn shades off. Getting the love from the brothers and Janet & LaToya. Then he went to give condolences to MJ's momma. Camera pans to a wide shot where you can see MJ's kids.

His kids looked bored by the whole thing.

Now playing a video of the Jackson 5 where Michael looks like a little pimp.

4:20 PM

If this doesn't end soon, you might not be getting dinner tonight. Plus, it's cutting into critical Y&R time.

Smokey Robinson back on stage reminiscing about how MJ took one of his songs and sang it better then he did. Seems a little chapped still after 40 years.

Ah, time for another song. This time by some 10 year old kid singing some blues song. Shaheen Jafargholi is his name - ever heard of him?

4:29 PM

Kenny Ortega - producer of his upcoming concert tour also put together today's memorial. He's on stage now telling everyone how they pulled it off on such short notice. For F-sake, the guy has been dead for 12 days...

Giving a big plug to the Staples Centre for hosting.

Some scary google-eyed guy singing the opening to We are the World. I think they're from the back-up choir. Oh, no, they're from the cast of the now never-to-be-seen London show.

This is the Big Finale. All the celebs are making their way to the stage to sing along. Big love fest. I notice no one is giving a microphone to any of the remaining Jacksons.

Now a group of children is coming out on stage singing Make this a Better Place. Nice touch.

4:36 PM

It's OVER...except for all the commentating that I'm sure will start at any moment.

Only one teary-eyed moment for me and that was when Brooke Sheilds was fighting back tears.

Guess you'll get dinner after all!

Oh WAIT. The family is taking the mic one-by-one crying and such - yikes, don't think this was scripted!

4:41 PM

Sweet Jesus, they let his daughter speak. Wrenching.

4:45 PM

Some clarity:

Shaheen Jharagolhi (or whatever) was the runner up from Britain's Got Talent and was supposed to be on tour with MJ for the London shows.

NBC Commentators liked Brooke Shields best too.

Theme of many speeches seems to be that MJ was a "victim" ... maybe now "they'll leave him alone".

Not bloody likely.

Thor, God of Thunder

I may have mentioned a time or two that it's been hellishly rainy here on the island in the Northumberland Strait for oh, say the last month.  Today's forecast is finally showing sun heading our way for the next few days, and thank heavens for that, because honestly, if I had to endure ONE MORE DAY in the rain, I was seriously considering buying a tanning bed for the basement, just to get some ultra-violet rays.

Last week the storms were at their worst, culminating on a immense thunder and lightening storm on Thursday afternoon.  It rained so hard in town that the one whom I adore got storm stayed at the hotel while the maintenance team sandbagged the exit to the underground garage where he was parked.  

Out here in country the storm was so violent that internet, satellite TV and electricity were all cut off for a while.  Which made enduring the meltdown all the more difficult with nothing to distract me.

The meltdown I refer to of course is none other than Snickers Cameron.  The boy is traumatized with the mere hint of a rumble of thunder.   And given that old Thor was having a hell of a party Thursday afternoon well, Snickers' meltdown was of god-like proportions.

I really feel bad for the dog.  He cannot rationalize that it's just a noise and that it isn't going to hurt him.  And as this 50-lb beast sat on my lap, quivering like a baby, whining and licking his chops incessantly, there was really nothing I could do to calm him down.  Not even bribing him with Snausages worked.

Eventually, the storm subsided, the power came back on and so did TV and internet.  Thank God, because what would I ever do without my connection to all things Michael Jackson?

Anyway, on Saturday we ventured downtown to see a movie (Sunshine Cleaning, very cute in a Little Miss Sunshine or Juno kind of way) and as we sat in the little art-house cinema, we heard it.  The rumblings of thunder.  Not just any thunder, mind you.  Thunder the likes of which Thursday's storm was considered miniscule by comparison.  There we were, in town, while the one who is a chicken was home to face the terror alone.

When I lived in Vancouver I volunteered every July for the Vancouver Fireworks Festival, which is an international competition held over the course of four nights from English Bay in Vancouver's West End, where I happened to live at the time.  As a volunteer I would leave early to get everything set up for the VIP dinners at the Boathouse and then I would come home very late, long after the last sparkler had flared out and all the revelers were making their way back to suburbia.  Fireworks make the same noise as thunder, don'tcha know.

One night I came home to my apartment to find that Snickers had been absolutely terrorized.  In his quest to escape the sound of incoming schrapnel that is a fireworks show in his mind, he tries to go to higher ground.  Given that we lived in an apartment, the only higher ground that existed was the top of my bed or the kitchen counters.  Which is exactly where he must have been climbing when he cleared the kitchen counter of its contents, scattering everything to the floor, including shattering a bottle of very expensive Balsamic Vinegar.  Realizing he was no safer there, he must have climbed down, carefully placing each foot in the vinegar and then tracking it through the entire apartment, up on every piece of furniture he could find desperately seeking comfort and escape.  

So, you could imagine what was running through my mind Saturday night as I sat in the movie theatre in downtown Charlottetown while he was here, alone except for the Gidge to suffer through a thunder storm on his own.  I racked my brain trying to think of what was on the kitchen counter and deciding that really, it didn't matter because there was nothing I could do at this point.  So I settled in to watch the movie.

When we got home he greeted us at the door in his usual manner, tail wagging and the slipper of the one whom I adore firmly tucked into his cheek.  We thought all was good.  He seemed no worse for wear and even ventured to wonder if the storm maybe didn't make its way out to the OBB.

Wrong.

Upon closer inspection we found the guest room bed which I had just made up the day before completely disheveled, blankets torn back, pillows tossed on the floor.  My office door was almost practically jammed shut with my chair rolled up against the doorknob as if to lock out the noise.  The wardrobe in my changing room had clothes thrown out of it, as though someone were rummaging for a pair of matching socks they just couldn't find.  The windowsill in our bedroom had big drops of saliva on the ledge, as did the mousepad of my laptop.  In fact, there were big gobby drops of saliva all over the house.  Seems he roamed from one room to the next desperately looking for escape, or something that had my scent on it for comfort.  Poor dog.

I mean, it had to be Snickers, right?  Either him or Frieda?  BOO!

When In Rome

Recently, I was writing an article about travel and more specifically, the fact that when it comes to travel karma, I’ve been blessed, or at the very least, very, very lucky.   I was waxing on and on about how despite having traveled the world over I have never had a missed connection, a lost piece of luggage or even a mechanical come between me and a good trip.

Funny the tricks that memory plays on your mind, because, there was that one time in Rome…

Now, this story doesn’t really fall under the category of missed connection or lost luggage, but it does most definitely fall under the category of being very lucky.

I had been on a Mediterranean cruise aboard a beautiful yacht, sailing from Monte Carlo to Rome.  At the  time I was living in Atlanta, and despite my opinion to the contrary, the company I worked for just couldn’t seem to live without me for the full 10 days that my itinerary called for.  Instead I was “allowed” to take this trip on the condition that after 6 days I would return to Atlanta.

So fine, yeah, I was indispensable. 

As arranged, I disembarked the ship 3 ports of call earlier than the itinerary called for.  This happened to be in Catania, on the island of Sicily and I’m here to tell you, disembarking the ship, I wasn’t sure I was going to make it as far as the airport, let alone back to Atlanta.  After submitting to a thorough screening, because who the hell gets of a luxury yacht in Sicily when the itinerary says it’s going on to Naples and then Rome?  Yes, that would be me and without a lick of Italian to aid me, I had to explain why to the customs officers who were rifling my luggage as though I was exporting vast quantities of illegal substances.  Which, just for the record, I WASN’T.

Eventually, limping through my Lonely Planet Italian, I was able to make myself understood and was allowed to taxi to the airport for my flight to Rome.  Nothing in Italy ever leaves on time and my flight was no exception.  We sat for what seemed like hours on the tarmac waiting for our turn to take off.  I don’t know what the delay was, but suffice it to say, when we eventually landed in Rome, my fellow travelers were more than ready to get off the plane and they didn’t care who the manhandled to get to the jet-way fastest.

I had only been to Rome once before and that had been on the connecting flight to Nice where we were embarking on our cruise.  I had an early morning flight to New York the next day and so had made plans to spend the night at the Sheraton Roma Hotel, which offered its guests a complimentary shuttle service from the airport.  On my previous visit to the Rome Airport I staked out the location of the shuttle and made mental note that when I came back to Rome I would get the hotel shuttle “here.”

The only problem with my little plan, however, was the fact that the airport has more than one terminal and although I was indeed at Rome's Fiumicino Airport, I had not arrived at the same terminal as I had previously.  Which of course meant that the shuttle that was supposed to be “here” was in fact “there” and I had no idea where “there” was.

Did I mention I had also exchanged every last one of my Lire with one of my fellow travelers before disembarking the yacht?  Did I mention this story takes place in the days before ATMs?  Hard to imagine, I know, but yes, long ago, in a land far away, in the middle of the night, I was stuck at an airport without any local currency and no way to make my way to my hotel for the night.

After wandering around the airport, hopelessly lost, a kind man who had been watching me meander aimlessly took pity on me and with a combination of Italian and English enquired if I perhaps needed some assistance, or at the very least, some directions?  Thank God, because despite the fact that I have an extensive vocabulary and a working tongue in my head, I did not have the confidence to walk up to a perfect stranger and ask for help.   Although, once approached by this handsome, older man who I’m sure only wanted to help out a young woman traveling by herself in the middle of the night, I found my tongue and was able to yes, ask for directions to the shuttle to the hotel.   He gladly offered directions and was even kind enough to escort me to the location where I could pick up the shuttle.  Which was in a dark parking lot, with no signage and only one dimly lit streetlight.

He bid me farewell, assuring me that the bus would be along shortly.  So there I stood.  Alone.  In the dark.  By myself.  Under a dimly lit streetlight.  With no one by my side.  Exhausted.  And more than just a little bit nervous.

I waited.  And waited.  And waited some more.  My watch told me I had been there for almost an hour and I was beginning to doubt that my kind stranger knew what the hell he was talking about, but then I remembered, “This is Italy.  Nothing is ever on time and what makes me think the shuttle bus that should be along shortly would be on time?”  Silly me.  So I continued to wait.

That’s when it happened.  Suddenly out of the pitch black came swirling blue lights and the unmistakable wail of police sirens.  Four Polizia cars careened out of the darkness to come to a full stop right at my feet.  An outfit of Army officers, armed with machine guns burst out of the cars and started screaming at me…but they were screaming in Italian and I had no idea what they were yelling.  I doubt it was “is this where the shuttle comes?”  It most definitely wasn’t “welcome to Roma”. 

No, it was more like “get the hell out of the way….NOW!”  Except, as I said, I didn’t know Italian and they didn’t stop long enough to think that perhaps I wasn’t from the neighborhood, so I stood there, my eyes locked on their machine guns.  Machine Guns!  I had never seen a shot gun, let alone a semi-automatic machine gun!  It wasn’t until one of them was pointed at my face that suddenly I understood perfectly clearly they wanted me to move out of the way.

I obliged.

As I stood shaking in my sandals, barely able to control my bladder I watched as another group of machine-gun toting officers hustled out of the airport, surrounding an older man whom they loaded into one of the Polizia cars and tore off into the night, sirens screaming, lights flashing.

And then?  Nothing.  You’ve never heard silence more deafening than after you’ve been on the business end of a machine gun, in the dark, in a foreign country where you don’t speak the language. 

I just stood there.  Stunned.  And then it came.  Like a knight in shining armour, except that it was a motorcoach in shining chrome…my shuttle bus had arrived…very lucky indeed.