Saved by a lovers' quarrel

Saved by a lovers' quarrel

Several years ago my wife, Jo, and I spent some time in Tuscany. She had found us a perfect base, a cozy house surrounded by vineyards, from which we spent several weeks exploring with our friends Doug and Paula. We set out every day to enjoy the views, historic cities like Florence and Pisa, and charming hilltop towns, many still ringed by their medieval walls.

Doug used a wheelchair. He couldn't walk as the result of a childhood illness and the treatment available at that time. Because of this we had rented a good-sized van, with space for all of our luggage and his wheelchair. The van was roomy, but not well suited for Tuscany's narrow roads, or the twists and turns in the small towns we liked to visit.

One of those that we decided to explore was Cortona, a walled hilltop city in northern Tuscany. I was driving the day we went there. We passed through the wall via the main gate, and, climbing and turning, arrived at the central piazza. One advantage of traveling with Doug was that with his handicapped card we could park anywhere. So, we left the van in the heart of town and headed out.

We had an exceptional day, walking (and rolling) along the winding cobblestone lanes, enjoying the vividly decorated churches, learning about the Etruscans in the local museum, and chatting with friendly locals in our limited Italian. We stumbled on an enticing restaurant and devoured a superb meal, accompanied, as required by the chef, with a few cups of the local Sangiovese wine.

Relaxed and happy after our meal, we climbed into the van and began the process of leaving town. I say “process” because we didn't have a map of the town, and this was years before Google Maps. Still, we weren't worried; we knew from towns we'd already visited that all we had to do was to follow signs that said “Tutti Direzione” – “All Directions. They would lead us out of town and on towards the main roads.

Leaving Cortona, the signs guided us to a different. much narrower gateway than the one we'd entered through. But we'd managed quite a few tight entrances and exits, and knew the routine. We folded in the side mirrors and drove slowly and cautiously. We figured that we'd be able to squeeze through with a few inches of clearance on both sides of the van.

Unfortunately, this gateway had a surprise in store for us. Rather than passing straight through the wall, it turned sharply to the left. Given the length of the van, I wasn't sure we could make it around the turn without a scrape. Nobody was behind us, so we could have backed out and tried to find another way out of town. But, after some discussion, we decided that we could wiggle through what we now realized was more of a tunnel than a gateway by zigzagging – turning a bit to the left, then straightening out, then angling left again, then going straight, etc.

So, holding our breath, we crept forward another few yards. But the tunnel surprised us again. We suddenly felt our front tires drop down; the road had started a steep descent! We were now in a serious bind. Everyone started shouting urgent and contradictory directions at me. “Stop!” Jo yelled. “Back up! Back up!” shouted Doug. “Punch it! Paula chimed in.

I was pretty sure that I couldn't comply with any of those demands. With the front of the car now a foot or two lower than the rear, I doubted that we had enough traction to back up. From the sharpness of the turn and the descent, we couldn't go forward. And if we stopped, I had a nightmarish vision that we'd be so stuck that they would have to demolish the historic gateway to get us out.

But, as the driver, I had to do something. I decided that our only hope was to bulldoze the van forward, come what may. I stomped on the gas and tried my best to steer around the turn and down the slope with as little damage as possible. We lurched forward, the van shuddering with each foot that we gained, accompanied by horrible screeching sounds as we ground our way through.

The van finally popped out of the tunnel like a cork from a bottle of champagne. As soon as we could, we stopped to assess the damage. It was bad. Both sides of the van were grooved with long, ugly scratches. It looked as though a monster had attacked the van and clawed it from head to toe. All we could do was shake our heads and groan, sure that this mishap was going to cost us a small fortune.

A few days later it was time to leave Italy. We drove to the Rome airport to return the van, hear the bad news about how much we'd be charged for the damages, and catch our flight home. We dropped Doug and Paula off at the entrance to check-in and found the building labeled rental car returns. We drove five or six floors up a dimply-lit spiral ramp and managed to find a designated spot to park the van.

Nobody was there to receive us. We eventually found the office of the rental-car company, tucked away in a dark corner. It was staffed by one young woman seated behind a desk. She was on the telephone in what seemed to be a very intense conversation and didn't pay any attention to us. We waited politely for several minutes, expecting her to end her call in order to deal with us. But no, she kept on talking, punctuating the increasingly heated exchange with appropriately dramatic gestures

We couldn't understand much of her rapid-fire Italian, but we it became clear that she was in the midst of a serious argument with her boyfriend. It seemed that he wanted to break up with her, but she did not want to break up with him. She alternated between shouting at him and pleading with him.

We didn't want to interrupt this potentially life-changing exchange, but we had a plane to catch and did not have time to wait for a resolution. So, eventually, Jo walked up to the desk. The young woman finally looked up. Jo dangled the keys in front of her, indicating that we were returning a vehicle. The woman nodded.

“When we got the car, it had some scratches,” Jo said, truthfully.

The woman nodded impatiently.

“And now there are some more scratches,” Jo added, also truthfully.

“Si, Si, Si!” the woman said, dismissing us with a wave and immediately turning back to the phone.

So off we went.

We never found out how the argument ended, but we also never heard a word from the rental-car company.

That's how we were saved by a pair of star-crossed Italian lovers. We're sorry about their possibly broken hearts, but still we thank them, “Grazie mille!”