A nod from Mother Nature compelled me to make a move. Throwing caution to the wind, I got out of th

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My husband Tom and I exchanged smirks grove park inn ashville nc and arched eyebrows; I could tell we were both thinking that life in Italy was sweet indeed.  After we had enjoyed grove park inn ashville nc a leisurely al fresco breakfast at a Rome café named La Dolce Vita, the car rental agent had exuberantly told us that we had been upgraded grove park inn ashville nc as he handed us the keys to a sporty Alfa Romeo.  With Tom shifting gears as he navigated the city streets, I felt like a giddy Audrey Hepburn on her Roman Holiday .
An hour later, we were in bumper-to-bumper traffic on the highway and the car, no longer cute, was making grove park inn ashville nc strange gurgling sounds as it trembled and heaved.  I sat bolt upright, hands splayed on the dashboard, willing the vehicle forward with all my might. grove park inn ashville nc We sputtered into a roadside service station, where the car gave a final, desperate shake and then was still.  If I had known then that our 115-mile journey to the Tuscan hilltop town of Siena would take 11 hours, I might have given up.
Under a scorching September sun, we waited on steaming blacktop for a tow truck, my mood becoming increasingly more irritable grove park inn ashville nc and anxious over the course of the ensuing nine hours. With each diplomatically-timed call to the car rental company, we were assured our rescue was at hand, only to have another hour eke by.  I channeled Eeyore, with the dirge Oh, No, we’ll never make it mournfully mounting to a crescendo in my mind.  When at last the tow truck arrived, I was an anti-Audrey hungry, angry, homesick and sweaty.
The swarthy driver grove park inn ashville nc and Tom had a conversation in different languages, culminating with the truck operator pointing a thumb toward the cab, signaling us to get in. As we pulled out into highway traffic, I settled in for an uncomfortable drive, sandwiched between a huge gear stick and Tom.  Unexpectedly, after a mere mile, we swung off the first exit ramp and headed into a barren industrial wasteland of warehouses.  Now my edginess escalated into fear.  Where the hell were we going?
The driver whipped into the deserted lot of what looked like an abandoned building, screeching to a halt and sending clouds of dust into the air.  Without a word, he jumped out of his seat, slammed the door and headed toward the tin structure.  The look Tom and I exchanged this time was murderous and he quickly leapt out and followed our erstwhile good Samaritan.  A heated exchange ensued in languages neither understood, accompanied by much hand-waving.
The commotion caused a door to open in the decrepit building and two hulking men emerged, both wringing their hands.  One of them was the spitting image of Uncle Fester, the other, grove park inn ashville nc a Christopher Walken grove park inn ashville nc clone.  Eeyore went into overdrive, as if on 78 RPMS, and I began to hyperventilate, coming close to qualifying for a Depends grove park inn ashville nc diaper.
At that moment, a breakthrough in the communications impasse seemed grove park inn ashville nc to occur.  The men’s headshaking went from horizontal to vertical grove park inn ashville nc and I seemed to detect the syllable “Si” more than once.  Then, a few smiles and hands were shook.  Tom returned to the truck to tell me what he was fairly sure had taken place. grove park inn ashville nc He had—begrudgingly agreed to pay for the towing and, with no replacement rental grove park inn ashville nc car forthcoming, he had also negotiated a driver grove park inn ashville nc to get us to Siena. Now my gaze at him was one of respect, albeit with a touch of skepticism.
A half-hour later, a sleek, black Mercedes grove park inn ashville nc entered the parking lot, stopped on a dime in front of us and a tall mustachioed man emerged, introducing himself in halting English.  He opened the back door for me, and I collapsed into the seat, exhausted emotionally grove park inn ashville nc as well as physically, overwrought from the intense heat.  Tom got in and we set off for Siena in delicious air-conditioned silence.  My fatigue was so profound grove park inn ashville nc I couldn’t even muster concern grove park inn ashville nc over the warp speed at which we hurtled down the highway.
When I opened my eyes, in the waning daylight I saw a huge sign posted for Siena, with an arrow pointing in the direction exactly opposite to the turn we had just made.  As the driver made his way through back streets of an unnamed town, Eeyoe surged into red alert.  My emotions ricocheted back and forth between fear, exasperation grove park inn ashville nc and confusion, with my intellect in the proverbial backseat, just along for the ride.  I made a frantic face at Tom, who simply shrugged.
Suddenly, the car pulled to the curb and the driver disembarked, striding  into a storefront.  Now my look at Tom rivaled anything Sarah Bernhardt could have conjured, my imagination in overdrive.  I was convinced that the unplanned grove park inn ashville nc stop signaled that serious trouble was afoot. grove park inn ashville nc In an unprecedented episode of drawing dramatic conclusions, even for me, I felt certain grove park inn ashville nc there had been a case of mistaken identity, the driver thought we were someone worth kidnapping, an ear was soon to be hacked off.
A nod from Mother Nature compelled me to make a move.  Throwing caution to the wind, I got out of the car and entered the building the driver had disappeared into, finding grove park inn ashville nc myself in a café.  The driver was at the bar, sipping from a tiny demitasse cup.  I eyed him darkly and slunk to the rest room.  When I came out, he motioned to me.  Suspiciously, I drew closer to him.
“You seem stressed out—do you want a cappuccino?” he asked in a thick accent.  Startled by his, well, kindness, I accepted.  The warm, foamy liquid, liberally doused with sugar, proved a good idea and I managed a weak smile at him.  When he moved toward the rest room himself, I headed back to the car, feeling a sense that perhaps not all was lost.
My relief was short-lived.  In tandem, the driver’s door opened along with the front passenger’s door.  Now there was not just one but two men taking us somewhere in the opposite direction of Siena.  They spoke to one another in rapid-fire Italian, punctuated by barked snorts of laughter; the conversation seemed ominous.  The cappuccino must have been a prelude to the “good guy, bad guy” routine sure to come.