|Last night after Mike arrived|
― Nita Morgan
I'm sure by now you all know that Mike arrived in Bologna last evening. His plane was late thanks to a strike at Heathrow, but he still arrived before 7:00 pm which was when I expected him anyway. I ran him around Bologna (which I miss already) quickly last night and this morning to meet my friends (whom I miss already), and we caught the train to Lucca just after 11:00 am.
|Mike not thrilled with proscuitto sandwich|
We arrived on time and got the the apartment easily. The manager, a gal from Texas, met us in a courtyard and took us to the apartment. Our apartment is in a 17th century building that the owner's family has had for more than 100 years. Getting from the door to the apartment is rather interesting as we came in the main door, went through another, took an elevator to the 3rd floor, turned left, turned right, turned around in a circle and ended up in the apartment.
Vanessa explained everything and left, and the two of us decided to hit the market to get a few things we'd need for dinner tomorrow. We walked out of the door into our floor's foyer and had no idea which way to turn. To our left were stair neither of us remembered descending, and to our right was an open door neither of us remembered entering.
"I guess we came this way," he said going through the door. It lead to another foyer and contained doors to a few other apartments.
"Don't pull that door all the way closed," I told him. For some reason, I remembered that Vanessa had mentioned leaving it open. Mike pulled it closed. "Why did you do that?"
|Piazza in Lucca|
"It was open. You told me to shut it," he said. I tried not to roll my eyes, but they roll automatically at times.
"I told you NOT to shut it. How are you going to open it?" I asked him. He pushed it, and it didn't open. He put his key and turned it, and it bolted shut. He turned the key the other way, and it didn't open the door. "Now what?" I was trying not to panic, but we had both left our phones in the apartment, and neither one of us knew in which apartment Vanessa lives.
|Doorway where we stood in 2010|
"I guess we can't call her," he said. Auto eye roll. "I'll go down to the restaurant and see if they know her." He started down the stairs, stopped, and came back. "I might need your Italian skills." I wasn't moving.
"Just ask them if they know Vanessa in English." As he headed back down the stairs, I got up and started fooling with my key and the lock, and when I jiggled it one way, the door opened. "Michael," I yelled down the stairs. "I got it open. Come back up here."
Long story short, we came back into the apartment at that point and got my phone. I wasn't taking another chance of getting lost or locked out without being able to call someone.
|Lighting the candles in Lucca|
Tonight is the Festa della Santa Croce, the reason we came to Lucca. There's a huge procession through the town, and the people put 30,000 candles on windows (photo above) along the procession route. It starts at 8 and ends early in the morning. We were here for it in 2010, and it rained like anything. We ended up hiding in a doorway to stay out of the rain (photo two up).
I'll tell you more tomorrow...