If you haven't read the first Italy post, check it out first.Alrighty then, now where were we? Oh yes, this was the day we flew out. We awoke to pouring rain once again, and so we decided to just stay all day at the airport, instead of going sightseeing after dropping off the luggage. As it turned out, that was a wise decision. The roads to the airport ended up flooded and many people were unable to get in. We would have missed our flight to Milan, and I would have had a royal freakout. Nobody wants that.Our flight out was supposed to leave at 6:35 p.m. All the flights around our gate were being delayed or cancelled due to the weather, so we were holding our breath. The lightning was unbelievable, and the thunder was rocking that place like a taco fart in church. We were sure that even if they did let us fly, our plane was going to end up in a fireball over the ocean. But they let us board at 5:50 p.m. and then we sat and waited. And waited. And sighed, shifted, cursed the weather, and contemplated how long it would be before the toilets would start to overflow on the tarmac. At 8:50 p.m., they finally let us start an active taxi, at which point we discovered my mother was in the bathroom. I fully expected her to return to her seat, the bottom of her shirt wet and stained blue, but she came back unscathed just as we were taking off.My seat mate and I watched the airport lackeys hauling loads of luggage to the various planes. Remember, there are sheets of rain coming down. And not one load of luggage is covered. So we were chuckling about how many people were going to be seriously pissed when they picked up soggy suitcases at baggage claim. Yeah, well, when we got to our hotel, I opened my suitcase and discovered that everything around the edges of it was soaked, and the suitcase color had dyed my clothes. That's karma, baby.It was about an eight hour flight to Milan, so it was 10:00 in the morning when we arrived there. It was then a four hour bus ride to Florence. We had decided we would all stay awake for the day to lessen the jet lag. Guess who was the only one who didn't snooze on the bus?We were all stoked about staying at the Hilton Hotel, since we had checked it out online and it looked relatively awesome. Yeah, well, I'm pretty sure the rooms were actually designed by Paris Hilton. The shower doors were clear glass, the bathroom door was blocks of frosted glass separated by lines of clear glass, and the wall separating the bathroom from the bedroom was also glass. Oh sure, there was a sliding door that would cover it, but really, are there a lot of guests requesting the ability to see their fellow room dweller perched on the throne or scrubbing their bits? Creepy. Oh, and they don't provide washcloths, and they ran out of towels the second day we were there.In addition, the elevators clearly were not equipped for the number of us who were there. Shortly after arriving, Paralegal Barbie and I were attempting to get on and our bus captain was already in the elevator. We stepped in and the alarm sounded that the elevator was overweight. It was supposed to hold eight people! Now I'll admit I appreciate my fast food as much as the next guy, but it's not like people moo when I lumber past them. And the pavement doesn't crack when PB falls, so clearly there was a maintenance issue. They finally quit working altogether, some with guests stuck inside.We then spent the next hour searching for the stairs. If you were in the lobby, there were stairs to take you to the first floor. That's where they stopped, unless you took the set on the other side. They returned you to the lobby. It was like being trapped in an MC Escher painting. We finally discovered that the door to the stairwell was behind the bar, but as the burly bellman informed us, they were "for emergencies only." Ignoring his glares, we ripped open the door and headed to the third floor. Just one problem: the doors off the stairwells were locked. After much gesturing and breaking out my mad face, the bellman finally sighed and unlocked them. There was a mad dash of people using the stairs, much to the disgust of the staff, who apparently preferred we spend the evening sprawled in heaps in the lobby. Stupid demanding foreigners.Of course, once we got to our rooms, there was the little matter of getting the lights to stay on. Now I realize that I'm not the most traveled person in the world, so I fully accept that there are going to be times when my redneck reality rears its ugly head. But come on now, even I understand the basic concept of a light switch. Off. On. Bam! Let there be light! Yeah, well, not so much here, past the first thirty seconds. So we spent the next 10 minutes trying to figure out how to keep the suckers on, short of having one of us open the door every 30 seconds. For those of you better-traveled than I, perhaps you've already figured out that they required the room key being inserted in the sensor in the wall and left there. Pardon me 'most to death, but wouldn't it just be easier to have a switch? Surely the Hilton can handle the occasional light switch being left on when someone leaves their room.In addition, the TV didn't work right either. The picture kept scrolling while I attempted to watch an episode of Bonanza dubbed in Italian. The windows wouldn't open past a half inch, there were only two outlets in the entire room, both of which were used for lamps, and there was no swimming pool, only a jacuzzi that cost extra to use. Where's my Super 8, dang it?We decided to hit the town on our own for the night. But after waiting an hour for the hotel shuttle to come back, we gave up and took off walking. We found a strip mall nearby, where they were playing American Christmas music. In July. We wandered around until we found a restaurant, only to discover The Crazy Bull was a sports lounge that serves... American food. I went with the pizza, which is sparse on cheese, sauce and toppings and is always thin crust in Italy. Their pepperoni is very spicy and has a strange aftertaste, but the beer helps you forget that. Plus, you are easily distracted by the sports shows that, between news items, feature random women dressed like they are headed for an S&M party, prancing past the news desk and giggling. Not sure what sport they represented, but I think it involves a whip.By the time we got back, the hotel was pretty dead and the elevator worked...until the third floor. The rest of our group had to hoof it up the stairs to get to the ninth floor where they were staying. If a fire broke out that night, we'd have just laid in our beds and held out marshmallows on sticks.Part III coming soon...
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