And the rain, rain, rain, came down, down, down in rushing, writhing rivlets.
The weather report said clear to begin with. Clear as a doorbell. This one thing you must understand or else nothing else you read will seem reasonable, responsible, well thought out, planned.
(This message, brought to you by Dickens, is applicable to the entire trip after leaving Ireland.)
We succeeded in caravaning all the way to Rome with no concerns, despite a detour and twice the GPS giving different directions for each car. It was thankfully the least stressful drive we've yet had on this trip. Of course. Even once we reached Rome, traffic wasn't nearly as awful as I remembered it and I won a game of chicken with at least three smart cars. (Though I happily lost it to the bus. I'm not that stupid.)
Just to point out, I drove through Rome in my stick shift car with no troubles, no killing the engine, no swearing, no clenching of the steering wheel, and no "Dear God, we're going to die" moments. But no one was able to appreciate my greatness.
I resent this.
Getting to our apartment was scads of fun because the street is precisely two buildings long. GPS isn't terribly exact with such small streets and places and the apartment owner wasn't terribly helpful in directions. But it was eventually found, we managed to get everyone up the (wet, slick, awful, I-hate-rain) steps, and trundled into the elevator and up to the apartment, settled everyone in - especially the worried and confused kids and the worried and confused Nana and the hobbling Pop -, decided we were NOT returning the other car tonight, found an amazing parking spot for our car, and decided it was finally time to figure out dinner. There was a grocery store right up the road, so Steven and I set out to find some food.
As I was walking out the door, Gabbie ran up to me to say "Here, take my jacket and hat." I almost refused because it wasn't that cold and the rain was supposed to be stopped, but she was also worried and this would make her happy. Whatever. Mummy called after me, "We'd be fine with anything. Even if you just want to bring back McDonald's...." and launches into her story of eating at the local-to-home hamburger joint and how they share a hamburger and....and....and.... Those of you who know her have probably heard this story at least a dozen times. At least I have.
As the saga continues, the grocery store is closed. And so is the restaurant next to it. And the pizzeria up the street. And the cafe across the way. Let me point out - it is 8:30. That's 20:30 for those of you military time people. It is not 1:30 in the morning. And we are in Rome, three blocks from the Vatican. Not in Podunk, ND (Sorry Bernadette). Rome. The Eternal City. The one that's always going and hasn't stopped in 3000 years. But for us, an exception was made. Nothing. is. open.
And, to our utter surprise and shock, despite the weather report's claim to the contrary, it has started raining. At first it is a slight drizzle. We've become immune to such paltry minimalism. Then it gets a bit harder but still we laugh in the face of this languid liquid. We're on a quest for dinner and all else is naught. Plus the fact, I'm near hysteria again. I have 5 hungry children, one injured diabetic father, one distraught mother, and poor Gabbie having to hold them together and we can't find dinner!
We were boggling together at the insanity of this when Steven sees someone holding a McDonald's bag. We giggled till passers-by looked at us oddly. Then someone else was holding one. It wasn't quite angelic signs from heaven, but at least it was....well...something resembling food. (If you've ever eaten McDonald's in another country, it's surprisingly edible. They have higher standards there.) The restaurant was unmarked, no Golden Arches hanging, no big sign, just a random lit window. But we were desperate, the Eternal City had abandoned us, and we just needed to feed people.
Remembering a certain McDonald's trip from 4 years ago , the kids decided that we only eat there during medical traumas.
They made all our food, didn't blink twice at an order of 40 chicken mcnuggets, created salads with nary an iceberg to be seen, placed it all in big, handled paper bags, and sent us on our way home. And our way was raining.
I guess the gods were angered by all our celebrating, because the skies split open and it gushed forth. Noah had nothing on this. For a moment while we slogged home, I was afraid my shoe was leaking. Until I realized that my pant legs were so soaked it was wicking into my socks.
I was very grateful for Gabbie's jacket and hat.
As we passed by the traitorous grocery store, I felt the weight of the bag shift and caught it just in time for the entire bottom to rip out. Thanks to my quick thinking and lightening reflexes (superpowers that must be given by my awesome hair) nothing dropped but the napkins. I'm now carrying the food vaguely wrapped in sodden brown paper in hopes that nothing else will fall out. Steven's bag is bulging at the bottom like the current hit song by Meghan Trainor. Where oh WHERE was the director to yell "Cut!" and assure us that the whole thing was really bad summer release attempting to go head-to-head with the latest Adam Sadler movie?
We staggered in the door, drenched and dripping, giving them warning that they had exactly sixty seconds to take a photo. Gabbie went scurrying for the camera. It's a testament to my camera's greatness that she could get the picture focused for how hard she was shaking with laughter.
As we said previously, McDonald's have higher standards in Europe and even the packages are better quality so none of the food was soggy. Except for the dozen packets of salt the gentleman had put in for us. They were clumped together like wet sand in a sand castle. It was at this point that I finally lost all semblance of control and laughed until I cried. Then just cried. And then laughed some more. And after half an hour locked in my room, sat down to eat.
(This message, brought to you by Dickens, is applicable to the entire trip after leaving Ireland.)
We succeeded in caravaning all the way to Rome with no concerns, despite a detour and twice the GPS giving different directions for each car. It was thankfully the least stressful drive we've yet had on this trip. Of course. Even once we reached Rome, traffic wasn't nearly as awful as I remembered it and I won a game of chicken with at least three smart cars. (Though I happily lost it to the bus. I'm not that stupid.)
Just to point out, I drove through Rome in my stick shift car with no troubles, no killing the engine, no swearing, no clenching of the steering wheel, and no "Dear God, we're going to die" moments. But no one was able to appreciate my greatness.
I resent this.
Getting to our apartment was scads of fun because the street is precisely two buildings long. GPS isn't terribly exact with such small streets and places and the apartment owner wasn't terribly helpful in directions. But it was eventually found, we managed to get everyone up the (wet, slick, awful, I-hate-rain) steps, and trundled into the elevator and up to the apartment, settled everyone in - especially the worried and confused kids and the worried and confused Nana and the hobbling Pop -, decided we were NOT returning the other car tonight, found an amazing parking spot for our car, and decided it was finally time to figure out dinner. There was a grocery store right up the road, so Steven and I set out to find some food.
As I was walking out the door, Gabbie ran up to me to say "Here, take my jacket and hat." I almost refused because it wasn't that cold and the rain was supposed to be stopped, but she was also worried and this would make her happy. Whatever. Mummy called after me, "We'd be fine with anything. Even if you just want to bring back McDonald's...." and launches into her story of eating at the local-to-home hamburger joint and how they share a hamburger and....and....and.... Those of you who know her have probably heard this story at least a dozen times. At least I have.
As the saga continues, the grocery store is closed. And so is the restaurant next to it. And the pizzeria up the street. And the cafe across the way. Let me point out - it is 8:30. That's 20:30 for those of you military time people. It is not 1:30 in the morning. And we are in Rome, three blocks from the Vatican. Not in Podunk, ND (Sorry Bernadette). Rome. The Eternal City. The one that's always going and hasn't stopped in 3000 years. But for us, an exception was made. Nothing. is. open.
And, to our utter surprise and shock, despite the weather report's claim to the contrary, it has started raining. At first it is a slight drizzle. We've become immune to such paltry minimalism. Then it gets a bit harder but still we laugh in the face of this languid liquid. We're on a quest for dinner and all else is naught. Plus the fact, I'm near hysteria again. I have 5 hungry children, one injured diabetic father, one distraught mother, and poor Gabbie having to hold them together and we can't find dinner!
We were boggling together at the insanity of this when Steven sees someone holding a McDonald's bag. We giggled till passers-by looked at us oddly. Then someone else was holding one. It wasn't quite angelic signs from heaven, but at least it was....well...something resembling food. (If you've ever eaten McDonald's in another country, it's surprisingly edible. They have higher standards there.) The restaurant was unmarked, no Golden Arches hanging, no big sign, just a random lit window. But we were desperate, the Eternal City had abandoned us, and we just needed to feed people.
Remembering a certain McDonald's trip from 4 years ago , the kids decided that we only eat there during medical traumas.
They made all our food, didn't blink twice at an order of 40 chicken mcnuggets, created salads with nary an iceberg to be seen, placed it all in big, handled paper bags, and sent us on our way home. And our way was raining.
I guess the gods were angered by all our celebrating, because the skies split open and it gushed forth. Noah had nothing on this. For a moment while we slogged home, I was afraid my shoe was leaking. Until I realized that my pant legs were so soaked it was wicking into my socks.
I was very grateful for Gabbie's jacket and hat.
As we passed by the traitorous grocery store, I felt the weight of the bag shift and caught it just in time for the entire bottom to rip out. Thanks to my quick thinking and lightening reflexes (superpowers that must be given by my awesome hair) nothing dropped but the napkins. I'm now carrying the food vaguely wrapped in sodden brown paper in hopes that nothing else will fall out. Steven's bag is bulging at the bottom like the current hit song by Meghan Trainor. Where oh WHERE was the director to yell "Cut!" and assure us that the whole thing was really bad summer release attempting to go head-to-head with the latest Adam Sadler movie?
We staggered in the door, drenched and dripping, giving them warning that they had exactly sixty seconds to take a photo. Gabbie went scurrying for the camera. It's a testament to my camera's greatness that she could get the picture focused for how hard she was shaking with laughter.
As we said previously, McDonald's have higher standards in Europe and even the packages are better quality so none of the food was soggy. Except for the dozen packets of salt the gentleman had put in for us. They were clumped together like wet sand in a sand castle. It was at this point that I finally lost all semblance of control and laughed until I cried. Then just cried. And then laughed some more. And after half an hour locked in my room, sat down to eat.
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