EVER spend two weeks in an ancient, charming city in Italy with no money and nothing to wear but a pair of giant men’s boxer shorts and a trashy tank top with the word “Ciao!” emblazoned in rhinestones?
I have.
The story of how I went from bliss in Air France’s first-class cabin to looking like an escapee from the cast of “Rent” is fairly simple.
It started with me finally deciding to take the trip that I’d dreamed of taking since Jesus was in swaddling Pampers – a stint at the Art Workshops International Summer Program in Assisi.
Two weeks of writing my heart out, along with other writers, artists and seekers.
Unfortunately, when I packed back home it never occurred to me that the Italians might be in the midst of yet another airport work slow-down. By the time I’d landed at Rome’s Fiumicino Airport, CNN was reporting that possibly 100,000 pieces of luggage were lost,
missing or otherwise unavailable to their owners there. The chances of ever finding my bags? Slimmer than Amy Winehouse’s thighs.
Luckily I was met at the airport by several other
students who had volunteered to pick up newbies and drive them to Assisi. They waited patiently while I tried to find my bags. Right. I snuck into an area roughly the size of the Coliseum and saw thousands of bags covered in a month’s worth of dust.
I wasn’t worried. Air France had told me, “no problem” – right? They had promised to find and deliver my bag the next day. Clue: As soon as someone in Europe says, “No problem,” you may as well kill yourself.
Oh well, I’d just have to buy a few things to hold me over in the fabulous airport shops – some undies, a sundress,
sunglasses.
That’s when “no problem” became a “huge problem.”
Citibank had also decided to invalidate my ATM card because I hadn’t informed them that I was traveling.
A few hours later I found myself in Assisi without clothes, without money – and worse – without cosmetics and phone charger. You mean I couldn’t call home? My hair would remain frizzy?
With the few Euros I had brought from home, I bought a pair of men’s boxers and tank top at a kiosk.
Instead of being bohemian chic at breakfast, lunch and dinner, I was the skank at the table in the same outfit everyday at every meal. It was so bad that I was thrilled to find a safety pin. At least I could finally close the fly.
On day three a student either took pity on me or couldn’t bear looking at me any longer and bought me a cool pair of Italian rubber sandals. Finally, something other than my ratty, sweaty giant clogs. Sweet.
Next day a guy in that same class bought me some socks. On Wednesday a woman in the painting class bought me bikini underpants – red, white and black. Someone else gave me a bracelet.
For an elegant dinner the school was hosting, my sock dealer – CBS producer B.J. D’Elia, as it happens – lent me his button down shirt. An 80-year old painter lent me her embroidered gypsy skirt. Cellphones and cameras were offered. Ah, the
kindness of strangers.
Ten days later, my luggage unceremoniously arrived. By now, I was almost indifferent. Did I need all that stuff?
To learn more about the program, visit artworkshopintl.com
LOWDOWN
Info: You can go on your own or book daytrips through the Comarca de la Sidra ([985] 717-477; ComarcadelaSidra.com), which, along with the Asturian tourism folks (infoasturias.com), provides lists of llagares that accept visitors and give tours.