The last day before we fly away, and back to the realities of a London winter.
Sadly I can’t but start by disposing of an unfortunate finale. And it all started so promisingly!
Jens had managed to locate, out in the ‘burbs, what looked like a properly proper bike shop, with great reviews, so we hopped on a train (we’re old hands by now) and headed out that way. And, a hit, sah, a palpable hit! The nice chaps at the counter could help us, in half an hour or so.
They said they would prepare and pack our bikes: 15 euros each. Bit steep, given that it’s 10 minutes work if that, but hey ho. In any case, as we explained, we couldn’t do that – we had to get all our luggage in, so we really had to do it ourselves back at the hotel. Anyway, with less than 24 hours before the flight, a massive weight off our minds. Huzzah!
Long story short, we popped over the road for a couple of cappuccini, then back for a bit more waiting and a nice chat with one of the guys, then as we went to leave, he said “Have you paid?” “You want money?” I said, in genuine amazement. Yup. 15 bucks apiece. For what is, when all’s said and done, litter. I’ve had boxes from many bike shops; never has anyone suggested payment. Let alone 15 euros a pop. Sad. Left a sour taste in the mouth, just before heading for home.
Still, as I said to Jens, after more than three weeks in the country it’s actually the first time we’ve felt proper ripped off, so that ain’t so bad in the great scheme o’ things.
We lugged the boxes back to our garret (six floors – glad we’ll have Mr Gravity on our side on the fully-laden descent on the morrer) and Jens texted our Airb&b host with a query about arranging taxis to the airport, to which he responded near-instantly and very helpfully (things are looking up already!) Then we headed out towards a street market, pausing en route for some street food – arancini and frittatini, basically deep fried balls of yumminess starring rice and pasta respectively. Wow but they’re good!
The street market turned out to be decidedly underwhelming, but we had a great time just walking the streets there and back, soaking up the general buzz (as well as not too much of the rain that’s pouring down as I write), and appreciating the street art that is absolutely everywhere – some of it not even featuring Maradona.
Now we’re back at the gaff, mentally preparing for the ordeal ahead. As well as looking forward to our last supper (“No more pizza!” © Jens). Mind you, he said the same last night, as well as ‘no more booze’, but it’s amazing what a couple of Asperol spritzers will do for even the most resolute intentions.
PS Can’t hit the sack (in preparation for our 6.45 wake-up to meet Lorenzo’s mate who’s charging us a frankly larcenous fifty bucks for a ride to the airport) without one last huzzah. Having basically run out of cash and needing the aforementioned fifty, we headed out of the old town and toward the bright lights in search of an ATM, passing en route what looked like just our kind of place: a decidedly modest little eatery – sort of a Neapolitan greasy Joe’s – with rickety tables, bright lights, full of locals loading up on big piles of pasta and chips – often on the same plate. After finding the cash machine (thank you google) we headed back to it. It wasn’t ‘full’.
We sat and waited. And waited some more. Jens caught the eye of the big mama who was waiting tables, and I’m told she gave him a look that left him in no doubt that she would get to us when she was good and ready.
We waited some more. Then she came over and we ordered. Then we waited. Then just for the hell of it, we waited some more. After quite a while – but not actually too long – big mama plonked down a bottle of water, a half litre of house red, and two plates of spaghetti puttanesca. The smell! Oh. Em. Gee. Olives and capers and fresh tomatoes, and plenty of olive oil, and torn up basil leaves. And if the smell promised, boy did the food deliver! We scoffed it down, with gulps of wine, cleaning our plates of every last smear of sauce with the (delicious) bread, and staggered off into the night after settling the twenty seven fifty all in damage.
That’s what I call a last supper!
And so to bed.
Ciao!