April 24
Chiusi - Roma

Another Italian driving tip: When you decide to pass a slow-moving vehicle on the autostrada, even if you're doing 120 Kph, make sure to check your rear view mirror to be damn certain it's clear. Otherwise, you could end up with a Mercedes suppository. The traffic leading into Rome wasn't that bad, but there were thousands of cars driving out of Rome after Sunday Mass. This was the Inaugural mass delivered by Pope Benedict XVI.

We parted with our "beloved" station wagon at the Da Vinci airport, about 18 miles outside the city of Rome. From there, we lugged the luggage (please recall there was 200 pounds of it by this time) onto an express train to Roma Termini, the enormous central train station in the city. We shared the first class cabin with a nun, a Frenchman, and two giant suitcases, all occupying seats of their own.

Things were going smoothly until our arrival at binario (gate) 29 in Roma Termini, which is about a half mile away from the main exit of the station. The moving sidewalk to the exit was one level below the gate, but there was no way we could lug the luggage down that long flight of stairs. We searched in vain for an escalator and found instead an elevator in an out-of-the-way section of the station. The elevator opened for us, and it was large enough for the two giant suitcases, our carry-ons, and us, with room to spare, in fact, lots of room to spare. In hindsight, it should have been obvious it was a freight elevator, even if we couldn't read the Italian signage above the door. The buttons read, "0, -1, -2, -3." I pushed -1 and nothing happened. I pushed them all, and the doors closed, leaving us with a final glimpse of the large, bustling crowd of people in the biggest train station in Italy.

The elevator sank. It passed -1, went to -2, then on to -3. When the doors opened again, we were on sub-level 3 below Roma Termini. We saw abandoned heavy machinery, trash, rusted chain-link fencing blocking exits, and signs in Italian we still couldn't read. But there were no people. Kathy looked at me, and I looked at her, and as quickly as possible I pressed the 0 button.

Nothing happened.

I pressed all the buttons again. The doors closed and the light in the elevator went out, but the elevator didn't move. Now we're trapped in a pitch black elevator, with all our earthly possessions, three levels below a busy train station in Italy, and no living person knows we're there. It was panic time. Kathy pressed the alarm button, which sounded an annoying, but not particularly loud, squeal. Still no one came to save us. Finally, after again pressing all the buttons we could find in no particular order, the doors opened, still in the same forgotten dungeon beneath the station.

We exited the scary elevator car with our 200 pounds of luggage and walked down the deserted corridor until we found another freight elevator. Same story. Apparently one needed a special key or something to get the damn things to go up. I'm sure there was a Twilight Zone episode like this - a corridor containing an endless series of freight elevators, none of which would take us back to the world. Finally, Kathy spotted a real, live person (we think) - a 20-year old security guard in a blue uniform sitting in a glass room, supposedly watching TV monitors. Kathy must have snuck up on him. When she knocked on the glass, the poor boy jumped like he'd been goosed by a ghost. He started speaking rapidly in Italian; obviously surprised we were there. When he asked me how the hell we found our way into the secret dungeon, I replied in my usual eloquent Italian. I shrugged and said, "Lost?" He actually had to make a phone call to his superior to find out what to do with us. I was briefly afraid they'd have to kill us to make sure no one else ever discovered the place. But instead, he pressed a big red button (I'm not kidding about that) causing a steel gate to open. He pointed up the long concrete ramp on the other side and said in broken English, "Go right 500 meters." We thanked him and escaped from the dungeon as quickly as possible, lugging 200 pounds of luggage behind us.

After all our planning, all our charts and graphs and dozens of cute little folding maps, our first steps on the streets of Rome came after emerging from below into an alley like rats with suitcases. Luckily, the Hotel Palladium Palace was close to the station, and they were expecting us. The man at the check-in desk looked at our 200 pounds of luggage, then we all looked at the tiny European elevator, and then he attentively noticed the expression of abject terror on our faces.

"I'm going to give you an upgrade," he said after consulting with his manager in Italian. "A much upgrade."

In another few minutes, we were relaxing on a king-sized bed with fresh sheets in a room with a Jacuzzi tub, and a television. Most importantly for everyone concerned, it was on the ground floor. No elevators!