We enter the fortified city of Lucca through Porta Santa Maria. We do not notice the tarmac change to cobble. Somewhere we cross the Zona a Traffico Limitato (Limited Traffic Zones). The streets are barely wide enough for a golf cart. My Garmin gives up. It has been accurate city to city, the last mile is not its forte. We are driving in areas that are reserved for walking. We finally stop when a Sophia Lauren look alike gives us a smoldering look.
We are deliciously lost.
Getting lost in Italy is a way of life and getting directions an event.
The Italians - hands akimbo, brows furrowed – listen intently, head tilted over one shoulder. Then they burst into a barrage of words, fast and staccato. They gesture simultaneously with both hands, pointing in all directions at once.
Then they stop, expecting you to have got it.
When you return a glazed, persistent look, they cluck their tongues and unwillingly look at the map in your hand. Most have trouble locating where they are on the map. Then, they use a stubby finger to trace a path, the girth of the fingers sometimes covering two-three roads.
Then the finger flies off the paper and jabs at a spot. “Allora,” they declare, finding the destination, leaving the route a mere exercise for you.
