Sooooooo, here we are, married 14 years, driving through the remote northern Italian countryside, thinking we’d seen a few things in our days together. Well, we hadn’t. But, not to worry, now we have. Because, ladies and gents, when one pulls off a country road onto an even more country road a bit outside of Parma, one doesn’t know what one will find. In our case, we find ourselves asking each other the question, “did we just pass a hooker in a Lazyboy?” And, it turns out, the answer is yes. Yes we did…but more on that later. This delightful and surprising hooker sighting got me thinking about all the crazy questions we ask our spouses whilst traveling, or maybe it’s just me.
Switzerland and Italy by car is not for the meek. It might be for the meek if you are from, say, Colorado, but we aren’t. We are from a place called, the Lowcountry. And in the Lowcountry we don’t have mountains. We also don’t have hills, foothills, slopes, or any incline of any sort unless you count the ascent on the Ravenel, which both old and new, and new new still make my ears pop. Point is, driving in the Alps is stressful enough. You know what would make it even more fun? Let’s drive through a 23 mile tunnel, or ascend to 5,000 ft. with NO GUARDRAIL, or take a cruise on the Italian Autosdrade, which is their highway system, at which any given moment there are five million toll booths that work in twenty million different ways, angry Italians driving at 237 miles an hour, and giant Cold War era lorries whizzing by you at break neck speed. It’s good times and I drove it for about 5 hours one day…this lead to some interesting inquiries for the hubs who was steady on the imaginary break from the passenger seat. Questions like: is that man just peeing on the side of the interstate, like right there? Right there where everyone can see him? Not even hiding behind a car or a bush? The answer to all of those questions are, yes. See, peeing right on the side of the road in front of God and everybody is a thing here (and also the rest of Europe I’ve been to). Views on nudity are way less, shall I say, puritanical than the views on that over here in the New World. Over there, no big. Over here, arrests are made.
And if you think the relief is in sight when you get off the Autosdrade, you’d be mistaken. What awaits you on the secondary roads is more angry Italians driving at 237 miles an hour, more giants Cold War era lorries and the occasional dead chicken, but instead of having three lanes (that Italians make into about 3.5 lanes) you have this:
Now I ask you, does this look like a 2 lane highway to you? Well, it is. Which leads to questions like: is he going? Am I going? Do I go? Does he go? Who goes?? Should I go? Wait, should I go? Do we both go? Oh God, we are both going, aren’t we? Which leads to inhaling as you pass, cause you know that helps, and then more questions like: did I hit him? Did I scrape the building? Why is this country so old? Why do the buildings have to be SO close??
Why ANYONE would have a nice or large car here is completely beyond me.
For the record, I do enjoy driving in Europe. And it works out great with the hubs’ language and navigation skills for me to drive. Trust me, you don’t want me trying to figure out which roundabout exit you should take, cause that’s going to happen every 2.3 miles. But, also, trust that I was happy as a lark to finally see this sign:
Now, we had an amazing time with the in-laws (more on that later), but this story is about questions, and driving, and hookers…
On the way back from Switzerland we decided to drive over the Alps, instead of through them as we did on the way there. I think my mom said it best before our trip, “I’ve been over and I’ve been though and I don’t know which was more terrifying”. Well, that’s encouraging. Turns out, mother and I have something in common, because I don’t know which was more terrifying either. On one hand you have the tunnel: long, dark, takes forever, if there’s a wreck-you’re trapped, there are “SOS” stations every-where reminding of you of your impending doom, and, did I mention a mountain on top of you. And on the other hand are the mountain passes: horrifying heights, little to no guardrails, bikers FLYING past you every 27 seconds, jagged jagged rocks, thin air robbing our brains of critical oxygen, and pure anxiety. Question to the hubs: if I lean into the middle of the car, will that help us not slide to our deaths?
Question: which do you prefer?
Or:
It’s super fun being a Lowcountry girl at elevation, I’ll blame the thin air but in reality I’m just anxious as hell. Now, for the views, over wins hands down:
Ok, I know y’all came on this journey to know why I would ever ask about a roadside hooker sitting in a full on upholstered recliner… so here is how I got to that question…
On the way out of Italy, we decided that we hated the Autosdrade so much that we’d drive twice as long not to have to take it. This lead to back roads only, which means not a lot of opportunities for a pit stop if you know what I mean, and you know what I mean. Around hour 4.5 I had to pee. Not soon, now. I’d been holding it for like, 4.3 hours and it was time. Now, this ain’t my first rodeo so I was prepared with TP and trash bags and the whole nine. Also, I’m from the country so not my first time going in a corn field if you know what I’m saying, and you know what I’m saying. So, off the country road, we turn onto an even more country road.
I’m driving, the following conversation took place:
The hubs: ummmmm, that was a hooker in a lazyboy on the side of the road.
Me (having seen a car and a woman in some kind of chair as we flew by with both my eyes on the road and hands at 10&2): no sir, that not what that was.
The hubs: that’s EXACTLY what that was.
Me: we are in the middle of nowhere, you’re mistaken. Her car is probably broken down and she’s waiting for help.
The hubs: WITH A RECLINER? A LAZYBOY? she’s just got a Lazyboy in her tiny ass Italian car that she just DRAGGED out of her car when it broke down?? She’s a hooker.
Me (finding a place by the corn field to pull off): no sir, not a hooker, not possible, that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.
(It’s so nice to be married to someone who, like really gets you and only wants the best for you but then also takes a blackmail worthy photo of you going to tinkle in a corn field.)
The hubs (upon my return to the car): A: I took a picture of you going into the corn field to pee and, B. she’s totally a hooker in a Lazyboy.
Me: oh, we’re about to find out, I’m driving by nice and slow.
The hubs: I’m going to take a picture.
Me: of a lady waiting for help, creep.
The hubs: you’ll see.
Me: oh, you’ll see.
Me (5 seconds later): was that a hooker in a recliner?
The hubs:
Right as we turned back onto our route, a gentleman in his camper turned off. Looks like her “help” has arrived.
Off to Brissago which was absolutely stunning, but more on that later. Ciao y’all.
Ciao Y’all 