Mercy, Not Permission
Group Trip Tips I'll Carry Forward
Dear Italy-loving friends:
Near the end of my last All Things Italy, I wrote:
“I would be an outright liar if I claimed [. . .] contentment ran through every moment.”
In the sentences following these words, I promised to share in this newsletter some of the snafus that surfaced during the small group trip to Rome and the Sorrento area I led in May. Since then—a full two months later—I’ve been enveloped in a whirlwind that has blurred many of the memories. More on the storm of activities at the end of this issue. First, I want to welcome the new subscribers that have come along since May! As you will see later, I write about “a little bit more” than All Things Italy. I hope you will stick around, share what you like, and respond to let me know.
Now, to follow up on my May promise, I zoom in here on some of the wrinkles and ridges that kept our trip from being seamless. Surely no one reading would believe that any trip could be perfect. But some of us might say with hindsight, as my mother said later in life, after raising six children born in a span of ten years: “I only remember the good parts now!”
She had forgotten when we were bitten by the proverbial crabs or, more likely, had bitten each other in our rough and tumble “interactions.”
My mother was always a glass half full person—at least when she spoke as a teacher, coach, mentor. Perhaps I have a little more of my father’s tendency to self-criticism. Letting go of past problems can be tough. Instead of beating myself up too much, though, I’m choosing to emphasize and carry on with an adage that my rule-following mother never said:
Ask for mercy, not permission.
I preface the anecdotes below with my respect for tour guides, especially licensed tour guides who are experts at what they do. I am not a tour guide licensed in Italy—rather, I’m an author, educator and travel advisor who has lived and taught in Italy. My last book focuses on 19th-century expat Americans who experienced Italian culture. I enjoy leading small groups and helping individuals who don’t want to travel alone or who flounder, feeling awash in the sea of Internet information. For the trips I lead, I rely as much as possible (and needed) upon local experts, and I always try to plan at least one new adventure for myself. Most times, this method works well. But not always.
Sometimes snafus emerge from miscommunication—this, not that; left, not right; maybe, not always. Sometimes there are circumstances beyond anyone’s control—a downpour, a strike, a sprained ankle. Sometimes there’s too much trust in what someone (a guide, a hotel clerk, a restauranteur) says, sometimes too little. But I won’t try to parse the causes and events here. You can decide.
Beware of the Microphone
On our first afternoon together, our mostly jetlagged group headed to the Pantheon. We had enjoyed an hour walking tour with audio headsets that had served us well as I led the group from Trastevere. I didn’t have to yell nonstop, “come close, please,” as we crossed the Ponte Sisto, meandered like a herd of cats through the Campo dei Fiori and the Piazza Navona, and off to our relaxing and hearty group lunch site. After lunch (with wine) I grew a little too comfortable with wearing the microphone—so comfortable that I sometimes forgot that it was on, rattling away to those Missourians walking by my side about one of our friends from New England who was in the back of the group. I want people in these small groups to get to know each other. I do what I can to help the process along, sharing tidbits of information. Note to self: don’t talk about people in the back of the group with those in the front—at least, not before checking the microphone. Thankfully, my good friend in the back called me out before I got too far into a mess: “someone tell Etta that her mic is on and that she better stop talking about me.”
Certainly, in this case I asked for mercy rather than permission. And by day two this friend had revealed much of himself to the entire group. No microphone needed. He was a good friend to all before we said our goodbyes.
Stop Explaining Coffee Culture
Another glitch on day one was stopping at a local bar for coffee after our first pranzo, or midday meal, rather than having it served to us at our dining tables. I thought this would be an authentic experience to reinforce the previous descriptions I had passed along: coffee at the counter (al banco) versus coffee at a table; cappuccino in the morning, not in the afternoon; an Americano for those who wanted something similar to an American black coffee; not to expect cream or half and half with an Americano.1
Fortunately, I’d warned the barista upon our arrival that a bunch of Americans wanted coffee and that they would be paying individually or as couples. Was this asking permission? Not quite. It was a polite warning that arises from my upbringing as a Southern woman.
Unfortunately, I told the barista that everyone wanted their coffees at the counter.
About twenty-five minutes of chaos ensued. I had planned for 5-10 minutes for our group. We had a scheduled entrance time at the Pantheon, and our tickets clearly warned not to be late!
Several of our group sat down at two of the three tables in the tiny bar. Another several stood at the counter, spreading out to consume a very large amount of space. Meanwhile, at least a dozen locals came in for their quick coffees before heading back to work. Those in our group—both at tables and sprawling near the counter—also drank very slowly. They missed the memo. And my microphone was off. No easy way to make announcements now!
A couple of us stood outside waiting, trying to not block the busy sidewalk. We had experienced Italian coffee culture previously and had seen the stink eyes sent like daggers at our group. Still, those of us outside also earned a word or two from onlookers and passersby. This time I did not ask for mercy. I just filed away for the future: forget the advance advice! Experience is the only way to learn about Italian coffee culture.
Beware of Group Entrances
After our not-so-quick coffee, we made our way to the perfect photo op in front of the Pantheon and then around to the back. With my microphone intentionally on, I shared a bit about the structure’s history—only as much as I figured folks could absorb after lunch and with jetlag. I shared what we would see once inside—who was buried inside and why, when the structure became a Christian church, and the like. I would not be talking inside, I explained—because I’m not a licensed guide. Instead, everyone would have a half-hour to look around on their own before we reconvened at our meeting point outside. All was well—going exactly as planned.
Lined up and ready for the group entrance at our appointed time, we were stopped. The problem: I had bought group tickets that were only for licensed guides. I knew only licensed guides were permitted to speak inside, and I knew that audio sets were required, I explained. But I had already spoken to the group outside. Please, could we enter with our group tickets I had purchased for this time slot? I offered my microphone to the ticket attendant, volunteering to leave it until the group exited.
The ticket attendant didn’t feel authorized, even with my offered microphone. She needed to ask the manager. She left but soon returned with the manager, to whom I explained again our situation, from my perspective. They agreed that we could enter—but my microphone was not enough. Everyone had to remove their headsets: lanyards, battery packs, earbuds and cords, passing them to me in tangles that I stashed in two bags. These I left with the security staff and we enjoyed our half hour inside. This time I definitely asked for mercy. And it worked.2
Take the Group Exit (or, Luck of the Draw can be Bad Luck)
I wish I had done as much at the Vatican Museums and St. Peter’s. I relied on my past experiences, booking an official guide for our group’s tour of the Vatican Museums. The guide this time, it turned out, was my first utterly horrible experience with someone assigned by the museum. Luck of the draw was very bad luck. I won’t go into the details of no enthusiasm, no smile, no jokes, and an extremely low-volumed voice, which microphone, headsets, and a request to speak louder didn’t alleviate. I have a lot of patience with non-first language English speakers and usually do fine with thick accents. This time, however, the guide’s heavy accent made understanding difficult for most of us. (Oops. I guess I shared more than a few details.)
Worse than this snafu snarling our visit—I screwed up our group’s experience by asking the guide about the door I remembered would allow us to go from the Sistine Chapel directly into St. Peter’s, skipping the lengthy queue for the security control for entering the Basilica. We had already passed security to enter the museum. Our not-so-friendly guide insisted that door from the Chapel was no longer possible as an exit—we needed to use a different door.
Alas! The door we were sent through directed us through a maize of corridors and staircases, back through the huge facility to our original entrance—a full kilometer from the long line for entering the basilica, where pre-baking would occur on the hot stones of the piazza. A kilometer may not seem like much, but in total we tracked the distance three times and had been on our legs for three hours. Already exhausted from an early morning departure and the depressing guide, our group was not cheered by the thought of a long time standing in line in the broiling sun. I, of course, should have followed my memory and instinct to take the group through the door I knew. I could have asked for mercy, if necessary, rather than permission.
Channel my Mother
Near Sorrento a couple of other glitches arose—but this newsletter is getting long, so I’ll keep it short and share a few photo galleries.
What we thought would be a long, hearty, family-style group “lunch” after our tour of Pompeii ended up being a light and early supper—thanks to miscommunication with a guide who arranged it. At an olive grove and oil factory, our guide heard my questions about something white I saw on the tree branches as disbelief. She explained at least three times that the trees were not yet flowering their little white blooms. She and some of our group thought me downright rude! (There was something white, close inspection revealed—insect webs of some sort). I could throw out a couple of other small things that bothered me. But overall, as I wrote in May, most of our group’s experiences were sheer delight. Who knew, for example, that tossing pizza dough could be so much fun? (Thanks to traveler Miki Keathley for the video below).
In sum, I am trying to channel my mother and shake off these minor incidents, only learning from them what to avoid next time. Mostly, I want to hang on to the good stuff.
Next Time?
When is the next time? Some friends have asked. A few in this group want me to organize a Sicily adventure. And another friend has asked about a writing retreat in Italy, and whether I will be able to work with Anne Boyd (author of Audacious Lives newsletter and many books) again. For now, I’m putting plans for groups to Italy on hold. As some of you know, another adventure abroad lies ahead of me. That is . . . the activities which have distracted me from newsletter writing in large part have been about the experience ahead.
Yes, in June and July I traveled for research and a family wedding in Vermont, but I stopped in route home by way of Chicago for an appointment at the Turkish consulate offices. This little detour was to apply for a visa to live in Ankara for the coming academic year, because I’ve received a Fulbright award to be a Senior Lecturer in American literature at Başkent University.3
This newsletter will likely become “Turkish Tales” or “Tales from Turkey” or “Alive in Ankara” or something like that—at least temporarily. (All Things Italy began as a result of a Fulbright to Sicily.) Any suggestions on titles?
Please, drop them in the comments below, or send them to me as a direct message. I hope you will maintain your free subscription when the content begins to change!
For the next two months, I’ll share more about Italy—as well as what I anticipate about the Turkish adventure, which doesn’t begin until mid-September.
As always, it’s super helpful to me if you will click on the heart, respond to this newsletter with a message, or share it with friends. Knowing that you read keeps me going!
See you next month,
Want to read more about Italian coffee culture? Try this post from me.
I understand, as the staff explained, that they were trying to protect even the appearance of a group with an unlicensed guide inside the building.
"Flaws" become features in the rear view mirror. 😀 I loved seeing Italy with you in 2024!
Blunders can make such fun memories! The video is one of my favorites of the trip, I had the camera on at the right time. I'll be looking forward to Turkish Tales or whatever you decide.