I’m a lobbyist. It’s happened to me in my old age.
This morning I woke up in a hotel in Mantua (hereafter referred to as Mantova). In Italy barely a week, we’re on a sightseeing excursion with Tizi’s cousin and wife. I’m mostly adjusted to the six-hour time change, though adjusted means defaulting to hours that are out of whack, borderline anti-social. Adjusted means wide awake at 4:00 a.m. In a hotel that can be a problem. For forty-five minutes I roll, I swat the pillow, roll some more, willing myself to go back to sleep. No one loves a roller.
The heating unit, a few feet from my head, went on and off all night. At regular intervals there was a ten-second draft of cold air, followed by a protracted heated breeze. In the off stage the unit ticked. Still awake at 4:30 a.m., I counted ticks. Thirty-six ticks, then cool draft and heated breeze. Forty ticks, then cool deft and heated breeze. Counting ticks is kind of like counting sheep. The night before it worked. Last night it didn’t.
In this hotel room there is one chair. As chairs go, it’s comfortable enough. Have a seat, take your shoes off. Have a seat, put on your shoes. Have a seat and wait three hours for your wife to wake up so you can turn on a light? I don’t think so.
In another hotel, I might go downstairs to the lobby, a quiet space with comfortable chairs. A cup of coffee would be nice. In this hotel, no lobby. Next to the front desk are two chairs. I’m reminded of Holden Caufield’s description of a hotel lobby in Catcher in the Rye, with “a couple of vomity-looking chairs.” Siamo li, they say in Italian. That’s about right.
Yesterday we toured the Ducal Palace, also known as the Castle of St. George. The first room you can visit, the “camera dei sposi,” is the royal bedroom, the honeymoon suite, designed for Ludovico III Gonzaga’s wife, Barbara of Brandenburg. It was painted 1465-74, and I don’t mean Glidden, painted by Andrea Mantegna, one of Mantova’s favorite sons. That’s a long time to have a painter in the house, let alone in the bedroom. But the frescoes are breath-taking. Here, for example. Heavens, would this be the bride?
The camera dei sposi is accessed by a wide spiral ramp, wide enough for horses. It’s time for bed, honey. Where’s my horse?
I wait until 5:45 a.m, then take to the chair.
“Where are you going,” Tizi says.
“Downstairs.” Not the lobby.
“I’ll be down in a while,” she says. “Shut the door.”
I do as I’m told. I open and shut the hotel room door, letting myself out, and take the stairs. No horse. No lobby. No coffee. I decide to check out the breakfast room. It’s a sumptuous spread. Breakfast at 7:00. They must be setting up.
They are.
Buongiorno. Mi fai un caffè?