A Broken Plan Made New (Cont'd)

The bus pulled away leaving us in Tarquinia, but not next to the sea. We could see the water, but it looked pretty far off… apparently Tarquinia isn’t exactly on the water but atop a mountain close by. Examining the bus schedule, we determined there should be another bus that would carry us to the beach arriving in half an hour. My watch face sneered 2:30 and by this point and not one of us had any more patience for buses. As an alternative we asked the kind looking Italian man nearby if it would be reasonable to walk to the coast. To this day I am not sure if he actually knew what we were asking, yet he assured us twenty minutes, twenty minutes. That was all we needed to hear. We started down the hill, chattering about how wonderful our morning in Tuscania had been and own memorable our afternoon on the beach was going to be.

Forty-five minutes and more than a handful of miles later, we did not appear to be any closer to the sea than when we had started. It’s hard in these moments to not doubt your luck and if you will ever actually arrive at the desired end. Walking was clearly a bust so Jack had the idea to just post up at a roadside gas station and wait for the next bus that came along. Fortunately, we did not have to wait long. Eight outstretched, flailing arms must be pretty hard to ignore and I am glad it is because the blue bus that came rumbling down the street stopped next to us. The sea was our question and the bus driver nodded her head. We were once again in business.

This time the bus left us next to the sea and sand and under a beautiful sun filled sky. For any traveler that moment is something to savor. The feeling of arriving at your desired destination is one of sweet with success. We grabbed a quick, surprisingly sub par lunch at one the sea side restaurants, all pulled out our wallets and paid, and then kicked off our shoes. The blackish gold sand filled the spaces in between my toes as we strolled along the beach. Pants were rolled up to our knees, jackets were tossed indiscriminately to the side, and sun glasses pulled over eyes. Exhilarated by the smell of salt water and by the warmth of the sun we let the time sail by unchecked. We were random and haphazard. From photo shoots to obscure songs we made enough fun to fill a dozen days. Once finally exhausted, we lazily folded into sun chairs, dozing in the closing minutes of sunshine. Almost with painful desire did I want to stay right there to be spectators as the sun performed it finally spilling of purples, oranges, and passionate reds across the horizon. But alas the responsible thing, or so we surmised, would be to try and make our way back while we still had light. Begrudgingly, we tore ourselves away from our hard earned beach and walked towards the bus stop. We had not be traveling more than three minutes when Jack stopped, grabbed both back pockets, and gazed out sick with horror. In panic pitch his words rushed forth, “I forgot my wallet in the restaurant…”

Next thing I knew, Jack was sprinting down the sidewalk towards our lunchtime restaurant. I felt for him. The realization of losing your wallet is one of most stomach wrenching feelings a man can experience. Yet, there was not much we could do for him except wait there, hoping he found it. Several minutes later he was again walking towards us, but even from a distance his hunched posture betrayed his defeat. On the bright side, just as he arrived next to us a bus came rolling down the road. Just like earlier, we hailed it down and confirmed with the driver our destination. We pulled away with the beach behind, and the sun performing in even greater grandeur than we had imagined.

The mood was somber as Jack explained the restaurant was closed but he was sure that he had left the wallet there. He had assigned himself to making the return journey to Tarquinia the next day just to recover his wallet. Certainly not a pleasure trip, but absolutely necessarily considering his bank card and identification were at stake. The bus dropped us off close the town center in Tarquinia. We all marveled at the beautiful ancient seaside city. However, we all felt ready to return home. Inside a nearby information office we inquired of the receptionist when the next bus to Viterbo was. From under the desk she produced a schedule and pointed to the Viterbo time block. The final hour slot read 5:20. Glancing at my watch, my eyes logged 5:50… though in the moment for some reason it did not register that we had in fact missed the last bus. I thanked the woman with a smile, to which she returned a puzzled, almost distraught gaze. It wasn’t until after I had turned around and taken several steps towards the door that I it hit me: there were no more buses going to Viterbo. At least not that night.

Thankfully, the information desk lady was absurdly helpful and spoke perfect English. She explained that our best chance to return to Viterbo that night would be to take the 8:30 bus to Vetralla, a small city about 12 kilometers from Viterbo. It was our only legitimate option so with more than two hours to kill we decided to return to the resolution of Jack’s wallet predicament. She had already been more than helpful so we decided to tap the nice receptionist lady for more information. She turned out to be a wellspring. Not only did she call the restaurant and speak to the owners in perfect Italian, something we never could have done, but she even verified that the restaurant personnel had indeed found Jack’s wallet and were keeping it safe for him. The next few hours jogged by and before we knew it we were on the bus bound for Vetralla. Marco, one of our program directors, assured us that there were an abundance of buses running from Vetralla to Viterbo. Sure enough upon arrival at the former it was not long before we were on another bus bound for the latter. A chilly Viterbo evening greeted us along with our friends Karl and Jordan. We told them about our jouney to which they declared they were planning on visiting Tarquinia the very next day. Quite a stroke of luck if you ask me. Moments later Jack had a wallet recovery plan worked out with Karl. One which did not involve his making the return trip. Understandably, it was the cap to a incredibly fun and memorable day. Sometimes when traveling things run a muck, but I will ever live by the mantra there are no mistakes in the world of travel, just divergent means to arrive at something new.