Lighthouse

Sometimes the best part of a trip is unplanned.

Even now those words are difficult to write. As a fervent planner, it goes against every fiber of my being to admit that sometimes things work out in unexpected ways. That sometimes the winds of fate will steer you in the right direction.

“It’s hot in here,” I complained to my husband. “Are you sure the air-conditioning is on?”

“I’ll check again,” he sighed sounding slightly irritated. Our travel schedule usually began early and ended late, so we had been attempting to nap before dinner. I had made reservations at a restaurant selected after hours of scouring though my Italy guidebooks. I could already taste the authentic Pisan cuisine, such as Pappa al Pomodoro and Panzanella.

“I’m sweating like a pig,” I grumbled.

“It’s already set at the lowest possible temperature,” Peter called from near the thermostat.

“Oh my God!” I whined before kicking off the bed-sheet. Between the time-change and our earlier activities, I was exhausted and ready for a full-blown hissy-fit. “Can you at least open the window?”

“I’ll try,” he said. He pushed open the glass that overlooked blocks of terra cotta rooftops, however the incoming stifling air was hardly an improvement. And worse, when it was ajar, the air conditioner automatically shut off.

Peter, originally from Germany, wasn’t surprised. “The air-conditioning in Europe is not the same as it is at home. You know that.”

That kind of “I told you so” reasoning wasn’t appeasing my ever-growing frustration, so I complained to the front desk clerk. He basically shrugged his shoulders and agreed with my husband.

As far as I knew the only cool place to find relief was in our rented Ford Focus, although driving around aimlessly didn’t sound much more appealing.

Luckily Peter was hit with a flash of creativity. “I know exactly what to do,” he said with a confident smile.

“What are you looking for?” I asked no longer attempting to keep the impatience out of my tone. He studied the tiny screen of our GPS for several minutes before putting the car into drive.

“You’ll see…”

Later I found out that he had searched for the closest lighthouse. What seems obvious now would have never occurred to me then. After all, the Tuscan region is hardly synonymous with beaches.

But in little more than thirty minutes we stood on an inviting stretch of sand and surf leading to the Viareggio lighthouse. The fresh sea air immediately relieved me of my fatigue and irritability. We held hands as we walked, not immediately realizing how strange it was that no one else was around. Later we found out that we were on a private beach owned by one of the many resorts. We delighted in the perfectly arranged rows of beach loungers and umbrellas lined up as far as you could see. Not one was a centimeter out of pattern. It seemed surreal that they were empty, like we were the last couple on earth. We relaxed in the loungers, rejoicing as the bright colors of the sun bled into the horizon forming splashes of pinks and purples. We submerged ourselves up to our shorts in the refreshing salt water. We even swung in the little playground area savoring the extra breeze.

After a while our stomachs demanded some sustenance, forcing us to leave our private paradise. We hoped that the rest of this seaside town wasn’t as deserted.

We found what we were looking for on the street parallel to the beach. The outdoor patio area was filled with people enjoying animated conversation. It wasn’t until we were seated among them waiting for our own drinks to arrive, that I noticed with delight that we were the only ones speaking English. I loved the fact that I had left the typical stomping grounds of my sightseeing countrymen, and entered the world of locals and vacationers from other parts of Italy.

We were sipping a local wine and waiting for our dinner when the entertainment began. Karaoke! What could be more authentic than sharing the evening with partygoers singing in off-key Italian? I couldn’t wait for it to begin. The dramatic customer that controlled the stage most of the evening reminded me of the famous singer Meatloaf in drag. He strolled from table to table in his theatrical make-up and robe exaggerating every word of lyrics. Another performer was a sexy Italian man that crooned Michael Buble’s “Home” in English. With his strong accent and confident European swagger, it was no wonder that a gorgeous brown-eyed woman soon jumped on the back of his motorcycle. They zoomed off under the stars, the skirt of her white sundress billowed behind like a cloud. Quintessential Italian romance. Sweet amore.

Although I still believe in the value of planning, there is definitely something to be said for some spontaneity. Although I never had my authentic Pisan meal, I was given a glimpse of the authentic Italian lifestyle.

And whenever it gets too hot during our travels, I say one word. Lighthouse.