For Thursday, January 3, 2002 Drummer Column, Gibbs, 752 words

Boun Natale

We took an unexpected trip over the holiday, the wife and I. We drove my truck over to the Holiday Inn in San Francisco. We spent one night, left the truck in their parking lot for 14 days and flew to Italy for Christmas.

Our son, Adam, who now prefers the name Adamo, was finishing up a semester of exchange studies through UC Santa Cruz and living in the ancient walled city of Siena. His roommates had all moved out, but he was stuck there. Being a male child, he was having some problems that needed parental intervention. We tried to help him long-distance, but it got too complicated. At the last minute, we booked a non-discounted flight to Rome and came to his rescue like any good mom and dad. Once we dealt with his snafus, we vacationed a bit and then flew home together.

We traveled with half-empty suitcases because Susan wanted a leather coat and we knew Adamo was a pack rat. He'd have stacks of CDs, books, chess sets, posters, and other souvenirs to cart home, and he did. He had so much in fact that we put 30 lbs of his stuff in a box and shipped it. This gave us the bit of extra room we needed for our own purchases, which were already piling up.

Susan wanted that leather coat. Florence, we were told, was the epicenter of earthshaking bargains and fine quality. However, in Rome, where we landed, we found a branch of a popular Florentine leather shop. The lamb's skin coat she found there after trying on a half dozen was gorgeous, perfect for her. We made the buy. Then the sales lady, a blonde Russian charmer, put a similar coat on me, just for fun. At first, I resisted. Then she insisted. I resisted. She insisted. She was pretty. I put on the coat. Man, did I look hot. I cavorted around the mirror. My whole persona shifted to the suave. I could feel the olive oil coursing through my veins. My Italian improved instantly. "Sono un dio del sesso."

"I give you special deal on both coats," said the girl. Well, in that case, sure. We bought matching leathers, $200 each.

Siena is a beautiful old city three hours north of Rome. The houses inside the ancient walls are not separate buildings, but continuous, long four or five-story brick structures with separating doors and shuttered windows. The streets are narrow, winding cobblestone filled with people strolling and shops aplenty. Only occasional cars come by and weave smoothly among the pedestrians. Cars are rare because only residents are allowed to drive within the city walls. Visitors must park in huge lots outside.

Siena is filled with night clubs and restaurants. Each night Adamo took us to a new one. Each night we ate magnificently. As teacher Paul Heller advised us before we left, "There is no bad food in Italy."

One day we rented a car and drove the Chianti wine country, the region of the black rooster -- nero gallo. We found many bargains and dirt roads. We toured a wine museum with bottles dating back to 1877. We spent a friendly afternoon at the home of a woman whose winery was closed, but her heart was open.

During my stay, my leather coat was too thin for the bitter Siena cold. I had been wearing my colorful Costco cotton clunker with the Captain Kangaroo pockets. With it on, I could no longer speak Italian. "Bone jar no." "Moldy benny."

The stylish old Italians around me all wore long wool trench coats and matching scarves. Susan already had some stylish wools and blended in nicely. Adamo looked like a student, and was happy with that. We wanted to attend Midnight Mass at the historic Duomo on Christmas Eve, and I looked far too Protestant to be comfortable, so we bought me an alpaca wool trench coat.

We found it on the third floor of an elite men's clothing store. The kind and professional salesman brought out five coats. When I found the one I liked, I knew it instantly. Warm pomodoro sauce pumped through my Tuscan heart. "Tutte le donne lo ameranno senza controllo." I'll take it.

Midnight Mass was a warm and wonderful moment for my family and me. In the crowded cathedral we stood closely with all the other parishioners, arm in arm, not understanding a word of the sermon, but knowing full well what it meant.