18 July 2006
It feels like a bad dream. Sometimes I’m prone to being superstitious, a habit I’ve absorbed from Gigi, but I’m trying to not think of it as a sign, good, bad or otherwise.
I sent an email to The Parents last night, advising that everything was in order, accommodation booked, the station wagon ready and waiting and the route mapped out to the last ‘turn left here...now…back there’.
We have booked a self contained apartment close to The Vatican, ‘cos where else would you want to stay when in Rome if not next door to His Holiness. It sleeps seven which is lucky because we’ve got three extras for the nights we are in Rome. Having booked it through the B&B Roma website we duly sent off the requested €43 as a deposit (against every instinct that tells me not to pay for anything in this country until it’s in your hot little hand), and received a flurry of informative confirmation emails.
What’s happened, you ask? The lovely, professional B&B Roma accommodation agency have emailed us to advise that, unfortunately, despite taking our booking and our money and sending three confirmations, that apartment is no longer available. It’s undergoing restoration work. Right, in the height of the main season, in the middle of summer when the builders, tilers, plumbers, painters and general fix-it-types all head to the beach with their cigarettes, mobiles phones and gaggle of children and relatives, they decide to renovate. So not only are they going to miss out on our almost €300 for only two nights but they are also forgoing other rental income, on the assumption that these renovations won’t be completed during the two days we booked.
The lovely, professional B&B Roma advised it was beyond their control (of course) but sent through four other suggestions based on our details. With no other option we reviewed them on the internet and decided they are all too small, shabby or inappropriately located.
Gi is half convinced, from the ‘we-don’t-accept-any-responsibility-at-this-late-stage’ disclaimer on their email, that if we can’t rebook through them, based on their suggestions, then we will lose the deposit. Now in a fairy world we could walk away from €43 without a thought, but this is Italy and there are no wands or glitter falling from the sky and €43 actually equates to about $72 in the land of kangaroos and surf lifesavers, which is about three weeks worth of groceries for us at the moment (yep, copious amounts of pasta, tomatoes, garlic and bread). The lovely, professional B&B Roma emails clearly indicated the cancellation policy, but that only applies if WE cancel. I will make a personal trip to the B&B Roma Call Centre, Administration Centre and then the police if they insist on keeping my (it’s mine, not ours, it came from my bank account) €43 deposit.
Besides, it doesn’t make sense that the proprietor would renovate in August so either he’s got family that need to stay and they only just told him, or he has a more profitable or longer term booking, or he’s having an affair and needs the place for his mid summer love trysts. Either way it’s not my problem. Unfortunately, poor Gigi was the one to cop my practice ‘I’m-the-customer-and-you-definitely-fucked-this-up’ speech of defiance. Quickly followed by, ‘I’ll take the refund in two 20’s and change thank you very much’ or ‘the-new-place-had-better-be-nicer-and-cheaper’.
Having discarded their suggestions we trawled their database for something suitable, close to public transport but not inconvenient for two trips in two days to two different airports where we could sneak in the additional guests. Two places fit the bill and Gi called (discarding the arms distance of email communication) to see if either of those apartments were available. Of course, they have to get back to us. God, how antiquated, all of this calling the proprietor to check instead of having it all on a database at the Call Centre operators finger tips.
So, we wait. I’m trying not to be superstitious. It’s just a minor set back. Never mind that it’s ridiculously impossible finding suitably priced accommodation with air conditioning (The Parents special request, and rightly so), a kitchen and an elevator (they list some nice places with everything you could need, except they are on the top floor … read, eight flights up….without a lift because the buildings that the Romans built didn’t always have modern cons like lifts on the drawing plan some 1500 years ago, go figure) at the best of times. But to be scrambling around only two weeks before the August holidays start is truly disheartening.
I reckon the bloody B&B Roma Call Centre and Administration Office staff will also close and take holidays at a crowded, pebbly, smoky beach in August. I already know the police will be there, out of uniform except for their white leather gun holsters which will sit alluringly over their yellow (and slightly see through) or orange (I’ve been told it’s The with a capital T, colour this summer) dick togs. So even if I do go and demand a refund I’ll have to go back in September when they open up again, and by then they will have lost the paperwork and inform that their refund policy only allows two weeks which will have well and truly passed.
I don’t want to sound superstitious but I can’t help it. For those of you that understand I’m sitting here scratching my right thigh, in an effort to dispel the bad luck that even thinking, let alone typing, these scenarios is attracting to me right now. For those of you who don’t know what I’m talking about...come to Naples and I’ll show you sometime.
It feels like a bad dream. Sometimes I’m prone to being superstitious, a habit I’ve absorbed from Gigi, but I’m trying to not think of it as a sign, good, bad or otherwise.
I sent an email to The Parents last night, advising that everything was in order, accommodation booked, the station wagon ready and waiting and the route mapped out to the last ‘turn left here...now…back there’.
We have booked a self contained apartment close to The Vatican, ‘cos where else would you want to stay when in Rome if not next door to His Holiness. It sleeps seven which is lucky because we’ve got three extras for the nights we are in Rome. Having booked it through the B&B Roma website we duly sent off the requested €43 as a deposit (against every instinct that tells me not to pay for anything in this country until it’s in your hot little hand), and received a flurry of informative confirmation emails.
What’s happened, you ask? The lovely, professional B&B Roma accommodation agency have emailed us to advise that, unfortunately, despite taking our booking and our money and sending three confirmations, that apartment is no longer available. It’s undergoing restoration work. Right, in the height of the main season, in the middle of summer when the builders, tilers, plumbers, painters and general fix-it-types all head to the beach with their cigarettes, mobiles phones and gaggle of children and relatives, they decide to renovate. So not only are they going to miss out on our almost €300 for only two nights but they are also forgoing other rental income, on the assumption that these renovations won’t be completed during the two days we booked.
The lovely, professional B&B Roma advised it was beyond their control (of course) but sent through four other suggestions based on our details. With no other option we reviewed them on the internet and decided they are all too small, shabby or inappropriately located.
Gi is half convinced, from the ‘we-don’t-accept-any-responsibility-at-this-late-stage’ disclaimer on their email, that if we can’t rebook through them, based on their suggestions, then we will lose the deposit. Now in a fairy world we could walk away from €43 without a thought, but this is Italy and there are no wands or glitter falling from the sky and €43 actually equates to about $72 in the land of kangaroos and surf lifesavers, which is about three weeks worth of groceries for us at the moment (yep, copious amounts of pasta, tomatoes, garlic and bread). The lovely, professional B&B Roma emails clearly indicated the cancellation policy, but that only applies if WE cancel. I will make a personal trip to the B&B Roma Call Centre, Administration Centre and then the police if they insist on keeping my (it’s mine, not ours, it came from my bank account) €43 deposit.
Besides, it doesn’t make sense that the proprietor would renovate in August so either he’s got family that need to stay and they only just told him, or he has a more profitable or longer term booking, or he’s having an affair and needs the place for his mid summer love trysts. Either way it’s not my problem. Unfortunately, poor Gigi was the one to cop my practice ‘I’m-the-customer-and-you-definitely-fucked-this-up’ speech of defiance. Quickly followed by, ‘I’ll take the refund in two 20’s and change thank you very much’ or ‘the-new-place-had-better-be-nicer-and-cheaper’.
Having discarded their suggestions we trawled their database for something suitable, close to public transport but not inconvenient for two trips in two days to two different airports where we could sneak in the additional guests. Two places fit the bill and Gi called (discarding the arms distance of email communication) to see if either of those apartments were available. Of course, they have to get back to us. God, how antiquated, all of this calling the proprietor to check instead of having it all on a database at the Call Centre operators finger tips.
So, we wait. I’m trying not to be superstitious. It’s just a minor set back. Never mind that it’s ridiculously impossible finding suitably priced accommodation with air conditioning (The Parents special request, and rightly so), a kitchen and an elevator (they list some nice places with everything you could need, except they are on the top floor … read, eight flights up….without a lift because the buildings that the Romans built didn’t always have modern cons like lifts on the drawing plan some 1500 years ago, go figure) at the best of times. But to be scrambling around only two weeks before the August holidays start is truly disheartening.
I reckon the bloody B&B Roma Call Centre and Administration Office staff will also close and take holidays at a crowded, pebbly, smoky beach in August. I already know the police will be there, out of uniform except for their white leather gun holsters which will sit alluringly over their yellow (and slightly see through) or orange (I’ve been told it’s The with a capital T, colour this summer) dick togs. So even if I do go and demand a refund I’ll have to go back in September when they open up again, and by then they will have lost the paperwork and inform that their refund policy only allows two weeks which will have well and truly passed.
I don’t want to sound superstitious but I can’t help it. For those of you that understand I’m sitting here scratching my right thigh, in an effort to dispel the bad luck that even thinking, let alone typing, these scenarios is attracting to me right now. For those of you who don’t know what I’m talking about...come to Naples and I’ll show you sometime.
No comments:
Post a Comment