Gallipoli to Tropea

"We don't have the car you reserved."  The Italian guy at Hertz in Gallipoli makes a dramatic pause. "So, we're giving you a convertible." We had reserved a Fiat Panda, the cheapest and most common option in Italy, so it was the biggest upgrade we could get. A thought crosses my mind: Having a powerful car will make the trip easier. Straight face, I don’t allow myself to get excited until I have the car keys in my hand.

While the guy at the desk does some paperwork, I stumble upon a coffee vending machine that says it can't rest. Poor one, it must be suffering.

From that day on, I started collecting bad translations.

A few minutes later, we confirm it's real: my then-girlfriend and I are looking at each other on a red convertible Opel. I'm grinning at the wheel, asking her to take pictures of me. Masculine dream unexpectedly realized. I press the button to open the roof as we head straight out for the highway. 

But first, some olives. We’re in Puglia after all, the heel of Italy’s boot. It's a dry area, filled with endless hills, rocky pastures, and lots of olive trees. We made a pre-honeymoon trip and have been exploring for the last week. Gallipoli specifically won our hearts. Even though it’s not technically the southernmost town (Leuca is, but lacks magic), there’s something poetic about the name, about the quietness, about the calm sea.

We get some massive olives from a stand, in plastic bags. There’s no more time to lose. It’s still early in the morning when we head out racing on the convertible. Hair swirling and snacking on olives, we're going to the other side, to the tip of the boot. A town called Tropea. They're expecting us there.

The highway is curvy, perfect for speeding up a convertible. We're barely a few minutes in when I see a sign saying Rent a Nonna. Maybe some other time, I think. Right now I'm half anxious, trying not to miss the pick-up spot. 300m after km 126, on your right.

The other half of me is in love. I look at her from the corner of my eye. I kind of always knew I would marry her, this trip only confirmed it. How people react in uncomfortable can be a great indicator. I ask her to play Radiohead. My favorite band, but I only allow myself to play it on special occasions. I figure driving through the arch of Italy’s boot with the love of my life in a convertible is one of them.

I get my attention back on the road. We’re going 180 km/hr. My almost-wife suggests I slow down. I put an olive in my mouth. 300m after km 126. I see a dark figure and violently break. I go in reverse a few meters as the man jumps in the tiny back section of the convertible. He sits in the middle. I look through the rearview mirror.

Hello, Father. We almost missed you. He winks, not saying a word. Thank you for being here.

I press on the gas pedal and head for the next rendezvous. Meanwhile, the Father is asking the usual: how did you meet, what do you see in each other? Material for a personalized sermon. She has strong convictions, and at the same time is open to all possibilities. Some of the many positive paradoxes she holds, I say. He seems satisfied.

KM189. The pizza guy is there waiting by the side of the road. I step off the car to help him get the brick oven in the trunk. It barely closes. Thank you for coming all the way from Napoli, Michele. He says proudly: My pizzas deserve to be internationally known. I stop myself from correcting him, and only nod in agreement.

Zach Condon from the band Beirut is a few kilometers ahead. He brought 3 trumpeters. Music. Music is important, man. I’m glad you’re having us. They all jump in the car. I’ve been working on a new song, I think you’ll like it.

Some songs later, I spot the elephant ahead, patiently waiting by the side of the road. We squeeze him in between the priest and Michele. I always wanted to make a big entrance on an elephant. I guess it’s happening.

We’re almost complete, and the warm-up party can begin. Champagne is poured. Michele passes the first pizza for us to try, it has olives on top and tastes like heaven. The trumpeters are rehearsing. The elephant trumpets along. It’s one big convertible party. My soon-to-be wife and I look at each other, no words needed. Only the warm feeling of gathering everyone we love to celebrate with us.

The only missing piece is Mario, the mafia capo. This will complete the Godfather vibes. He’s waiting right where the Calabria region begins. He manages to get into the last little space in the car. I slow down as we get deeper into the region. It's the land of the 'ndrangheta. As well as the 'nduja. One has got to be careful around here.

We get to Tropea at 4 pm. The main street is a straight road into the ocean. Instead of finishing at sea level, there’s a 60m precipice looking into the ocean. The beach can be seen down below, and just in front a big rock with a castle on top. It’s there we’re trying to get to.

I need a quick stretch before the final act. Everyone’s waiting in the convertible. They know what’s coming. I get back in the car and grip the steering wheel. Press the gas pedal and race through the street. I’m confident the ramp is in place.

We land at the entrance of the castle. The guests are already arriving, we got here in time. Everyone gets off, and I close the roof of the convertible so my almost-wife can get ready in there.

Meanwhile, Zach shows me their new song. It’s perfect. Only one ask: start right when the trumpets begin. He agrees.

The sunset is starting. My almost-wife is ready. We get on the elephant. I slightly kick him with my heel and he walks. I signal Zach and the trumpeters. The music starts. 

Our wedding begins.

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Thank you again,

Sandra Yvonne

. Your help has proven to be fundamental.

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You can also read about movies here, or another kind of trip here.