The strike

Italy is known for their stikes. Everyone is on strike, it's amazing that anything ever gets done. The strike is what made me want to leave Italy. Our last day we are dropped off at the airport, finally we are going home... broke. BAM a strike is being set up outside the airport, first we are cheering for them... then we see that our flight is cancelled and I have never wanted a dozen eggs so badly in my life. After being told by Air France (always said in a snooty manner) that they can do nothing for us except give us a new ticket on a totally different airline, in a totally different airport, in a totally different part of Italy, on a totally different day! No, they wouldn't pay for the bus to the train station, from the train station to Milan (3 hours away), from Milan to the bus to the new airport (1 hour away), nor would they cover the hotel cost. What cheesy pricks! I hate you Air France, you unhelpful snooty wankers! So after a full day of traveling in a different country, not knowing the lay of the land or the language we finally got to the airport to make sure Air France didn't mess with us by making up new plane tickets in order to get rid of us and keep our money. Our tickets were real at least, now for the hotel. Turns out that there are only 2 hotels near this airport. We choose the cheaper of the 2 (cheaper in euros that is, in US dollars it's not a cheap hotel) We sweat all night long in a falsly advertised air conditioned hotel and wake up and the butt-crack of dawn. I step outside to see the place we have been dumped (darn you Air France). I wake up to the most beautiful town I have ever seen. It was this rustic, old world farm town. No tourists, no crowds, no constant buzz of the scooters and street vendors, just a peacful dawn on a truely beautiful place. In the distance stands a duomo (church) in the town center, old houses with metal shades and flower boxes. If I would ever go back to Italy, I would learn the language, and stay in this town, Arragio I believe it was called.