One of the finest things about foreign travel is the kind of magical encounters with strangers that you remember for years, even decades. Meet Gillie and John.
Typically, one does not really expect to find a dashing, movie star like person flitting about an antique road car (of such arcane origins it utterly defies identification) when one alights from one’s merely four star hotel. (I had never seen ANYTHING LIKE IT, nor indeed ever even heard its name, which I have already forgotten.) Nevertheless, that is precisely what I encountered two days ago in Bologna, Italy. I believe my mouth gaped open unattractively. (At the car.)
Now, I am wholly willing to stipulate here: I don’t know a carburetor from a cannoli, but, I do know a hot car when I see one. This car reeked of history, luxury and grandeur. An automotive legend, even to a dolt like me. I started to circle this glorious vehicle, thinking I would ask if I could take a photo for my son-in-law, (a real car guy) and I stumbled over the movie star’s lady friend, nearly supine over her opened luggage on the cobblestones. (Think a combination of Petula Clarke and Emma Thompson with just touch of one of the Redgrave girls thrown in; a vision in white and orange sherbet, frantically and energetically stuffing salamis into her bag.)
Cumulatively, they were not a sight you are likely to see often.
John’s “machine” was one of a 6 car rally that drove down the entire continent all the way to Sicily from Great Britain. The other five autos, (every one as dazzling as John’s, we were assured), had motored on ahead, but, man! That would have been something to see. All six! Gilly seemed genuinely dismayed that we had missed the conclave. Such is the unparalleled grace and charm of the British…Gilly and John proceeded to enthusiastically entertain us (to our great delight) with recommendations to world-wide destos EVERYWHERE and tales of exotic past road rallies in their magic car, for almost an hour. Meanwhile, they packed up their car to it’s roof with gallons of olive oil, cases of wine and (possibly prohibited) salamis, (but we won’t tell).
Inquiring minds will want to know, how does one manage the lifestyle? Since nobody expects Americans to be anything but abrupt and boorish, I inquired.
Gillie claimed that she and John are London-based antiques dealers specializing in paintings of dogs, cats and horses. “You can make a living doing that?” I think I may have exceeded the quota for American rudeness when I exhibited some incredulity. Gillie said frankly that some of these objects d’ arte fetch upwards of $US60K. That’s sixty THOUSAND dollars for an old, (very old) painting of a pug. “Who buys that shit?” I think I may have said. (Cringe.) To her credit, Gillie blanched only slightly at my horrible faux pas and then patiently, without a smidgeon of condescension, explained that some people REALLY really love dogs. She addressed me like a developmentally delayed person. “People who love dogs might want a print of a fine specimen, and so some people will buy one of those for ten dollars. Others, with more resources, will pay a few hundred dollars. And, then there are those for whom sixty thousand is practically the same thing.” I wish I had a video of that convo. It would go viral in an hour.
We waited until John fired up the engine, and just as I suspected, it sounded like no car engine you’ve, (certainly I’ve), never heard.
I suspect the two of them are really agents in the British Secret Service, but we will never know. And, if not, I hope Gillie’s impressive sausage smuggling subterfuge worked when they hit the border.