37. Il Ponte Vecchio
We are on holiday. It is hot and sunny and beautiful all around. It is a bit crowded but not that much and we don't care anyway.
We are coming up to the Ponte Vecchio and we are admiring the view. Our youngest is having a tantrum because she wants to cross the road to buy something in the souvenir shop. We are used to this and tell her no, that we are enjoying our walk by he Arno River. She is not impressed, crosses her arms on her chest, puts on a grumpy face and stamps her feet.
'Stop this right now or you'll get no ice cream later.'
Sometimes, and especially looking back now, I marvel at the feeble arguments of us as parents. Anyway it seems to work as she moves on and we continue our stroll. I can see she's not happy but she's walking on. Then, suddenly, she has disappeared. I call her. No reply. I ask the others, no, she's not there. A few steps back, a few steps ahead. Still no little girl of ours.
I can feel the panic taking hold of me. The other kids too start to wonder where she is. My husband is keeping his cool (by 35 degrees it is quite an achievement) and says to me:
'Don't worry, she won't be far. Stay here, I'll find her.'
I am not that reassured but this has happened before (many times, same kid) so I gather some inner strength and cross the road to sit the other 3 in the shade with a strict order to stay there and not to move an inch. Or else ...
I go back to my spot by the river and wait (as told to by my husband). He gets back to me shortly after. No sight of our child. Tension rises in me and I am getting properly worried now. He turns to me and tells me something about only four ways she could have gone and he's checked two and not to panic and he'll check the other two possible ways. I try to see the infallible logic in that. He tells me again to stay on the spot as she might come back here. We don't know.
When he comes back and still no-one, I decide to speak to the carabinieri. The other three kids are still sitting in the shade and have not been asking for food or ice-cream or water or anything and that in itself makes me even more worried. Keep calm, I say to myself. All we need now is a hysterical mother loosing it on the Ponte Vecchio when the bridge is packed with tourists.
The policeman is really helpful and even seems used to this kind of problem. I am fearing a lecture about the stupid tourists losing their kids on the Ponte Vecchio. But none of this, he is really helpful and kind, and with his heavily accentuated English (which in different circumstances would have delighted me) and my kitchen Italian we communicate very well. I show him a photo of the missing child taken earlier and am relieved that she is wearing a highly colourful teeshirt, all the colours of the rainbow in big huge horizontal stripes.
The man blabbers on instructions into his radio in rapid Italian and that gives me confidence. A police car drives up a few yards (out of the shade and into the sun) at 5mph and stops in the middle of the crossroads and more policemen come out looking as if they are happy to stretch their legs. I watch closely to make sure they are not off for gelato. I am told again to say on the spot. All these men telling me to stay on the spot; it must be a proven technique to leave the mother standing still so I do as I am told and scan the crowds. My husband tells me not to worry that he will go up and down the street and that he will find her.
I look at the other three still sitting in the shade and behaving themselves perfectly well which again makes me worried. They're not even fighting or anything.
Seconds that feel like minutes, minutes that seem to stretch into hours ... and me standing still amongst the crowds, useless and mindless, not helping, not knowing what to do, what to think. Do not think, do not think at all. Just stay calm.
Then out of the blue and out of the crowds my husband is there with our child in his arms. A rainbow coloured child crying her eyes out! The others have spotted her too and disobeyed our orders on the spot and are running across towards them. Now we are all running in the same direction and that is towards the police car at the crossroads. We meet there and no language skills are needed to tell the carabinieri that we have found the missing child and that we are grateful for their help. The family together in an embrace, crying, hugging and rejoicing loudly, the carabinieri are joining in too ... There is big huge commotion and for an instant I think the tourist must think it is a kind of show of the traditional Italian family getting together. Fearing they all start taking pictures, we calm down and thank the carabinieri again.
After that I hold her firmly by the hand, take her straight to the souvenir stall (bad parenting but my principles are out of the window) and then as much 'gelato' as you can eat. The Ponte Vecchio has lost its appeal and the tacky tourist merchandise gained plenty. Again realising how feeble our principles ....
Later on our daughter explained that she had walked on ahead of us rapidly (to get rid of her stupid parents) and then turned left as she knew we planned to cross over the bridge. When she realised we were not coming she had stopped on the spot, letting the tourists walk all around her. When her dad found her she was not crying and I think that's why she did not attract any attention. She was just standing there waiting and had burst into tears when she had seen her dad.
I will forever be indebted to the wonderful 'carabinieri' and I will also always wonder if all mothers 'lose' their kids like this or is it just me? Or is it my kids? Or is this one child of ours?
We are coming up to the Ponte Vecchio and we are admiring the view. Our youngest is having a tantrum because she wants to cross the road to buy something in the souvenir shop. We are used to this and tell her no, that we are enjoying our walk by he Arno River. She is not impressed, crosses her arms on her chest, puts on a grumpy face and stamps her feet.
'Stop this right now or you'll get no ice cream later.'
Sometimes, and especially looking back now, I marvel at the feeble arguments of us as parents. Anyway it seems to work as she moves on and we continue our stroll. I can see she's not happy but she's walking on. Then, suddenly, she has disappeared. I call her. No reply. I ask the others, no, she's not there. A few steps back, a few steps ahead. Still no little girl of ours.
I can feel the panic taking hold of me. The other kids too start to wonder where she is. My husband is keeping his cool (by 35 degrees it is quite an achievement) and says to me:
'Don't worry, she won't be far. Stay here, I'll find her.'
I am not that reassured but this has happened before (many times, same kid) so I gather some inner strength and cross the road to sit the other 3 in the shade with a strict order to stay there and not to move an inch. Or else ...
I go back to my spot by the river and wait (as told to by my husband). He gets back to me shortly after. No sight of our child. Tension rises in me and I am getting properly worried now. He turns to me and tells me something about only four ways she could have gone and he's checked two and not to panic and he'll check the other two possible ways. I try to see the infallible logic in that. He tells me again to stay on the spot as she might come back here. We don't know.
When he comes back and still no-one, I decide to speak to the carabinieri. The other three kids are still sitting in the shade and have not been asking for food or ice-cream or water or anything and that in itself makes me even more worried. Keep calm, I say to myself. All we need now is a hysterical mother loosing it on the Ponte Vecchio when the bridge is packed with tourists.
The policeman is really helpful and even seems used to this kind of problem. I am fearing a lecture about the stupid tourists losing their kids on the Ponte Vecchio. But none of this, he is really helpful and kind, and with his heavily accentuated English (which in different circumstances would have delighted me) and my kitchen Italian we communicate very well. I show him a photo of the missing child taken earlier and am relieved that she is wearing a highly colourful teeshirt, all the colours of the rainbow in big huge horizontal stripes.
The man blabbers on instructions into his radio in rapid Italian and that gives me confidence. A police car drives up a few yards (out of the shade and into the sun) at 5mph and stops in the middle of the crossroads and more policemen come out looking as if they are happy to stretch their legs. I watch closely to make sure they are not off for gelato. I am told again to say on the spot. All these men telling me to stay on the spot; it must be a proven technique to leave the mother standing still so I do as I am told and scan the crowds. My husband tells me not to worry that he will go up and down the street and that he will find her.
I look at the other three still sitting in the shade and behaving themselves perfectly well which again makes me worried. They're not even fighting or anything.
Seconds that feel like minutes, minutes that seem to stretch into hours ... and me standing still amongst the crowds, useless and mindless, not helping, not knowing what to do, what to think. Do not think, do not think at all. Just stay calm.
Then out of the blue and out of the crowds my husband is there with our child in his arms. A rainbow coloured child crying her eyes out! The others have spotted her too and disobeyed our orders on the spot and are running across towards them. Now we are all running in the same direction and that is towards the police car at the crossroads. We meet there and no language skills are needed to tell the carabinieri that we have found the missing child and that we are grateful for their help. The family together in an embrace, crying, hugging and rejoicing loudly, the carabinieri are joining in too ... There is big huge commotion and for an instant I think the tourist must think it is a kind of show of the traditional Italian family getting together. Fearing they all start taking pictures, we calm down and thank the carabinieri again.
After that I hold her firmly by the hand, take her straight to the souvenir stall (bad parenting but my principles are out of the window) and then as much 'gelato' as you can eat. The Ponte Vecchio has lost its appeal and the tacky tourist merchandise gained plenty. Again realising how feeble our principles ....
Later on our daughter explained that she had walked on ahead of us rapidly (to get rid of her stupid parents) and then turned left as she knew we planned to cross over the bridge. When she realised we were not coming she had stopped on the spot, letting the tourists walk all around her. When her dad found her she was not crying and I think that's why she did not attract any attention. She was just standing there waiting and had burst into tears when she had seen her dad.
I will forever be indebted to the wonderful 'carabinieri' and I will also always wonder if all mothers 'lose' their kids like this or is it just me? Or is it my kids? Or is this one child of ours?
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