European slaying, take one.

My red eye flight led me the Firenze airport at 12:30, 3 hours before my friends wedding was about to begin. I caught a cab ride across town to the train station, successfully navigated the italian ticket machine, and hopped abroad the first train I could to Prato. My watch showed 1:30 upon my hustle across the square in Prato to catch my next cab ride to the villa where Luca, the groom, had booked me a room....or at least was supposed to. I had no confirmation number, and no phone number for the "boarding house" as he had called it. While this made me a bit nervous, I had heard rumors about the Italian way and their relaxed nature of things, so I figured...when in Rome. I showed the driver, whom spoke no English the address, she nodded as her slender frame hoisted my huge suitcase into the trunk. Twisting up the alley that they called a road through the countryside, honking the horn around the corners to let the oncoming traffic know that we were there (2 cars could not fit on the same road, the blind corners needed the honk)
The car grinds to a halt and she looks at me in a way that says, "TaDa". To my right are some huge gates and a sign for a villa carved into them. The villa looks straight out of "under the Tuscan sun" and is amazing.
As the cab speeds away, I think to myself, if this is not the right place....I'm screwed. Let's recap: I'm a few miles from town, I have no idea where I am, I don't know the language, and it's 2 hours until the wedding.
I haul my large suitcase, which holds my world for the next two weeks, into the courtyard and look around for a door.
After I have situated myself, I stand in front of two large wooden doors fit for a castle and press the buzzer with my fingers crossed. My heart sinks a little when a voice emits from the speaker in incomprehensible fast Italian. I stammer nervously, "I'm here for Luca and Michelle's wedding." Hoping that the person who holds the keys to the bedroom I hope to sleep in that night understands some English. Like magic, the door opens and the proprietor takes one long look at me and says, "you must be from Boston!"
After a quick shower and change of clothes, I don my heels for the two mile walk to the church, feeling like the victorious warrior I was. My reward? One of the best nights of my life, at a wedding that was so beautiful and special, it made me say, " if I ever get married again, it will be here."
Keep your heart open and adventure will find you.

Location:Florence, Italy