February 1, 2004

The journey to the Italian capital can be full of fun, adventure and self-discovery. But one must find one’s glasses first!

This is about a middle-aged couple on a holiday trip to Europe — me and my husband. It was not the first time we were going abroad; it was also not the first time we were going without the children.

It was, however, the first time we were going to venture into a foreign non-English speaking land after both of us had gone bifocal (henceforth referred to as the ‘bifocal syndrome’). It was the first time we were both going to be pitched against the ‘strange’ world out there with only numerous pairs of spectacles and each other for support. Let me clarify here that I have separate spectacles for different distances while my husband sports a two-in-one combo.

Modern day travel, if you think about it, is more cumbersome than the days of horses, inns and being part of a group. Today you report three hours prior to the flight departure; four, if you are travelling with my husband. In fact so early that the check-in counters haven’t opened as yet. You wait, check in, walk through the customs and immigration, and go sit in the lounge.

There are two resultant factors of this early checking:

a) you don’t have to stand in long queues when embarking (you have a long sit in the lounge instead), and;

b) you have to stand in long queues when disembarking because your bags will come out last as they went in first.

Our first stopover was Dubai, where we had 20 hours. The airline gave us a hotel room, told us there would be a shuttle at the airport and handed us our vouchers and tickets. We were two adults, so naturally, it was decided we would both keep our documents independently. I put mine in my bag. My husband, on the other hand, had one severe handicap, he did not, could not, carry a hand bag. Putting passport, tickets and vouchers in his jacket or trouser pocket made him nervous. So, after hand carrying them to the plane, he decided to give them to me to put in my bag during the flight. However, after an hour he wanted the documents, to know when were we catching the next flight. Now visualize this... I get up, open the hatch, get my bag out, hand my husband the documents, close the bag, put it back in the hatch and sit down. After exactly five minutes, the documents have been studied, and they have to be put back. I get up, open the hatch, get my bag out, put the documents back, close the bag, put it back in the hatch and sit down.

Twenty minutes before we are to land, my husband wants to know the name of the hotel. I get up, open the hatch... you know the drill!

Dubai was a quick exit. Shuttle was found, hotel reached, breakfast had and then time to catch up on sleep. One aspect of the bifocal syndrome is that not much excites you enough for you to skip sleep. Both of us had had hardly any sleep in the past 24 hours and now was our chance. After a good morning’s sleep, we ventured out. One drive around the city, the important landmarks pointed out, a fairly quick tour round the biggest and the ‘best’ shopping mall and we were done with tourism.

Back at the airport, and time to find the check-in gate. When I could see without spectacles, I looked once at the ticket, remembered the gate number and that was it. Now that I am bifocal, I read it once, think about it some, wonder if age is not clouding my memory, so open bag, take out ticket pouch, find my reading spectacles, take out the ticket, read the number again, and then because memory might play tricks on me and I might lose some document, put everything back meticulously and shut the bag. This procedure has to be repeated a number of times. Was it Gate 12 or 20 (2 being the common digit)? My husband wears bifocals, hence I more or less take it for granted he will do the navigation and the reading which he does. Only he is also ‘older’ and not so sure so he wants my advice. Which brings on the spectacle ritual. Once again, why do I have to put my spectacles back each time? I don’t mean to, I can assure you. It’s just force of habit. You do something long enough and before you know it, it has taken control of your life.

In Rome, this spectacle ritual (pun unintended!) truly got out of hand. To find our way, especially in the old city, we had to adjust to two distances: the map in our hands and the street names, which were some 10 feet in the air. After a frantic couple of rounds of the spectacle ceremony, dropping things from my bag in my flurry, holding the map upside down and then wondering whey we kept losing our bearings, we decided that my husband would read the road map and I would look out for the street signs (my distance vision being better).

Teamwork, split responsibilities and we did wonderfully well for the first couple of streets. Then the bifocal syndrome set in: my husband wanted me to look at the map and then match the very long and very foreign street names (which of course required reading glasses) on the map. Some more of the spectacle ceremony and I decided to leave my glasses on. That resulted in distorted vision and I kept tripping. My husband kept tripping because he kept forgetting to lower the street map when he was walking. He literally walked by the map, to the annoyance of his toes, other pedestrians and drivers who happened to be crossing the road simultaneous with him.

Then there were the museums. Rome has many, many, many works of art that you want to stop and try to absorb. However, one thing that I can is that after many decades you’ve been married, no husband and wife will want to absorb the same work of art at the same time. This was also peak tourist season, so chances of losing each other are bright. Before we got into any public building, my architect husband would draw up a ‘contingency plan’: a spot, where we would meet if we got lost, was selected after careful deliberation over its approach, visibility and availability of standing room. Then we went in making sure we kept sight of this rendezvous spot for as long as we could.

In the museum we tried to stay together. Except when one art object fascinated him more than me. Of course, if one fascinated me, you could safely bet he’d think it mundane. The result of course was that the bored person wandered ahead. The one who’d gone ahead would expect to be joined by the other in say 10 minutes. After 15 minutes had lapsed, panic would start. What happened to the other? Heart attack? Amnesia? Dizziness?

Everything that sounded impossible 15 years ago is now a stark reality. The one left behind would not be sure whether the spouse a) had been left behind, or b) had wandered ahead, or c) had needed to make an emergency dash to the restrooms, or d) had found a seat by some miracle in some corner of the same room.

This one would continue to be absorbed in the object d’art of the moment. The reunion always saw one very flustered and one very calm spouse. Which very quickly meant one very crabby couple.

Shopping was another issue. If I wanted one item for a friend, you can depend on it, my husband thought the idea absurd. And vice versa. Outside the Coliseum, a sardar jee was selling ‘hand painted prints’ of Rome. The ones I liked were the ones my husband thought ‘third-rate’. Naturally, the ones he picked, I thought flat and poor impressions. Sardar jee was smart: he sold us his entire collection of 30 prints!

Finally, there was the food that looked more foreign than it really was for us. If I eat with my reading glasses, I always feel I am scrutinizing my food. If I eat without, unidentified items tend to alarm my taste buds. Salad bars were a particular nightmare. In one cafe, I heaped up on what I though was good healthy boiled spinach. The taste buds announced the item to be something wrapped in some leaves with some sauces. Definitely not spinach.

Another manifestation of the bifocal syndrome — the delicious Italian ice cream cones simply couldn’t be licked fast enough. I always ended up with coloured and sticky ice cream melting down my hands.

This was Rome in just five days. I discovered myself in recognizing the routines I had adopted but had been blissfully oblivious of; my husband discovered that public disagreement could prove costly (sardar jee’s paintings), and of course, we both discovered Rome. A trip well worth the money spent!

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