Vancouver Island, visible through the sea haze some seventeen miles away.
“Il battello… um… parte a Victoria,” Julie said. “No, per Victoria. ”
“Very good,” Phil Boyajian said. “And what about you, Gideon, my man, how’s the Italian coming?”
“Muy bien, gracias,” Gideon said.
Phil shook his head. “Wrong language.”
“Oh. Sehr gut? ”
“Um, you’re not quite there yet, Dr. Oliver.”
“Don’t let him kid you, Phil,” Julie said. “He speaks it almost as well as you do. He has this knack with languages. It’s very annoying.”
“What can I say, it’s true,” Gideon said immodestly. “I spent a couple of summers on an Etruscan dig up near Tarquinia. I guess Italian just stayed with me.”
Actually, it hadn’t come that easily to him-he’d been learning Spanish not long before, and the two languages were close enough to confuse him-but he’d loved the lilt of those long, high, singing Italian vowels and he’d worked at it, continuing even after he’d gotten back to the States. He’d kept it sharp by occasionally reading Italian articles on the Web, but now, for the first time in years, he’d have a chance to put it to real use. The three of them would be flying to Italy in a couple of days; Phil was going over the details one final time.
“We arrive in Milan at six-fifty in the morning, pick up the rental car, and drive up the lake. A day and a night on our own in Stresa to get over the jet lag, and the next morning we go on back down to Milan to meet our flock at the airport. And so the merry adventure begins.”
The “flock” were the eighteen venturesome, pennywise travelers who had signed up for the “Italian Lakes Country Pedal and Paddle Adventure,” the week-long kayak-and-bicycle tour of Lake Maggiore and Lake Orta that was being put on by Travel on the Cheap, the thriving tour and guidebook company headquartered in Seattle. Phil, a frequent tour leader for On the Cheap, would lead it. One of Gideon’s oldest friends (he had been a fellow graduate student at the University of Wisconsin), he had sweet-talked them into helping out on the trip almost a year before. Or rather, he had talked Julie into it; for expenses, she would serve as the tour naturalist and assistant “host.” It hadn’t taken much sweet talking. A supervising park ranger at Olympic National Park’s headquarters in Port Angeles, it was the kind of thing that she enjoyed doing anyway, and it gave her a chance to study the natural history of a new area.
Gideon, on the other hand, was paying his own way, being basically along for the ride, although he’d promised to help out if needed. The trip had struck him as a good idea. He’d be between spring and summer quarters at the university, he’d never seen Italy’s lake country, and the kayaking sounded like fun. And of course, a week with Julie in northern Italy, even with the “flock” in tow, sounded a lot better than a week at home without her, especially with no classes, active forensic cases, or papers in preparation to keep him engaged. The bicycling part and the overnight stays at “clean, convenient campgrounds” were less enticing, and he’d reserved to himself the right to spend the nights in more deluxe accommodations. He’d made it clear that he intended to sleep in a clean bed in a pleasant room every night, get at least one good, hot meal a day, and shower every morning-in a private bathroom of his own.
Phil had taken good-natured offense. “Hey, wait’ll you see the campgrounds I lined up. Platform tents already set up for us, laundry machines, delicious hot meals every night, luxurious sleeping arrangements-”
“Oh, right,” Gideon said, “On the Cheap is well known for its attention to the finer amenities.”
“Okay, maybe not exactly luxurious, but-”
And what was more, Gideon said, he intended to rent a car for himself so he could get around on his own and drive wherever he pleased in luxury while the
“Il battello… um… parte a Victoria,” Julie said. “No, per Victoria. ”
“Very good,” Phil Boyajian said. “And what about you, Gideon, my man, how’s the Italian coming?”
“Muy bien, gracias,” Gideon said.
Phil shook his head. “Wrong language.”
“Oh. Sehr gut? ”
“Um, you’re not quite there yet, Dr. Oliver.”
“Don’t let him kid you, Phil,” Julie said. “He speaks it almost as well as you do. He has this knack with languages. It’s very annoying.”
“What can I say, it’s true,” Gideon said immodestly. “I spent a couple of summers on an Etruscan dig up near Tarquinia. I guess Italian just stayed with me.”
Actually, it hadn’t come that easily to him-he’d been learning Spanish not long before, and the two languages were close enough to confuse him-but he’d loved the lilt of those long, high, singing Italian vowels and he’d worked at it, continuing even after he’d gotten back to the States. He’d kept it sharp by occasionally reading Italian articles on the Web, but now, for the first time in years, he’d have a chance to put it to real use. The three of them would be flying to Italy in a couple of days; Phil was going over the details one final time.
“We arrive in Milan at six-fifty in the morning, pick up the rental car, and drive up the lake. A day and a night on our own in Stresa to get over the jet lag, and the next morning we go on back down to Milan to meet our flock at the airport. And so the merry adventure begins.”
The “flock” were the eighteen venturesome, pennywise travelers who had signed up for the “Italian Lakes Country Pedal and Paddle Adventure,” the week-long kayak-and-bicycle tour of Lake Maggiore and Lake Orta that was being put on by Travel on the Cheap, the thriving tour and guidebook company headquartered in Seattle. Phil, a frequent tour leader for On the Cheap, would lead it. One of Gideon’s oldest friends (he had been a fellow graduate student at the University of Wisconsin), he had sweet-talked them into helping out on the trip almost a year before. Or rather, he had talked Julie into it; for expenses, she would serve as the tour naturalist and assistant “host.” It hadn’t taken much sweet talking. A supervising park ranger at Olympic National Park’s headquarters in Port Angeles, it was the kind of thing that she enjoyed doing anyway, and it gave her a chance to study the natural history of a new area.
Gideon, on the other hand, was paying his own way, being basically along for the ride, although he’d promised to help out if needed. The trip had struck him as a good idea. He’d be between spring and summer quarters at the university, he’d never seen Italy’s lake country, and the kayaking sounded like fun. And of course, a week with Julie in northern Italy, even with the “flock” in tow, sounded a lot better than a week at home without her, especially with no classes, active forensic cases, or papers in preparation to keep him engaged. The bicycling part and the overnight stays at “clean, convenient campgrounds” were less enticing, and he’d reserved to himself the right to spend the nights in more deluxe accommodations. He’d made it clear that he intended to sleep in a clean bed in a pleasant room every night, get at least one good, hot meal a day, and shower every morning-in a private bathroom of his own.
Phil had taken good-natured offense. “Hey, wait’ll you see the campgrounds I lined up. Platform tents already set up for us, laundry machines, delicious hot meals every night, luxurious sleeping arrangements-”
“Oh, right,” Gideon said, “On the Cheap is well known for its attention to the finer amenities.”
“Okay, maybe not exactly luxurious, but-”
And what was more, Gideon said, he intended to rent a car for himself so he could get around on his own and drive wherever he pleased in luxury while the
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