‘Ciao, Samantha, come stai?’

There was no time to react, no time to run through my mental archive of Year Eleven Italian lessons to gather a response to the woman who approached me, a smiling vision in canary yellow as she took my hand and shook it vigorously. Instead, I blurted out the usual reaction to hearing my full name.

‘Please, call me Sammi,’ I said, taking in the petite, attractive brunette with the high-wattage smile and twinkle in her eyes. I felt like a bag lady next to her.

‘Welcome to Rome, Sammi. Mi chiamo Maria. Is this your first time?’

Looking at my scruffy, creased clothes and weary, clammy disposition, it wouldn’t be hard to gather that I wasn’t a high-class traveller. Still, it was a polite icebreaker.

‘I’ve never been anywhere,’ I confessed, glancing up, relieved to see the man was no longer at reception. I was safe to be as tragic as I wanted. Not that I cared what he thought, I lied to myself.

‘Ah, well, you are in good hands then; Bellissimo Tours is the best way to start your Italian journey, embracing the local attractions, culture, food and people.’

The fact that Maria had left out the word ‘budget’ was not lost on me. I could imagine her repeating this speech a fair few times, but she had it down pat, even if I did see her eyes glaze over a bit as she rattled off the details for probably the hundredth time that night.

‘Sounds great. So where is everybody else?’ I asked, hoping against hope that I had, in fact, arrived at the wrong hotel, and that everyone was waiting for me across the road, in a vine-covered four-and-a-half star oasis, getting drunk on wine and eating pizza while dangling their legs into a fountain. But I should have known better than to let my imagination run away with me.

‘Oh, they are all out in the courtyard; there are two entrances into the hotel.’

‘And I just happened to take this one,’ I said, glowering at the reception.

‘Never mind—you are here and that is all that matters.’ Maria clapped her hands together as if something truly amazing was about to begin. Maybe I had entered into the bad side of the hotel. Everything has a good and a bad side—even I had a bad side. It just so happened that of all the entrances in the world that I could have walked into with my matted, curly Mohawk, I had to choose the same entrance as the smiling, Italian sex god from across the way. Still, he was a distant memory now, and my night was about to kick off finally. With newfound energy, I grabbed for my suitcase, only to be waved away from my handle by Maria.

‘No, no, Sammi—let the porters take care of that for you.’

My brows rose. From my experiences thus far, I couldn’t help the reaction: I guessed the man lingering out the front, laughing and smoking with the doorman, was the porter. Nothing had inspired any confidence until Maria had emerged like a sun from behind a cloud, quite literally; her bright yellow sundress was almost as blinding as her smile. That smile was now absent as she made short, determined steps in her heels towards the front desk. Gone was her warm, carefree, welcoming air and reborn was Maria, Roman warrior, breathing fire in loud and quick Italian at the staff. Italian was such a romantic, beautiful language, even in such a tirade.

I was tempted to slink off into the night, cringing at the thought that I might have got them into trouble. I mean, I probably could have been a bit more inquisitive, looked around, asked more questions from more people, tried my luck with my fragments of remembered Italian. But all I had the energy to do was slump into the well-worn, yet very comfy chair in the lounge area and hope against hope that the answer would come my way—and it had, in the form of Hurricane Maria. An impressive little pocket rocket, she didn’t appear much older than me, and yet she seemed infinitely more streetwise.

Now action began all around me: the smoking porter quickly extinguished his cigarette and hopped into action, and the flustered man behind the desk, who until now had been struggling between flailing through paperwork and skimming over wall keys, was aided by the young receptionist, who handed him the correct key. His face plum red, he handed the key to Maria with what seemed to be a thousand apologies, apologies that Maria turned her back on. Facing me, she smiled brightly, and there again was the flawless professional tour guide; it was as if I had imagined her fiery outburst, though the ringing of my ears told me otherwise.

‘Sammi, why don’t you freshen up and come meet everyone in the courtyard?’

I didn’t know if it was the warmth of her accent or the notion of freshening up, but I immediately felt better. A nice hot shower to wash away the plane grime, and lathering of conditioner to sort out the curly mess on my head. That Claire had inherited Mum’s non-offensive waves and I had been stuck with Dad’s mop of dark curls was another way Mother Nature had conspired against me. I should have thought to ask Jan how a Roman summer would affect my hair. You know, along with all the other important things like tourist visas, airport transfers and luggage allowances.

My attention snapped to the smoke fumes emanating from the porter as he skimmed past me with my suitcase, motioning me to follow. I glanced at a reassuring Maria, whose smile seemed to magically appear anytime my confidence was flagging; she was programmed so well. ‘When you are ready, just head down past the bar and out the back to the courtyard. You cannot miss it, there is a sign with “Bellissimo Tours”—it’s a private function.’

I felt like such an idiot; a mere wander and I could have found them myself instead of sitting in reception like a bag lady getting laughed at. Still, at least I hadn’t wandered into the courtyard looking like a rooster to a group of strangers. I guess I had to be thankful for that, but, following the skinny porter up the narrow, rusty, winding staircase, I couldn’t help thinking back to those eyes, sparkling and amused, and it made me wonder. Perhaps I would have preferred the eyes of a thousand strangers, instead of that very vivid pair I couldn’t quite shake.