The blue car is back!

And now we are on to bigger and better things together, like finding the Top Secret Headquarters of the Uber-Fancy Local Fashion Thing and conquering the autostrada. Oh, yes. It is going about as well as can be expected, given our history: the former took us about three hours despite being only ten minutes away from our starting point, and the latter probably shaved about three years off the end of my life.

I should preface this by explaining that the Uber-Fancy Top Secret Local Fashion Headquarters is not actually top-secret. In fact, aside from the flag having been invented here, it's probably Reggio's one other claim to fame. I'm pretty sure a significant portion of Reggio's population is employed or somehow otherwise connected to this fashion group and its associated industries and whatever.

Anyway, that said, you'd think someone would know how to get to the headquarters. Or that the address would be available on the internet. Or that the UFLFT HR people who are organizing the English courses might have included it in part of their correspondance with our school. You'd think. And yet...

"Oh, yeah, it's... you know... over there," our receptionist assures us, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the window, from which you can see Ipercoop and the beginning of Reggio's charming industrial district. "You know."

But we don't. Twenty minutes later and a phone call to the aforementioned HR people later, we have the address. Via M--- G----. (Just maintaining the secrecy, you know. Even though anyone who lives in Reggio will probably know exactly what I am talking about. I think there is really only one Uber-Fancy fashion thing with its headquarters here.) We put the address into the GPS. We attach the GPS to the windshield.

"You have to put the car in neutral for it to start," I offer, sharing the wisdom I garnered last year with the new girl. I am helping her to practice driving in Italy. You should take a moment to reflect upon how ludicrous it is to have me helping anyone to practice anything. Particularly driving the blue car. Anyway, we make it out of the parking lot and after a brief panic on the roundabout ("which way do I go? Left or right? Quick!" Me: "um... right. Like the little arrow. Always right. Because here we drive on the right, remember?" "Oh, that's right." Oh, dear. I check my seatbelt.)

The GPS is exceedingly bossy and we follow its directions, checking them against the Google Maps thing we printed out. They agree. Things are going well.

We miss a turn, but it is no big deal, except for the fact that the GPS is not very sympathetic: "turn around as soon as possible. Turn around as soon as possible," she orders crisply. Couldn't it be just a little more tactful? Like "that's okay, dear - it's hard to see the signs in this light. I'm sure you'll get it on the second try."

As it happens, we turn around and promptly miss the turn again. It is a tiny side street with no lighting and little ditches on either side. On the fourth or fifth try, we get it. Huzzah. We begin to inch along the miniscule dirt road, and the ditches on either side widen until they are huge and we have about six inches on either side of the car. We roll along silently for a few minutes. We appear to be deep in the middle of a farm, surrounded on either side by some sort of field and a faint smell of pigs. The GPS has no advice for us. We are so focused on not falling into the ditches that it takes a few minutes before one of us says, "wait... but would the headquarters of the Uber-Fancy Local Fashion Thing really be here in the middle of a field?" "Good point," agrees the other. "Surely they wouldn't want to work in a place that kind of smells like pigs?"

An even smaller side road branches off ahead, barely visible in the fog. It is clearly a sign. We execute a graceful 3 point turn that only takes us the better part of half an hour (as we are not so confident about our abilites to not end up in the ditch) and inch carefully back to the main road. Splendid.

We slink back to the school. What with having made a side trip to the village of Massenzatico (twice), our adventure has taken a little over an hour.

We acquire a third member for our search party and a new set of google directions.

We end up on Via M--- G---, which turns out to be located in a quiet residential area made up cute little apartment buildings. I roll down my window to ask for help from an elderly lady hobbling down the sidewalk.

"Scusi, ma do you know if the Top Secret Headquarters of the UFLFT is located near here?" I ask.

"The what? The fashion thing? Noooo, signorina, not even close." After indulging in a brief cackle of amusement, she gives us lengthy directions mainly in dialect.

"Grazie mille!" I call cheerfully, rolling up the window. I turn back to my cohorts. Their faces are as blank as mine probably is. Right, then.

"You know," ventures one of them, "one of my students works for the local fashion thing and I have her mobile number. I could... call her." It is eight-thirty on a Friday night, but this seems to be our best bet. She dials.

"Hello? Hi, this is [your English teacher]. Um... we're trying to find the Top Secret Headquarters. You know, where you work. Can you help us?"

Pause.

"Well, we're not quite sure... um... we've been looking for Via M--- G---, but we got a little lost and now we're in the middle of nowhere, at a petrol station. Because also we ran out of benzina."

Pause.

"Wait, really? Via M--- F---, not M--- G---?"

Pause.

"Oh. Yeah. I guess that *would* make a difference. Wait, let me see if the GPS can find it."

We type it into the GPS. It does not recognize it as a real place. (See, I told you it was top secret.)

"Wait, Via M--- F---? You're sure? Because the GPS says it doesn't exist."

Pause, during which the student gives detailed and precise directions for ending up on the so-secret-GPS-doesn't-know-about-it Via M--- F---. It turns out to be located practically under the Ponti di Calatrava (google it, they're pretty cool-looking). Also, we can see them from the window of the school. They are literally less than ten minutes away.

We find them. The student calls to check up on us. (We love our students.) The Top Secret Headquarters is huge, eerily covered in fog, and gated shut. We turn around and head home. We go and get a pizza.

I wonder if there will ever be a time when I will just drive the blue car somewhere and it will be simple and not require emergency phone calls and three sets of a directions.