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In Which There's a Book With A Happy Ending

August 17, 2008 by Mike

Venice

Here's a happy little story.

Way back in April, in a fantastically cultured and under-developed little town called San Jose, at the very southeast tip of Spain, I bought some books from a singular Englishman with a conspiratorial attitude, a secret past and a gammy leg.

One of the books was 'American Diplomacy 1900-1950' by George F.Kennan.

I didn't say Dave the bookseller had a great collection of books to sell, did I?

But, joking aside, Kennan is a bit special. He was the prime mover of US foreign policy for a generation. The modern world looks this way, to some degree, thanks to him. (Err.. Thanks?)

It's a good read, interesting to get his perspective on China and the Soviet Union and compare with the present US administration. But I got excited when I noticed the inside cover:

See that? Top left?

   "A.J.Rehling
   Hotel Europa
   Venice, Italy"

My edition of the book was published in 1963.

I thought, back in April, it would be The Right Thing to return the book to its first home.

And I've carried it with me ever since.

And I *almost* forgot about it. But then I woke up this morning and remembered I had work to do.

My dear bruvver having found an address for a Hotel Europa in Venice (no problems getting online when you've got an iPhone...) I took the ferry into town, then a vaporetto, the water bus, down the Grand Canal. (Heh, I love being able to say something like that.)

And here's the Hotel Europa, or the Westin Europa & Regina Venice Italy Hotels to give its full, posh title.

And believe me, it's posh: I've just checked their website. Rooms start at €150/ night and go up to €1000 for a suite. That's over six months at some of the campsites I've been in in Italy!

I couldn't walk away now. Deep breath, try to make the hair look half-way decent and through the ornate front doors of the Hotel Europa.

I almost sank in the plush carpeting.

Then I almost punched one guest on the nose for giving me the full 'look-what-the-cat-dragged-in' treatment. Her face went puce and her jaw dropped to the floor. The cheek of it.. but she was only about 11 so it wouldn't have looked good if I'd punched her too hard, I reflected.

I turned to face the concierge instead.

"I have a present for you," I piped up.

His eyebrow twitched, ever so slightly, but he remained outwardly unruffled and smiled his most insincere smile. This guy's a professional, I thought.

"Yes.. a present.. a book.. Spain.. inside cover.. motorbike.. Venice.. A.J.Rehling."

"Ahhhh yes. Mr Rehling, you say?"

That stopped me in my ever so 'umble tracks.

"You mean, you know him? You actually know A.J.Rehling?"

"Si, si, of course. He come 'ere every year for ten days.. two weeks. A tall gentleman; yes. Very nice man. American, of course."

I nodded: American, of course. (Why 'of course?' No. Don't look confused, Mike. The concierge will pounce on any weakness. Of course he was American.. Is American?

"Err.. is he?.. I mean..? Err.."

"No no," he smiled. "'E 'as not been 'ere for some time. He must be a very old man now."

Well there you go. A.J.Rehling stayed at a big old posh hotel where the concierges remember their guests and even have time for 'orrid little oiks like me. He received the gift graciously. "I will make sure 'e gets the book if 'e returns to the Europa," and I know he meant it.

He even called across a colleague, another concierge who remembers Mr Rehling, for the commemorative photo:

They don't look old enough to remember A.J.Rehling, do they? A man who I believe was here as long ago as 1963.

And now, as I'm online, I'm going to Google A.J.Rehling to see what kind of man could spend two weeks at the Europa every year..

[.. quick pause.. go and make yourself a cuppa..]

.. well, I half-expected to find a captain of industry, or a wealthy and debauched heir.. or a venerable History professor.. but the only A.J.Rehling I can find was a teacher of agriculture at Galesburg High School, 'Home Of The Silver Streaks'.

They must pay their agriculture teachers a decent whack over there in Illinois.

(A cross check and, yes, there are still Rehlings in Galesburg. Scary what you can do with the Internet, isn't it?)

That one mention of A.J. Rehling is tantalising: the student who recalls him as a teacher was born in 1916. Even if Rehling was newly-qualified he'd have been born, say, ten years earlier. So he would be around 100 years old today. Or in other words, in his early 60s, newly-retired and able to fulfil a lifetime's dream and to travel to Venice in 1963, when the book was published. And it continues:

"Five years ago Mr. Rehling was living in Spain and communicating with the Galesburg FFA" -- which might explain how the book travelled from Venice to Spain in the first place.

Galesburg, Illinois is the home town of the man who invented the ferris wheel and the place where the Marx Brothers first got their nicknames. It's a short drive from Peoria, that most middle of Middle American cities.

You came a long way, Mr Rehling, and so did your book.

If you want it back, better call the concierge at the Europa. And I stuck my email address on the inside cover if you want to get in touch.

I'm staying in Venice. I should be a little bit more specific.

When I say I'm in Venice, that is *technically* true. But I'm on the mainland, in a district called Cavallino, a spur of pined land that forms the northern rim of the lagoon and protects Venice proper from the wrath and rages of the sea. The campsite faces the Adriatic rather than inland towards the city, which means.. you've guessed it.. that me and the tent had to face the wrath and rages of the sea. Or more specifically, the almightiest thunderstorm.

I was trapped in the tent as the rain cascaded all around. The thunder was huuuuuuge. So were the lakes.. lakes, mind you, not puddles.. that quickly took hold of the campsite and, most alarmingly, the area directly in front of the tent. I'd put a slab of wood under the side-stand of the Bonnie (always do when parking on soft ground, just in case) so I wasn't too concerned about the bike toppling over. No, I was more concerned about the bike and/ or the tent floating away.

And in the interests of full disclosure, I should confess that as the storm broke, I'd been about to leave the tent for a very necessary visit to the little boys' room. Believe me, in that situation, you do *not* want to be stuck in a tent listening to the sound of rain drip-drip-DRIPPING and rivers of rainwater GUSHING and FLOODING and generally being exceedingly wet. I'm sure I don't need to paint a picture.. oh, and that's the other thing. No pictures of the scene because the camera was locked in one of the panniers, all of six feet from the tent, and I wasn't going to get drenched just so I could take a picture of me -- drenched.

The campsite is also cripplingly expensive -- 40€ a night. Yes! But on the plus side, once it had dried out, I'm a long way from the 'entertainment area' where perma-tanned and perma-smiley teens make Too Much Noise as they get the locals to sing and dance, badly. One of the hidden dangers of any holiday in Italy.

Beside the Seaside

In Which There's a Book With A Happy Ending

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