The Bloody Incident at Villa San Michele villa san michele Alright. This is the good stuff. A ridiculously posh and expensive hotel. Architected by Michealangelo. Amazing views over Florence. Buluga caviar. Champagne. Oscar nominated movies. Then blood, Italian doctors, stitches and other crazy stuff. It all started like this. Elina got us a sweet deal to stay in Florence for two nights at the Villa San Michele. She told me this place was nice, but she was severely underestimating. The Villa San Michele isn't nice. It's mind-bogglingly perfect. She told me it's supposed to be one of the nicest hotels in the world - and by bloody hell it is! my grand entry We took the Eurostar from Rome to Florence around 12:30 and got to the Villa San Michele around 2:30. Danytza, the customer service manager, immediately welcomed us and then escorted us to our room. It was up a little bit of the mountainside. All the rooms are built into the mountain somehow so when you look at the place all you see is greenery but hidden inside are the most perfect little rooms ever. We had a whole outside area with a view overlooking Florence. The room itself had all super schwank furniture. The bathroom was to die for. The soaps were those super ridiculously nice Bulgari ones. It was as nice as it gets. The only comparison I had is the hotel I stayed at in Monaco. The Bellagio doesn't even come close. elina on the patio To top it off we had a bottle of prosecco waiting for us along with the best ever potato chips, a plate of nuts, some olives and, best of all, a box of ridiculously yummy chocolate truffles. We played it cool. You see, we were staying in this $1200 a night room for free. Danytza told us about all the features and offered a full tour later, since Elina is supposed to be writing about it. Elina smartly pushed that off to the next day. We'd already planned on plunging ourselves into their heated swimming pool as soon as humanly possible. Once Danytza left, Elina and I did a silly little girl dance of utter joy, glee and celebration. This was the best thing we'd ever seen. We immediately tossed on our Frette robes and slippers, popped the bottle of prosecco and planted outselves outside to start soaking it up. elina poolside After we indulged ourselves silly in our room, we tossed on swimsuits and made our way up to the pool. This was just as amazing as everything else. Killer Florence views. A heated pool with a fountain coming out of nowhere. Little Italian men in waiter suits at our beck and call. Every and any concern we might ever have had immediately evaporated. That is the measure of a truly great hotel. After an afternoon at the pool we each took a bath. We had Bulgari soap teabags. Great hot water. A view over Florence from the windows. Plus each of us had our own sink, mirror, etc. I thought back to the guy I met in Dublin who designs bathrooms for the super fantastic and I thought, "I bet even he'd approve of this place." The baths were perfect. They warmed us up through and through and then we choose some movies to watch. The room had a TV that pops out of nowhere at the end of the bed just like the Osbournes. They also have a full collection of Oscar winning and nominated films. We got "Three Coins in the Fountain" and "Il Postino." Very Italian of us. After that, time for an aperitif before dinner. At the bar they had a grand piano and a guy playing all sorts of great songs. They brough Elina her vodka sour and me my gin and tonic. They also brought us an assortment of snacks. All yummier than any other bar snacks in the world. Our reservation was for 8 and we strolled the 50 feet to the restaurant part of the patio just in time. The thing about this restaurant is that it's a Michelin one star. According to Elina, who can eat at those fancy places in New York because she knows an heiress or two, that's supposed to be really good. elina and her beluga We weren't sure if dinner would be free or not. Danyzta sort of implied she'd make our dinner reservations and that sort of sounded to us like the hotel would cover that bill too. This is where the idea to have Beluga caviar at 98 euros a plate came in. Elina loves her caviar and I don't think I've ever had it. Not sure how vegetarian it is, but I told her if she ordered it then I would try some. (Fish eggs, right? I can eat eggs....) Meanwhile we got a bottle of champagne and I ordered a pecorino cheese torte for myself. When they served the caviar it came out all fancy on one plate with little bowls of stuff around it. Of course when you are ridiculously rich you don't have to even play with your own food. They have people to do that for you. The waiter re-dished everything for Elina and then she did a little happy dance in her chair, sipping champagne and humming some Italian operetta. She's been doing that whenever she's super happy. I would have done the same for my cheese torte too, but that's really Elina's schtick. Alright. So I tasted a little caviar. A little Beluga caviar. And you know what I say? No... not really. Not so much. It's just not my deal. I prefer my 26 euro pecorino torte to the 90 euro caviar any day. This is good news for future suitors. For dinner I had a pumpkin risotto in a parmesan cheese shell. Elina had duck. I don't get that since she spent all week telling me how much she loves duckies. Then she goes and eats them. As for my risotto, I don't care what the Michelin Man says about the place but I only liked the cheese shell. But then I'm not a risotto type of girl. For desert I had a plate of goat cheese and Elina had the pisachio waffle candy with walnut ice cream. I was in pure ecstacy at that point. They gave me one of the best red wines I'd ever had and then some of the most ridiculously good goat cheese in the history of goat cheeses. Even Elina abandoned her sweet yummy dessert to share the favorite cheese with me til it was all gone. Yummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm! Okay. So now stuffed full of the best of the best food on the planet we left and returned to our room to watch our movies and go to bed. We opted to watch "Three Coins in the Fountain" which is a 1950s film about three American girls who move to Rome to have adventures and meet the men of their dreams. It's a totally ridiculous and cheesy film and it put Elina to sleep halfway through. As for me, I tried my best not to fall asleep, but just 5 minutes before the end I dozed off. When it finished the TV flipped back on and it was loud and scary and I switched it off real quick and tried to fall back asleep again. This is when the whole bottle of Pellegrino decided to demand an escape from my body. I went to get up and use the ladies room before sleeping away the night - and that's when it happened. our room at Villa San Michele (with the offending cabinet) Warning: The rest is not for the weak stomached. Alright, so in the room I am sleeping in the bed by the wall. There is a small walkway next to my side of the bed and along that walkway there is a cabinet mounted on the wall. Inside that cabinet is the safe for the room. You can see the layout in the picture to the right. It is this lovely cabinet that I bumped into as I went to stand up, half-asleep and unaware. When I say "bumped into" I really mean slammed into. Full force. I stood up and, smash. At first I thought, ouch! That's gonna cause quite a bump. I sat back down and went to feel my head. This is where the blood comes in. I put my fingers to my head and I felt a whole mess of blood. I felt my hair and it was realised it was pouring down all over me. This is when I decided to get to the bathroom and see in the mirror what all was going on. Of course this is also when I had to wake Elina up with a loud assertion of "Elina, I'm bleeding. A lot. Can you please switch the lights on?" The reason I needed her help is that the lights in the room, and in the bathroom in particular, were a little complicated. You had to have the switch by the door turned on in the right way and the switch by the bathroom flipped the right way in order to get them on. Being that I was dripping enormous pools of blood everywhere, I figured this was a chore best left to those without blood on their hands (as the expression goes.) Poor Elina was in the middle of what was probably a very fine dream and I suddenly woke her with these horrible exclamations about blood and lights. She must have been quite disoriented, which is why it took her what felt like 10 minutes to get the lights on for me. All this time I had started washing water across my head where the bleeding was coming from. When the lights flipped on I saw exactly how much blood was in the sink and on my hair and everywhere else. Let's just say it was a lot. This is when I grabbed a towel and started applying pressure and trying to stop the bleeding. In the middle of all this I am figuring I could pass out at any second or who knows what else. Maybe I pierced my brain. I don't even have an idea yet how big or bad this cut is. I can't see past all the streams of blood. In the middle of this Elina made the mistake of coming into the bathroom. While I was doing my best to stay calm and cool and collected, as soon as Elina stepped in she made that dreaded "Oh shit!" sound. That's when she left the room, both gagging a little and grabbing for the phone. This is when she went to call the front desk and have them get am ambulance. While she was on the phone I started envisioning the horrors of leaving the Villa San Michele by ambulance. Despite popular belief that I like attention, that is not the kind of attention I'm interested in. Ever. It was time to really take a closer look at what had happened and see if I couldn't get out of that whole ambulance thing. huge gash I really hate the part of a bloody emergency when you have to look at what's become of you. I know that that is the part when people often pass out from shock. So I took some good breaths, told myself I could handle it, that I had everything under control and then I looked at myself in the mirror. What I saw was a huge open gash in my head. (It's what you see now to the right.) Fearing the ambulance trip more than death itself, I told Elina I didn't need an ambulance. Just for a doctor to come check me out and let me know what I had to do. The hotel people got a nice English speaking doctor on the phone and Elina tried to explain to him what had happened. She was muttering and making it all sound really scary. Despite it being really scary, I didn't want them to think that. Then they might make me go to the hospital in an ambulance. So I came out, after washing down the sink and trying to rid the bathroom of as much blood as possible, to talk to the doctor myself. On the phone I described what happened. I could tell he was on the side of "she's gonna sue the hotel" and so he started recommending I go to the hospital in Florence and get x-rays and other stuff. He said I could have blood clots, brain damage, I could have a lot of things. Mainly he thought I could have the venegeance of the other clients at the hotel who send back their wine when they change their minds. blood and guts and a punk hairstyle See, again, my big concern is going to the hospital. There I will lose control of the situation. They will speak in Italian and do all kinds of things to me, whether I like it or not. They will shave my hair and make me incur ridiculous hospital expenses. I don't want any of these things. I just want to tape my head back together for a few days, let it heal and go back to bed. I mean, come on now. I'm a trooper. I don't need no stinking hospitals. So I told the doctor that I really wasn't sure that all of that was necessary. This is when I play the card of the American girl who might have been over-reacting before. I knew I wasn't, but he didn't. Thank God for all the poker we'd be playing. It had perfected my poker face. Or poker voice. Whatever. I asked him if he wouldn't mind just coming over, taking a look and then advising what I should do. He reluctantly agreed and said he'd be over in 1/2 hour. This is when the porter showed up. He was an older Italian guy who didn't speak any English. He brought me cotton and alcohol to disinfect my head. He also showed me some scars he had on his lower lip and eyebrow. I asked if the same cabinet caused those and he started laughing really hard and saying "no, no, no." See, charades can be fun! Even during emergencies! I proceeded to disinfect and pour alcohol all over my bloody spot for as long as I could. Then the porter got us some ice and I started a new fashion trend by wearing a towel wrapped ice bag on top of my alcohol full cotton swabs on top of the big gushing gaping wound on my head. I could tell Elina was jealous. I saw her mentally thinking of running off to Milan with the idea. Fortunately she didn't. The night manager, Adam, came in around this time. He was some really nice and relatively attractive British guy. I hated my introduction to him to be so informal. I mean, no bra - in my glasses - and just me in my pajamas and a robe and with my new bloody fashion trend. He was very concerned, or at least played that way. He asked if we needed anything and immediately Elina thought "Champagne and strawberries please." But he thought she was joking. He said he'd return when the doctor arrived and told me to stay put. I told him that with this punk red bloody hair style I was really hoping to hit the disco. He laughed and was amused but still left. I think he worried I might change my mind at some point and act like the evil vicious rich snots who would have demanded a stretch limo ambulance to the finest hospital in Italy. Alright. So about an hour after the blood started to flow, the doctor arrived. By this time I did everything I could to make the situation look under control. I had cleaned up all the spilt blood. I had my head cleaned off as much as I could, save the bloody red cool punk pink hairdo. I removed my icey bloody alcohol fashion statement and showed him my gash. He made a scary sound of "Oh my!" and I immediately started my pitch. "I think it just needs a few stitches. It'll be fine." I'm not sure if he agreed with me or not, but he decided to play along. This is when he set up his impromptu hospital on the bed. He grabbed a pillow and a few towels and had me lay down. This is where he was going to give me the stitches. On the bed of the Villa San Michele. Honestly, I must say, if you have to get stitches, I really couldn't recommend a more comfortable place. The only bad part was that the way I had to lay forced me to face that evil cabinet on the wall during the whole procedure. Thus I lay there while the dude stitched me up. He wouldn't let me have pain killers. He would even let me do a shot or two of whiskey. Shafted! Adam, the cute night manager, had returned and so I decided to flirt with him to distract me from the stitching procedure. Plus, come on now, what's sexier than a blonde American girl in Italy with a gaping hole in her head? I decided to ask him to teach me how to explain to my friends in Italian what I'd done to myself. He mumbled a lot of smart Italian sounding stuff but I really don't remember any of it. I was playing cool but it's really freaking wierd to feel a doctor sliding a needle through your scalp and then pull the thread together all tight and have your open head forced back together again. Eventually I guess I stopped flirting with Adam and started to focus on how much I hated that stupid cabinet on the wall. Adam must have felt neglected, or weak in the stomach, and so around then he left again. Now I was stuck with Elina, who was in the corner smoking and hiding, and the boring stitching doctor guy. This is when I thought of you all again, loyal journal readers. I begged and pleaded with Elina to get my camera and take pictures of the doctor giving me stitches. She refused. Over and over again. She said, after the fact, that she wouldn't let me exploit myself. I told her that if anyone is going to exploit me (anyone besides a really yummy Italian guy, that is) then it should be me. Oh well. So no stitching pictures. Blame Elina. I would have done it, but I was already laying down and trying to soak up the strangeness of the needles through my scalp feeling. (You can hear and feel it when he pierces your skin. It's totally bizarre. I was trying to decide what hurt more - this or the tattoo I got in Vegas back in July.) my five stitches Finally the stitching was done. The doctor hung around for a while to make sure I wasn't still bleeding. It all came out okay, except for a pillow which was sacrified to the blood gods. (That was the only thing lost. I didn't stain any sheets or bedding or anything else. They should thank for me that. I could have destroyed that ridiculous persian rug and I didn't!) Anyway, the blood stopped, he gave me a prescription for some antibiotics and then started scaring me by telling me how I could still have a blood clot in my brain and die at any second. He said if I felt dizzy or like vomiting or if I lose consciousness then I'd have to get to the hospital immediately. Of course what all that means is really that if I feel those things, I'm pretty much gonna be dead. There's no way I'd make it in time. This is when I started focusing on my state of mind. Was I dizzy? Vomiting? Unconscious? All signs pointed to "no" - but I was pretty damn tired. It was 3am already and all this crap started at 12:30. That's even longer than a movie version. Dr. Housecall left after giving me a 230euro bill. I had to pay him on the spot, so I gave him a credit card. Amazing the times we live in that I can charge head injuries. Simply fantastic. Then I made the obligatory phone call to my mother in Florida. This was with two motives. The first was to freak her out. I love to do that. The second was to get her advice on my experience, recommendations, etc. She is a nurse and so I figure she must know something about that stuff. The good thing is she reminded me about a drug allergy I have and told me not to take the prescriptions the doctor gave me if they would have some sort of side effect, like, say, oh, death or something. Okay, so to cut the long, long, long story short, I finally fell asleep. Of course I had some psycho-sematic stuff going on. I was, for a while, rather concerned that if I fell asleep I might very well never wake up again. I spent a lot of time missing my cats. Elina offered me an Ambien to help me sleep, but considering everything, that probably wouldn't have been good so I refused. She took one though and was out like a light. This morning I wokeup and had to wash my hair before attending the free breakfast. The doctor told me not to get my stitches and gash wet, but I really couldn't go around looking like some freak from a John Waters horror film all day. I had to return to civilized posh society. I did my best and washed out most of the blood. Yet again, what a strange experience. Washing your hair and seeing blood pouring down the drain. Janet Leigh ain't got nothing on me. breakfast of cheese After making myself suitable for a return to society, Elina woke up and we went to free breakfast. They had a whole spread of cheese and, as anyone who knows me knows, cheese is the easiest way to make me forget my worries. I had the little suited waiters get me this whole big plate of cheese and I pigged out. I also grabbed some more of the super good mozzarella and made a little sandwich for the road. This is a tradition Elina and I love. Not only does it save me money on lunch, but the food is of better quality and I come home with a really nice new fancy napkin to boot! florence view For the afternoon Elina and I relaxed by the pool. I decided to catch a slightly earlier train to Rome with Kat's friend Marta, so I left around 2. The hotel called me a cab and on my way out everyone helped escort me out the door. I think they were trying to be nice, but I am also sure they were glad to have my bloody self gone. Earlier in the day Danytza came by to express her condolescenes. We figure she came in to read the night log of requests to the concierge and completely freaked out when she saw what had happened. You gotta figure the log goes like this "Ice, Ice, Ice, Blood, Blood, Doctor Call, Blood, Towels, Cotton & alcohol, Blood, Blood, Blood, ice, Doctor visits, more blood, aspirin, fresh towels, Ice, Ice, Ice, Ice." No wonder she freaked. Anyway. When I left I got all their cards and they extended wishes about me returning for lunch or some night in the future. They also said they'd already spoken with the architect and the room was going to be changed. That damn safe will see my revenge after all! I am now home. Kat is arriving in an hour or two. Her friend Marta came down to Rome with me and is off with a friend for dinner. I am taking my antibiotics. I'm also sharing my cool gory story with everyone who will listen. For a girl who loves stories, this is a great one. And, hey, the scar I have for the rest of my life will always come with an amazing story of the Villa San Michele. I'm just glad it didn't happen at a Holiday Inn. How embarrassing would that be? laura looking normal over florence Finally, yet another word about this. The good news is that the stitches and scar are just at the beginning of my hairline. While the doctor did cut off a little hair, I am totally able to wear my hair almost normally without anyone seeing my hotel war wound. So, yeah, I look pretty normal. But underneath it all - I'm still the same old gory gal! Ciao! << back to where it all began... Content & Photos © 2004 Laura Laytham, laura@girlsaresmarter.com.