:: Italian (mis)Adventure, the Finale ::

:: finally, an hour and fifteen minutes late, the train arrives. i settle in on an 8” by 8” flip-out seat with a severe lean in the hallway huddled over my bags (i paid extra for this ‘first-class’ seat). 30 minutes later we enter a tunnel. the main lights go out and the train rolls to a stop. to my right is an italian gramma (who has not yet started chattering at me to my suprise), and look to her for support. in the dim light i can see she’s unaffected by the events, having long since grown accustomed to this sort of pandemonium. i work to convince myself that we are just paused while another train passes, but none come. eventually we’re moving again, and i chuckle at my near-panic. a short time later; another tunnel, another power failure, another near panic (which is repeated numerous time over the next two hours), but finally arriving to genoa. this time the delay is just over two hours, so i simply head to the ticket office and get in line to exchange my ticket: 25 minutes in line to find out that it’s the wrong one; the correct one being 30 minutes more. even getting a pack of my beloved ringos takes 15 minutes… i decide to make a pit-stop. not wanting to leave my bags unattended, they accompany me to the water-closet. with one hand holding my suit-case and the other holding garment bag above the flood, i am left unable to perform required duties typically associated with a trip to the wc. at last i am to the new track with the new train, number 666… figures. over the announcements i hear in Italian “something something something, train 666, something delayed 90 minutes, something something”. great. i can make out the youngsters on the platform giggling and saying “something something tren del diavolo,” loosely translating to ‘devil train’. fantastic. despite being late, my ride on the ‘devil train’ was unspectacular. i arrive to milano, take the aeroporto bus, and finally the shuttle to my hotel (still raining). at check-in i ask if there is anywhere close to get food at this hour (quarter past 11pm). ‘alore, sir, there is nothing open… un momento, let me phone a friend. ... yes sir, my friend will meet you outside in 10 minutes, take you to a pizzeria, and bring you back.’ ‘really?’ ‘yes sir, please check into your room to refresh and be back in 10 minutes.’ super! i hurry to my room, and open the door to a well-lit luxurous room. i wheel my bags inside and close the door. the lights go out. i open the door, lights on. close the door, lights off. (repeat several times before noticing the card reader on the wall inside the room). swipe hotel key card in reader, lights come on (with door closed) and ‘welcome shojo’ appears on the tv. wow! i head to the water-closet this time with hands free of luggage to finally perform the much required duties. lights off. ‘what the ___?!?’ ::

:: i mumble to myself, fumbling to maintain decency while opening the hallway door again to reactivate the lights, and reinsert the keycard into the slot this time leaving it there. lights on. at this point, i am convinced i have stored up enough good karma for the remainder of the trip, and thankfully i am correct. pizza driver shows up and i am wisked away to a lovely, and quite classy, pizzeria for a delicious calzone bigger than my head. pizza driver takes me back to the hotel, and i settle in for the night. the next morning i have breakfast, and head for the hotel shuttle i reserved the night before. 20 minutes after departure, a gaggle of female oriental travelers begin dragging hordes of luggage out of the hotel towards the still waiting shuttle. with a clearly annoyed groan, the driver gets out and begins loading. finally underway, the hotel driver passes the exit for the domestic flights and takes the international flight exit. the gaggle leader barks at the driver who does not respond. i understand her to say something about him being required to stop at the domestic flight first, and they are late for a flight, possibly to miss it. we arrive at the international flight terminal, and the gaggle leader is now furious at the driver, who stops the van and with very stern italian orders/cursing, instructs them to move so i can get out of the van. he then points out they were late, and i have priority since i was on time. at the back of the van, i thank the driver who winks and whispers ‘niente’ or no-problem. check in for the flight goes smoothly, and i pick up a few souvenirs (several italian silk ties for myself and some christmas presents for loved ones back home). when the plane doors close, there is no-one in front, behind, or beside me as i settle in for a much-needed relaxing flight home. apparently travel karma does exist… [fin] ::

:: Italian (mis)Adventure, Part 2 ::

:: after the long flight i was hungry; i noticed the vanilla ringos in the window of a snack shop. hooray! victory number 3 (these are perhaps my favorite italian cookie - and i scarfed down the 8" long pack). struggling up the steps to the train, i decide that all of europe is designed for someone one-third my size. despite leaving on time (an italian rarity) we arrived at the transfer station 16 minutes late just as feared. dashing off the train i located the yellow time table (silently patting myself on the back for remembering this tid-bit) . thankfully, the universal law of italian lateness held, and arriving at 1108 was ok since the track i needed was empty but still listed '1052 roma'. i chuckled to myself as i watched a couple of americans struggle. 'i'm going to la spezia, does this train go to la spezia?' they would ask the italians (in english, mind you). after watching this painful sherrade for a few minutes, i stepped up and told them about the yellow train schedule poster. but it wasn't just the americans i gave directions to... my assistance was also requested from the other italian certainty... italian gammas that chatter at you, and tell jokes only they understand and laugh at, making for a very akward train ride. on this occurrence after about five minutes i was able to respond, 'si, niete lontano. venti minute.' ::

:: arriving (relatively) unscathed at my destination, i found myself actually enjoying the week. getting to flaunt my mastery of 50 some italian words in front of my scientific peers. fast forward to the end of the week. for some reason, i figured if i made it this far, things would be smooth sailing. the plan is to head to milan for an overnight hotel stay, and be well rested for the early flight home. i ask the concierge to call for a taxi. taxi shows up, and begins a conversation with the concierge. i make out that the trains in all of italy are ‘broken’ and he will not take me to the station. the rental car depots are closed being saturday, and the only option presented is a 400 euro cab ride to milan. remembering some peers with rental cars at the hotel down the way, i thank them for their help and am bombarded with italian – apparently they assumed i was going to pay the 400 euros without a fight. i trudge down the hill with my belongings in tow; running to get out of the rain, but careful not to loose a suitcase wheel around the switchbacks. i arrive at the other hotel and find my peers have already checked out, or are off hiking (i can see the keys to one of the rental cars, and thoughts of ‘the italian job’ movie flash through my mind). i head further down the hill to canvas the piazza (or square, not food) for potential rides. i meet up with other attendees in a similar predicament, and we team up. an hour later we’ve found two cars and two drivers willing to take us – but there are no road maps in the entire town….. as we get ready to leave, i decide to check on the trains one last time. to my delight, i find out that what was a ‘broken’ train is actually a strike, and the strike is only in the region south of us, and i need to head north. my driver (a government lab employee nearing retirement) takes me (a graduate student) to the train station, and behold (!) the trains are running. we bid our goodbyes and i hustle for the train. 10, 20, 30 minues go by. an hour… ::