:: 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… ::