a dose of the real world

Aside from the actual events, there's something nice about nearing the end of my time here and being more frequently reminded of things I miss about home. Starting with yesterday, when I was pooped on by a pigeon (apparently it's good luck! oh ho! I know why it's good luck - because there are a million pigeons and people must get pooped on ALL THE TIME). But that was just a warm-up for this afternoon when I camped out in the train station.

After spending most of the month journeying to places within walking distance of my home piazza, I am traveling to Firenze (Florence) for a 1-day trip tomorrow. And it's for sure, because the hotel room was reserved this morning with no refunds. That turns out to be important simply because it means there is no turning back, no matter WHAT manner of confusion might occur at the train station. (Ahem...that's what we in the business call foreshadowing - which, by the way, gives you a curious and wacky collection of hits when googled for images). For example, and then I'll continue with my story.



Ok. Why don't I ever listen to the little voice in my head? The one that whispers the truth to me and I ignore it? Or rather, I humor it, saying "you silly, that can't be what's happening, that would be ridiculous." Today, the little voice told me about 20 minutes into my stand in the 90-minute train-ticket line that somehow, I wouldn't exit the line with tickets but instead two sore feet, a bunch of pages finished in my latest novel, and the desire to throttle an old lady (more foreshadowing).



Let's back up a bit: upon entering Stazione Termini, the main station in Rome, I observed - and turned my back on - the automated Bancomat ticket machines. (First, because anything purchased with a VISA card here incurs an international transaction fee plus a 3% upcharge from the bank, and second, because I was deluded and wanted to "experience Italy" by standing in the long line with all the other people who apparently haven't anything better to do than stand in an astounding queue and get overheated. I knew when I planned this Rome trip that most of my purchases would be in cash (euros) - people have credit cards but don't use them to buy normal things. I'm not sure what they use them for, but that's a topic for another day.) This decision was mistake #1.

Another thing it's important for you to know: I had 50 euro on me, which seemed like an adequate amount, because the ticket was 46 euro. Ah, mistake #2, though maybe it was really #1, having made that decision upon leaving the flat.

Did I mention how hot it was? And how long I stood in the line? And how there were Italian people with a divergent - that's right, I said DIVERGENT - sense of personal space around me? In particular, an older man who entered the line after me, who thought the space immediately to my right was open for his little body, and a woman who ALSO entered the line after me, who kept running into me with her blue purse, even after I tried to subtly shove her away from me. I'm not sure how you subtly shove someone but I tried my best today. (As you know) I'm American and when I stand in a line, the entire lateral space in relation to my body should be kept free, both from the people ahead of me, who are AHEAD of me, and from the people behind me, who are supposed to be BEHIND me. Here's a diagram, in case you need it.



And by the way, I'm no longer going to apologize for my desire to have a teensy bit of space between myself and the next bloke. I've spent most of my life feeling guilty for not observing the cultural/social mores of every other society on earth beyond my own, and I'm done with that; I have my own social mores and they are just as good as anybody else's.



Anyhoo, as I stood in the line, I kept telling myself how delighted I'd be with my train ticket after purchasing it, and how happy a choice it was not to be standing in the line tomorrow morning, when I'd rather be on a train to Firenze. This was not so much mistake #3, since all the fateful decisions had been made, but let's call it psychological delusion #2, after the first delusion related to "experiencing Italy".

Do you want to know what happened when I finally reached the ticketing desk? I'll bet you can guess, can't you? Well, just in case not, as it turned out, the tickets cost 46 euro EACH WAY. Which means, for the calculation-impaired, 2 times 1 46-euro tickets = MORE THAN 50 EURO. Which equals some consternation, to be sure. The lady explained to me that the tickets cost the same on the internet as in the station, and I was just relieved that she thought I has confused the magic-internet price with the actual station price, instead of failing to do the math and multiply enough. We dickered a bit while she tried to find a ticket that cost under 46 euro, which would have meant getting to Florence from Rome in 4 hours rather than 1.5. Good thing the heat hadn't entirely destroyed my wits, and I didn't go for it.

Of course, hindsight is 20/20 (though who can see it when the little voice is waving an "I TOLD YOU SO!" banner in your face?) As I exited the line, fully defeated and not yet aware of the final option, which I'll get to in a sec...this little old lady, who had been sitting on the floor at the head of the line for many minutes, addressed me in Italian. Of course I was still wearing my idiot hat and thought she was trying to share in my train-related disappointment. She said "did you get the tickets?" and I said "no" ruefully. Then, what did she do? Did she say "Oh I'm so sorry that's terrible!" or "Wow too bad you wasted all that time, that happened to me last week and I still haven't gotten over it!" No. Instead she pointed to the information booth and yelled that if I wasn't going to buy tickets I shouldn't stand in the ticketing line but should go to the information booth so I don't take up space from everyone else who actually wants to buy a ticket. Gee, thanks lady. You're so helpful. I yelled at her "Non lo sapevo!" which I'm hoping meant "I didn't know it!" followed by "Fa fa fa blah blah blah" with a wave of my hand which means "Fa fa fa blah blah blah I hate you."

After sighing for a moment, I went to the station cafe to buy a bottle of water. I must have looked pathetic because when I got out my 1.62 euro for what turned out to be a 1.70 bottle and developed a stricken look, the lovely woman took pity on me and took my change and let me have my water. Oh thank you, thank you, kindly lady who donated 8 cents out of the goodness of your heart and your till!

Phew. To wrap up the story, I realized that I could have at least gotten to to Florence for under 100 cash, but you can bet your bottom euro I was not about to get back in that Godforsaken line. So, I went to the automated ticket machine and purchased a 1-way ticket to Florence with my dandy VISA card, so that the 3% upcharge would be less, and I could still go to Florence in the morning, and I could leave the station feeling even just a tiny bit confident in my abilities to function in the world. Which means I still need to buy our return ticket upon arrival in Florence tomorrow, but it also means I didn't lose my mind. Err, maybe we'll let the public decide that one...