En Route to Florence; Or: The Misadventures of Wendy and Steve; Or: Eat a good breakfast, it may be your only meal all day
Tuesday, Dec. 27 2005
Well, Tuesday started off fine...had a nice breakfast, took a taxi to the train station. I sent Steve to handle buying the train tickets...not an easy task. We were ultimately going to end up in Florence, but needed to stop in Modena first, to go to nearby Maranello for the Galleria Ferrari (Ferrari Museum). This meant a train from Torino to Milan, then getting off and changing train to get to Modena.
Ok, let me tell you something difficult about the Italian train system. Your ticket will show where you started and where you are going, but it will NOT always show you a train number to get on, and the signs on the tracks only show the END point, not the cities along the way. So, example here then is we wanted to get to Modeno, but didn't know which train to get on in Milan. The train was late and by the time we got some help we missed the train (which the sign said Ancona, no mention of Modena anywhere). Anyway, that gave us 45 minutes to stand in the train station and worry about catching the right one.
Anyway, we finally ended up on the right train. The car we were in (the last one in the train) had no heat and we froze our asses off for the nearly 2 hours it took to get to our next stop. We had to pay attention to know where to get off (watch for the signs as we neared each train station with the city name). Steve had not really done much research before leaving home, so even if we made Modena (MO-deh-nah) we had no idea how we were going to get to Maranello, 15 miles away.
Luckily Modena is pretty civilized - we took a taxi, and even managed to convince the cab driver to come back and get us two hours later. (Have money, will travel). There was nowhere to leave our bags at the Ferrari Museum, so I sat in the cafe and read the Florence guidebook and Steve went and drooled on cars. We had lunch here, at about 3:30. A wrap and a mocha.
We made it back to the train station, and our cabby gave us a little tour of downtown (remember, this is the home of the world's best vinegar). He spoke some English (his girlfriend was a Londoner) and he was retiring in two adys, after 15 years as a cabby and 17 years before that as an auto mechanic. We were off the meter and I am pretty sure he pocketed the entire fare - more power to him.
We got on the train in Modena for Florence - we were told to go to track 16...I started chatting up the lady in the seat next to me who heard us talking and indicated she understood some English, and I was telling her how the train system was frustrating for us. I was showing her the ticket and explaining to her...she figured out we were sitting on the train for Genoa, not Bologna (Bo-LOH-nya). We scrambled off the train and discovered we had cut over to track 17 when we got on, so we grabbed the next train over literally seconds before it pulled away. Our gear was not even stowed completely before the train started moving.
Oh the stress! We had another transfer once we reached Bologna. Altho by this time we had talked to some more Englanders and were starting to figure out...carrezo is car number, posti is seat number (position), treno is train number...when we got off in Bolgona, we had a trani number on our ticket this time so we stayed in the tunnel below the tracks and watched the monitors for the track number. We were paying for primo classo (1st class). The Bologna station actually had monitors on the tracks that pointed with an arrow where you should stand for your car number.
Our last train for Florence (but really headed for Napoli...) was a EuroStar express. It made no stops and we both fell asleep sitting up even tho we were worried about missing our stop.
Tons of people got off in Florence. We found the taxi stand and were standing there in the dark and cold waiting along wtih everyone else, and some guy overhaerd us, came up and plcuked our sleeves and pointed over there, saying "mini bus...mini bus...". He was wearing a badge, but as Steve led me away following this guy to the entrance (it's like he was skimming the line and stealing business from taxi drivers who play by the rules). It was a regular van. The door on the passenger side did not work. There was no meter, and there was no sign on top of the car saying Taxi. I figured we were being hijacked for sure.
I showed him the address and held my breath. He managed to find the address of our B&B. We arrived at 8:05 PM, 5 minutes after she had said in email weeks ago to be there, but I had also told her where we were coming from and we might be a bit late. The place was deserted. No answer at the door. Steve found a fitnses club down the street and he got help using the phone and there was no answer...and there were no lights on in the inn.
Despair almost - no supper, no bed, and luggage sitting on the sidewalk, in the cold and dark.
Steve looked the other way down the street and saw a couple of Hotel signs, so we trudged back down this street and went into Hotel Bologna. There was an old man standing there chatting up the night clerk (both older men really), and he had lived in Massachusetts, or was going to Massachusetts or something, and he managed to help us get a room for the night. We explained we needed a room for three nights, he said no, only one night. This meant moving the next day. At this point we didn't care. We had been on a harrowing road for over 12 hours and were sore, tired, cold...we went to bed without any supper. Oh, and I've been getting sick.
We arrived. Not as planned exactly, but we were here.
Well, Tuesday started off fine...had a nice breakfast, took a taxi to the train station. I sent Steve to handle buying the train tickets...not an easy task. We were ultimately going to end up in Florence, but needed to stop in Modena first, to go to nearby Maranello for the Galleria Ferrari (Ferrari Museum). This meant a train from Torino to Milan, then getting off and changing train to get to Modena.
Ok, let me tell you something difficult about the Italian train system. Your ticket will show where you started and where you are going, but it will NOT always show you a train number to get on, and the signs on the tracks only show the END point, not the cities along the way. So, example here then is we wanted to get to Modeno, but didn't know which train to get on in Milan. The train was late and by the time we got some help we missed the train (which the sign said Ancona, no mention of Modena anywhere). Anyway, that gave us 45 minutes to stand in the train station and worry about catching the right one.
Anyway, we finally ended up on the right train. The car we were in (the last one in the train) had no heat and we froze our asses off for the nearly 2 hours it took to get to our next stop. We had to pay attention to know where to get off (watch for the signs as we neared each train station with the city name). Steve had not really done much research before leaving home, so even if we made Modena (MO-deh-nah) we had no idea how we were going to get to Maranello, 15 miles away.
Luckily Modena is pretty civilized - we took a taxi, and even managed to convince the cab driver to come back and get us two hours later. (Have money, will travel). There was nowhere to leave our bags at the Ferrari Museum, so I sat in the cafe and read the Florence guidebook and Steve went and drooled on cars. We had lunch here, at about 3:30. A wrap and a mocha.
We made it back to the train station, and our cabby gave us a little tour of downtown (remember, this is the home of the world's best vinegar). He spoke some English (his girlfriend was a Londoner) and he was retiring in two adys, after 15 years as a cabby and 17 years before that as an auto mechanic. We were off the meter and I am pretty sure he pocketed the entire fare - more power to him.
We got on the train in Modena for Florence - we were told to go to track 16...I started chatting up the lady in the seat next to me who heard us talking and indicated she understood some English, and I was telling her how the train system was frustrating for us. I was showing her the ticket and explaining to her...she figured out we were sitting on the train for Genoa, not Bologna (Bo-LOH-nya). We scrambled off the train and discovered we had cut over to track 17 when we got on, so we grabbed the next train over literally seconds before it pulled away. Our gear was not even stowed completely before the train started moving.
Oh the stress! We had another transfer once we reached Bologna. Altho by this time we had talked to some more Englanders and were starting to figure out...carrezo is car number, posti is seat number (position), treno is train number...when we got off in Bolgona, we had a trani number on our ticket this time so we stayed in the tunnel below the tracks and watched the monitors for the track number. We were paying for primo classo (1st class). The Bologna station actually had monitors on the tracks that pointed with an arrow where you should stand for your car number.
Our last train for Florence (but really headed for Napoli...) was a EuroStar express. It made no stops and we both fell asleep sitting up even tho we were worried about missing our stop.
Tons of people got off in Florence. We found the taxi stand and were standing there in the dark and cold waiting along wtih everyone else, and some guy overhaerd us, came up and plcuked our sleeves and pointed over there, saying "mini bus...mini bus...". He was wearing a badge, but as Steve led me away following this guy to the entrance (it's like he was skimming the line and stealing business from taxi drivers who play by the rules). It was a regular van. The door on the passenger side did not work. There was no meter, and there was no sign on top of the car saying Taxi. I figured we were being hijacked for sure.
I showed him the address and held my breath. He managed to find the address of our B&B. We arrived at 8:05 PM, 5 minutes after she had said in email weeks ago to be there, but I had also told her where we were coming from and we might be a bit late. The place was deserted. No answer at the door. Steve found a fitnses club down the street and he got help using the phone and there was no answer...and there were no lights on in the inn.
Despair almost - no supper, no bed, and luggage sitting on the sidewalk, in the cold and dark.
Steve looked the other way down the street and saw a couple of Hotel signs, so we trudged back down this street and went into Hotel Bologna. There was an old man standing there chatting up the night clerk (both older men really), and he had lived in Massachusetts, or was going to Massachusetts or something, and he managed to help us get a room for the night. We explained we needed a room for three nights, he said no, only one night. This meant moving the next day. At this point we didn't care. We had been on a harrowing road for over 12 hours and were sore, tired, cold...we went to bed without any supper. Oh, and I've been getting sick.
We arrived. Not as planned exactly, but we were here.
posted by Wendy Hughes-Jelen @ 1:55 AM
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