Well, maybe a bit ambitious. We get up at 6:00 am and head to the bus stop to catch the 7:20 AM to Sorrento. We hop on a bus that says Sorrento, but makes us get off and change buses in Massa Lubrense. That one doesn't stop at the right train station, so we wait at another for a train that the woman at the counter insists will be here in "five, ten minutes" for nearly an hour.
Needless to say, we arrive in Pompeii, where we need to switch to another train for Paestum, ten minutes after the last train until 1:30 pm leaves. I'm swearing in my head right now. Imagine the little dust ball of expletives, cartoon style, swirling around above my head. Argh.
It costs us 10 euro to get to this other train station by taxi. It will cost us ten to get back. Then ten again both ways later this afternoon if we just go to Pompeii now. We somehow communicate with the cab driver well enough that we end up hiring him to just take us the hour to Paestum and back for about 100 euros more than all those taxis would cost anyway. The driver is darling little old man who plays us Italian music, shows us letters from other Americanos who have toured in his vehicle, and promises to take us to get fresh mozzarella from a factory on the way back. Mom is practicing her Italian with him. I think he's a but sweet on her. People really react favorably to those who try and speak the language... it's very sweet. I love thing their eyes light up and a smile break across their face when mom rattles off a sentence or two.
I can navigate the bus. The train. Make the reservations and get us from point A to point B, but there is something really special about these interactions.
We are almost to Paestum. Ciao, bella.
Showing posts with label train. Show all posts
Showing posts with label train. Show all posts
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Houston, We Have A Problem...
The only thing that hasn't been lost in the last 24 hours is my mind, but I have to say -- we're a hop, skip and a jump away from sheer lunacy.
The airline lost our bags. Not just one... BOTH of them.
After deplaning, changing our US cash into significantly less euros (a process I am not learning to love, and doubt I ever will), we waited at the specified baggage carousel for about a half hour. Long enough for almost everyone else to leave. When we went to ask, the nonchalant response was, " just give it ten more minutes." after 15 and still nothing, we spent an hour filing a lost luggage claim over a language barrier that would have the Dalai Lama ready to scream.
It gets better. I know that seems impossible to believe, but it does.
The train employees are striking. I buy tickets at the self-serve kiosk, which in itself is an Oscar-worthy feat (I'd like to thank the Internet, my family...) I digress. Some trains appear to be running, but others are making passengers get off and shutting down. We end up having to pay double to take the high speed train, after I get a lecture from the agent who wants to know why I didn't come right to the window. If you want me to use the window, why are there all these convenient ticketing machines? I'm not a conspiracy theorist, but this whole thing is a bit suspicious.
We get to Rome's Termini Station late to hear an announcement that our train is departing. Track 10. We are on track 25. We are running, and poor mom -- I know she can breathe. Her asthma has been bothering her, and she's trying to keep up with me. I ask if she just wants to scrap it and try and change the ticket, but she just asks if it's much further. I feel so bad, trying to encourage her that we are almost there, then sprinting to the train just as the conductor is getting on. I beg him to wait, trying to explain by pointing to my chest that she's coming, though is having a hard time. She rounds the corner and he shoos us unto the train, directing us to compartment nine.
We are in compartment one.
It's a long walk back on a moving train. Mom is tired. My feet are blistered. We are both utterly exhausted. I am sitting here, looking out the window at the Roman countryside, trying to make lemons out of lemonade. Here's what I've got: we didn't have to carry our luggage through the train station. If we'd had it, we never would have made the connection to Naples. With any luck, we'll get our bags in a day or two, and I thought to ask for toiletry kits at the airport that included clean t-shirts. Having to shop for a few things in Italy doesn't suck, either.
The point is, yes -- it's been a rough day. But when it boils right down to it... we are here and we are safe. And HERE just happens to be Italy. I'm looking at Mount Vesuvius and watching my beautiful mother sleep. I have a month off to spend exploring this country, and a few credit cards at my disposal if the bags DON'T come.
What else do I really need?
The airline lost our bags. Not just one... BOTH of them.
After deplaning, changing our US cash into significantly less euros (a process I am not learning to love, and doubt I ever will), we waited at the specified baggage carousel for about a half hour. Long enough for almost everyone else to leave. When we went to ask, the nonchalant response was, " just give it ten more minutes." after 15 and still nothing, we spent an hour filing a lost luggage claim over a language barrier that would have the Dalai Lama ready to scream.
It gets better. I know that seems impossible to believe, but it does.
The train employees are striking. I buy tickets at the self-serve kiosk, which in itself is an Oscar-worthy feat (I'd like to thank the Internet, my family...) I digress. Some trains appear to be running, but others are making passengers get off and shutting down. We end up having to pay double to take the high speed train, after I get a lecture from the agent who wants to know why I didn't come right to the window. If you want me to use the window, why are there all these convenient ticketing machines? I'm not a conspiracy theorist, but this whole thing is a bit suspicious.
We get to Rome's Termini Station late to hear an announcement that our train is departing. Track 10. We are on track 25. We are running, and poor mom -- I know she can breathe. Her asthma has been bothering her, and she's trying to keep up with me. I ask if she just wants to scrap it and try and change the ticket, but she just asks if it's much further. I feel so bad, trying to encourage her that we are almost there, then sprinting to the train just as the conductor is getting on. I beg him to wait, trying to explain by pointing to my chest that she's coming, though is having a hard time. She rounds the corner and he shoos us unto the train, directing us to compartment nine.
We are in compartment one.
It's a long walk back on a moving train. Mom is tired. My feet are blistered. We are both utterly exhausted. I am sitting here, looking out the window at the Roman countryside, trying to make lemons out of lemonade. Here's what I've got: we didn't have to carry our luggage through the train station. If we'd had it, we never would have made the connection to Naples. With any luck, we'll get our bags in a day or two, and I thought to ask for toiletry kits at the airport that included clean t-shirts. Having to shop for a few things in Italy doesn't suck, either.
The point is, yes -- it's been a rough day. But when it boils right down to it... we are here and we are safe. And HERE just happens to be Italy. I'm looking at Mount Vesuvius and watching my beautiful mother sleep. I have a month off to spend exploring this country, and a few credit cards at my disposal if the bags DON'T come.
What else do I really need?
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