That other time with the sciopero*

Speaking of public transportation... this one actually occurred about a week after the Viareggio episode (circa mid-July), so you'd think I'd have learned my lesson, but evidently not. I am really not very bright. Anyway, it was too much fun (and character building) to allow it to be forgotten, so...

It was when we realized that we only had a few more weekends all together in Italy that we decided to embark on some marathon daytrips for the purpose of sightseeing and becoming cultured. So one fine Saturday, guidebooks in hand, we decided to do Pisa and Lucca. I accompanied the Boys (from work) despite the fact that every time they go somewhere, it turns into an Adventure. They figured that my staid presence would prevent any calamities from befalling us, but no. It did not.

The Campo dei Miracoli in Pisa is impressive. And the tower is indeed very wonky, as advertised. Also, people (including us) probably should stop for a bit longer in Pisa and investigate the rest of it, because I think that it's actually quite nice and rather underrated. In any case, the day is very sunny and hot and we are tired, but, being energetic and enthusiastic young English teachers, we grab some sandwiches (bresaola and rucola and scaglie di grana - protein! vegetables! yay!) and hop onto the train to Lucca. Lucca is charming as well. It boasts medieval walls all the way around it which are kind of fun, some very nice piazze, impressive churches, and an old arena that was later turned into a piazza (google this if you are so inclined - it is interesting).

The one thing about which Lucca should not boast is its train station. It does not contain those ticket-y machines that enable you to buy tickets at any time of day or night without even interacting with other human beings and also give you all the possible combinations of trains to get to your destination. Instead, they have the crappy ticket machines (the ones that say rete regionale on them) which are nice if you already know what time your train is leaving at and only want to take the regionale trains. They don't tell you the schedule or where to transfer. This means that you often have to actually talk to the ticket people to get your ticket, which is fine, except that they close at 8pm.

Despite this, we are in a reasonably good mood as we walk into the train station at 9:30 - just in time for the 9:42 train to Florence which we had previously looked up online, just like responsible adults.

"Hey, what does 'sopp' mean?" asks one of my travelling companions after a moment of orienting ourselves and concluding that there is no convenient way to procure tickets.

"Sopp?" I glance at the partenze. The trains are indeed all being marked sopp, one by one. Including ours. Crap.

Sopp, for those not in the know, stands for soppresso, which is an unfortuante state of affairs. It means cancelled, so if it ever says that next to your train, it is bad. Ritardo, incidentally, means late and is also kind of unfortunate, but generally less so. I explain this to my colleagues. Also to some German tourists who spontaneously join the conversation. They are not so pleased. "Where should we go?" they ask plaintively. I shrug. Damned if I know. (And also I speak no German. Note to self: learn how to apologize in German in case it ever comes up again.) Anyway, though, I decide to go investigate.

Sciopero del personale! declares a sign on the ticket window, from 9pm today until 9pm tomorrow. Refer to personnel for more information. I translate this for the colleagues, and also the Germans, who are now following us around. I assume the sign means non-striking personnel, and we resolve to go find some, because, essentially, we need to know if any trains will get us home tonight, or if we should begin making alternative plans (buses, hostels, park benches, etc.).

It seems the non-striking personnel have all taken refuge behind a door that says "vietato, no entry, etc." Yes, well. It's getting dark and we want to go home. I knock and step in, hoping the whole I'm-a-girl-in-a-dress thing will be helpful.

It is the room where they make 'allontanarsi dalla linea gialla' announcements!! I love those announcements, and now I have seen their source. Yay. The man turns around and looks at me expectantly, and I am forced to return to the problem at hand. I apologize for disturbing him and ask him about the possibility of trains.

"Beh, forse partira' quello delle 10:50," he says noncommitally when I ask if there will be any trains to Florence.

"Ma puo' darsi che non venga?" I take a moment to congratulate myself on having used both puo' darsi (I've been working on this one) and the present subjunctive in the same sentence in what might just be a correct combination. He shrugs.

"Si, puo' darsi." So helpful. (Travel tip: If you are stuck in a train station because the trains aren't running, aim for trains that travel a long distance before your stop. This is because they will already have left, and the people will - in theory - know this, and be able to tell you. The ones that only travel 20 minutes altogether could leave at any time and you will have no forewarning. Actually... this is common sense, but I am dumb, so it seemed like a revelation at the time...)

We decide to investigate alternative options, and, an hour later, we have gathered the following information: the last bus for Florence left at 6:15pm (from Piazzale Verdi, in case you're ever in the same situation), there are no hostels in Lucca that anyone knows of, there are some very nice benches in sheltered spots on top of the aforementioned medieval walls, and there are also bats flying around above said benches, which decrease their appeal ever so slightly. There is also a concert by some famous guy (I've forgotten who it was because I have no knowledge of actual current culture) and even a group of people wandering about in medieval costume and playing drums and horns and such. This is all very nice, but we trudge back to the train station anyway, because it is getting chilly and we have already been walking around since 8 this morning.

The train is going to Florence! Yay! We board and fall promptly asleep. No one asks for tickets, which is nice, because we don't have them.

Santa Maria Novella is, in case you were ever wondering, very quiet at midnight during a strike (less so when there is not a strike). There are some parked trains, and some people milling around. The departures board is full of trains that are soppressi. It is at this point that we realize that it is going to be a long-ish night, because the next possible train is the regionale at 7:45, or the intercity at 8:29. We are undeterred (because we are young and enthusiastic, you know) and so we decide to wander about Florence in search of a restorative drink.

The Duomo looks as nice circa 1am as it usually does. Someone is playing the violin under the arcades of the Uffizi and we stop there and listen and it is one of the nicest performances I have ever heard. We have a drink in an "American Bar" but they kick us out around 3am, and it is cold. We reflect that this is maybe what being homeless is like: it seems that it more or less boils down to finding hot air vents to stand over and public bathrooms that are open at night.

We wander around a bit more until the boys spot a McDonalds. I have not been in a McDonalds since America, almost a year ago, but I can report to you now that the smell is just as unappealing as in America, and it is particularly nauseating at 4am. However, the warmth is nice and the bathroom is reasonably clean (this is good for you - people in general - to know, actually, should you ever find yourselves homeless in Florence in the dead of night: the McDonalds opposite Firenze SMN is apparently open 24/7 and you can use the bathrooms for free).

A fight breaks out in the McDonalds, and we watch this vaguely until one of the colleagues becomes concerned for my delicate female sensibilities, so we leave. In the train station, there are rats on the rails, sort of like the Paris metro at night. (So much for delicate.) We decide that the best thing to do would be to crawl onto an open train and sleep there until the morning, but there is some debate over which kind of train to choose. The eurostars are all locked, which is unfortunate. The intercity notte might be the next best choice but the intercity is not my favorite because it is always filthy and there is no ventilation in those little compartments (yes, okay, so, kind of delicate after all). There are two kinds of regionale: the nicer new ones, and the old ones, so we spend some time finding one of the newer ones. We close all of the doors and windows (in case rats can fly? boh.) and curl up. It is cold and stiff and not very comfortable, but whatever. We doze.

Circa seven am, announcements come back on, thus awakening us with the sound of more trains being soppresso'd. A creepy guy comes and stands in our train and apparently watches us sleep (I open one eye to check - like a pirate or something). This is creepy and I debate kicking one of my (big strong male) colleagues to wake him up and demand that he defend my honor and whatever. Eventually the creepy guy departs, but he leaves the door open, which means the rats could get in. I am finished sleeping.

Eventually, it transpires that the 8:29 intercity did leave Napoli this morning (see what I mean about the long distance trains?) and will indeed arrive on schedule and can even take us directly to Reggio. Huzzah! We do not feel obligated to buy tickets, and we get on it and sit in those little seats in the corridor and bend over and hang sadly with our heads on our knees. We are perhaps a smidge tired of sitting up by now. We get busted for not having tickets and are somewhat disgruntled. Unfortunately, my I've-been-mostly-awake-for-over-24-hours Italian does not extend to explaining that I just spent the night in one of their (possibly rat infested) train cars because they did not deign to run the trains last night. The boys gesture feebly. We pay for our tickets.

In Reggio, the boys and I part ways, and I trudge up the via Emilia, feeling all kinds of yucky and disheveled. The Reggiani are just emerging from the 10am church service at San Giorgio (or San Pietro? boh. the one down there near the train station) and are looking all spiffy and glamorous, per usual. I elect to take the back streets. I am not in the mood to run into any students.

The shower + food that is not McDonalds + bed combination has never felt so good.

*sciopero = strike