A symbol of both freedom and frutsration
My first experience in Florence was a solo Christmas shopping excursion in 1992. I took a train from Rome in the early morning on a Saturday in December while the rest of my classmates went to visit Tivoli Gardens near Rome (I have still never been to Tivoli).
I was wide-eyed and thrilled by the carnival atmosphere of the leather market in Florence. I knew nothing else about the city other than the David Statue (11 trips to Italy and I still have never seen it in person). So, my Florence was leather belts, wallets, silk ties, and a few other personal and family Christmas gifts. I do not think I even had my camera so I could carry all my bags of goodies home.
I think I ate a slice of pizza or something for lunch from a crappy vendor with pictures on the walls. Speaking no Italian was a big #fail on this initial journey to the boot. After lunch I took my treasures and headed back to the Santa Maria Novella train station.
An Italian train station like most in Europe is an open-air space connected by one covered building which houses all of the essentials of train service. The platform area is divided into tracks, binari in Italian. There is a good and usually accurate schedule of the departures and arrivals all over a large station like this one. (usually accurate)
According to the schedule the next train to Rome left from binario 8 and so I moved over to track 8. I was carrying a few bags of stuff as I did not have my backpack, like an idiot, as I tried to play it cool like the Italians. Nevertheless I got to track 8 and looked at the sign above with its rotating letters much like an old baseball scoreboard. The sign said 14:24 Roma Termini: my destination.
I had a Eurail pass which allowed me unlimited travel for the 2 months we took trains so I could pop on any train that did not require reservations. As per usual a regional train was sitting on track 8 when I arrived. Of course there is also a train number on that train and that number will correspond with the sign above. I did not notice the train number on this day, I simply boarded the train and found an empty seat in a room without a reservation tag on the outer glass. At this point, and after traveling all over Europe I really thought myself to be a train pro. I put my things on the rack above the seats and sat down with my journal to write about Florence.
3 more people joined me in the 6 person room on the train. 2 very chatty Italian grannies and a young military guy in a perfectly pressed blue overcoat and uniform. Of course I said nothing to them as I could not speak more than 10 words of Italian and within minutes we were on our way. I remember it being cool enough for a sweater but not at all cold. The Italian women were wearing what looked like Parkas and the military guy shed his overcoat as the room began to swelter.
After 20 minutes or so I did not recognize the landscape being the same as on the way into Florence. This was not surprising to me because I am terrible with recognizing landscapes. When the conductor came and checked our tickets I could see the young military guy’s ticket read Firenze – Bologna. I just assumed that Bologna was a final destination because I did not know Bologna was the opposite direction of Rome. I was a real Italian geography moron.
After another 10 minutes the military guy spoke to me in English: good English. He asked me if I was American. I affirmed his question, and then he asked me the zinger. What was I planning to do in his hometown of Bologna? I laughed and told him I was going to Rome.
The Typical Italian Train
He told me, that the train did not go to Rome and that Rome was in the other direction from Florence. In that moment all of my confidence, my joy of Christmas, my impressions of Florence, and my hope went mercilessly out of the partially cracked window of the train car. I could not believe what had happened! The sign, the schedule, and even the big sign at the end of the platform had told me this was the train to Rome. We had left binario 8 on time so what the hell happened?
It turns out that the train to Bologna was late by 20+ minutes and that it was still on the track even though the automatic signs had switched to the next train: the train to Rome. The Rome train was sitting out somewhere on the track and it is very likely we passed it on our way out of the station. In effect, I was hosed and near panic. Why? Because I did not have the money to miss dinner back on Campus. I had spent pretty much my final lira on gifts and so not getting back to Rome by 7pm dinner would be bad.
The young military guy must have noticed the horror on my face and he told me that there would be a train to Rome every hour from Bologna. He then made a gesture to me that I would never forget.
The young man told me he was in the air force serving his military conscription. It was only then that I learned all Italian men had to serve a mandatory 2 years in the armed forces. He had been stationed in Sicily and was on his way home to see his mother for the first time in several months (I did not realize how big a deal that was at the time). He explained that his Mom had been cooking a feast since the day before preparing for his arrival. He suggested to me that I come home with him as his guest and dine with his family and return to Rome the next morning.
Like an absolute fool I politely declined, citing some lame reason I cannot begin to recall. Can you believe that The Blissful Adventurer turned down a s welcome-home meal from a Mom in Bologna, the fucking food capital of Italy? This is clearly and I am not kidding, one of the biggest and only regrets of my life. What a dim tool I was for turning down such an amazing cultural opportunity.
Of course the air force guy, likely no older than me, helped me hustle off the train, find the track, and get back on the correct train to Rome. He must have been so happy to be home, yet he still took time for me for no other reason other than culture and his desire to speak English. I made it home to campus as dinner had begun. I stuffed in my usual pasta and moon-rock but I could not help but think what they were eating in Bologna.
This was long before email and cell phones. I cannot remember my buddy’s name nor did I write down his information. I am sure he is out in the professional world with a family and a wonderful life. I have spent most of my adult life returning to Italy and have experienced so much similar hospitality, and I promise I have never again said no when offered a home-cooked meal in Italy.
Yet, I have indeed gotten on the wrong train numerous times.
About Michael Housewright
Wonderful post!
Thank you very much Karista! I appreciate you taking a look and if you feel inclined you might enjoy the previous Top 25 posts
Haha! I plan on it.
so kind of you and thanks. Your blog is very polished. I love that
I have lost all confidence in The Blissful Adventurer for turning down a home-cooked Italian meal. I am sad and depressed now. I think I’ll go out to eat lunch at my favorite Italian restaurant….. lol
luckily this was a fine lesson for TBA as he is now quite receptive to dinner invites
as i started reading, i jumped ahead and predicted that you’d end up in someone’s home having dinner. no need to say what i think now, but it would agree with your self assessment.
i went to florence once, at thanksgiving, in about 2008, when a friend was studying abroad for a semester. unfortunately, i was only there about four days, and it rained most of the time, but i remember the leather market. i think it was near one of those cool little bridges, and i think there was a string of little shops selling mostly jewelry nearby.
i never left the city because of limited time, and my hard drive has since crashed on an older computer, so i’ve lost all the pictures because this was before i was using an online backup system through comcast.
my grandfather came from a little mountain village in south central italy. it’s called santa menna. not sure if i spelled it correctly. there are 50 families there now, and three share my last name. i’m hoping to bring my father there possibly next summer. my family owned a vineyard there, and i believe it’s still in the family but only enough wine for personal use is made. not enough for marketing.
thanks for the story.
Brain,
I love your story. I would love to know about the town from where your family hails. Italy is our other home and a big part of my past and hopefully future.
I am sure I should thank you for your comment although I may need to work on my initial paragraphs if I lose you to jumping ahead
If you can nail down the region of your hometown I would enjoy seeing if I could there this year and sending you some photos. The tiny towns of Italy are where life is most difficult and most real. I adore these places and the associated histories.
I was of course the ripe age of 21 when I had the description herein. Times most certainly have changed and I would be more than comfortable dining with a family in Italy I did not know.
Best to you and thank you sincerely for your comment and your follow.
All the best,
M
I thoroughly enjoyed this post! I have had quite helpless feelings at the SMN train station in Firenze
but I have never had an invitation so gracious. And honestly, I would probably have turned it down before I realized what I was doing… until I read this… next time I’m in Italy, I’ll be ready 
Being ready is key! I am so glad you enjoyed the story
I have had several similar experiences. One the ended up with me having to pay $200 in USD in order NOT to get booted from a train that went (unscheduled) through Russia. When they checked the passports and realized I didn’t have a visa I was in serious trouble for a minute there. Until the dollars started talking.
Great post!
Holy Cow! You got lucky. How does one take an inadvertent route through the largest country on Earth? This needs to be a post Joanie!
Joanie… agree this has fun post potential
I loved travelling by train in Europe. It was always an adventure for us. In our area of Canada there is very little train service anymore.
Yeah, the train in Europe is still very romantic
Bad move turning down the meal, school boy mistake.
Good story.
Mike
thx…yeah I was silly
That was a neat story…well-written too. I had a similar adventure going from to Nürnberg to Ansbach, Germany. I was told not to change cars since I might get hooked up to a train going to East Germany! I did not move an inch. I just could not get into the train station once I got off in Ansbach.
Ouch, what did you do? I am so glad you enjoyed the story as it is a lovely memory
Oh, good grief, the train was from Hamburg to Ansbach. Whatever was I thinking. I had just disembarked an Italian freighter in Hamburg and spent a few hours with friends I’d met on the ship. They deposited me on the correct train with the warning. Sometime during the early morning hours, a nice GI came by and stuck his head in and asked me to join a party in another car. I refused, but he could see that I was freezing. He couldn’t persuade me that he would not let me get lost, and when I still refused he gave me a blanket. He said he’d come back for it later, but he never did. I got to Ansbach and off the train in a little gravel yard with a turnstile entry to the terminal. The asshole German manning the thing would not let me in. I saw a wooden box on the side of a building labeled “Military Police”. I picked up the receiver (no dialing mechanism) and a voice on the other end told me to show the German my ticket stub, go inside, sit down, and wait. He sent some nice boy from headquarters to fetch me. That’s when I made up my mind that Germans were perfectly capable of having baby roast Jew for dinner. I haven’t changed my mind.
GW,
This is one of the darkest things I have read in awhile. I promise I know some nice Germans. Although if I endured this I might be a little biased. Wow, what a great story though. I would so love to hear more of this one
Your comments made my evening while I was stuffing down sushi
I’ve been intending to read this blog for some time now. Lol.
I so wish you would have joined the soldier for dinner. When I was in A’dam I had indonesian food, dutch food, French icecream.
I figure it will take me a few years to work on DJ but I will make a traveler out of him yet. lol.
Although we hear alot about people being so mean and cruel these days….. there are still alot of GOOD, KIND, God loving people out there.
When I was in Amsterdam I had beer and green