Bad-Luck-Followed-By-Good-Luck

If it were possible for a place to be made out of gelato and dreams, Florence would be that place.

Italy has taken me by surprise, but I needed to experience a bit of hardship before I arrived in order to begin enjoying all it has to offer. I was worried prior to arriving. I was worried that the people with whom I would be staying would not be welcoming or that I would not like the language school. On January 30th, with all the optimism I could muster, I shoved all the doubts that would fit into the crevasses of Aaron’s couch and tucked the remainder into the far reaches of my massive suitcase. I knew that anxiety would do me little good on my venture out of a now somewhat familiar Germany into new territory. I left the little apartment on the top floor with renewed confidence and a positive attitude. An attitude that was instantly trampled one hundred feet down the road when I realized it was eight fifteen a.m. and my train was scheduled to leave at eight. I was immediately transported to a state of panic that allowed me, shaking all the while, to run with my one ton suitcase back to the house and up the ten flights of stairs in what must have been about twelve and a half seconds. Lightly chuckling at me for having left the house at eight o’clock to catch an eight o’clock train, Aaron instructed me to report to the train station and request a new ticket. Heart still pounding, almost entirely still in a state of panic, I dragged my stuff across Nuremberg arriving at the ticket counter in front of a middle-aged male clerk. I explained that I had missed my train and inquired about receiving a new ticket and a refund. I was lucky to have received delight in response to my English communication because as I have concluded from my experiences in Germany, you pretty much have a 50/50 chance of being embraced or cursed for expecting a German to speak English with you. This male clerk became my first “bad-luck-followed-by-good-luck” of the day as he searched for a loophole in the “no ticket refund” policy and helped me to find a group of people with whom to share a five person, all day, anywhere in Bavaria Bahn ticket. Approximately one hour later than I had planned, I was on a train to Munich in the company of three very nice German twenty-somethings. Still a bit shaken up by the whole ordeal, I calmed myself down by doing a crossword and indulging in some tunes. Upon arriving in Munich, our group said our goodbyes and I, suitcase at toe, bought a sandwich, a ticket to Brennero, Italy, and boarded a new train. This train was different than the trains we had been taking to travel around Germany; it had individual rooms, reserved seats, and the man announcing information over the intercom spoke German, Italian and English. It was the first train I had taken that left Germany and I was pleased by the change of scenery as we travelled through magnificent Austrian mountain ranges and into Italy. I had lost track of time and before I knew it, we had arrived at the station where I was supposed to disembark. Peering out the window, I became apprehensive of leaving my spiffy train with its English speaking announcer and getting off at a very deserted looking station somewhere on the border of Austria and Italy. I wearily got off the train and went to look for a schedule that included either “Florence" or "Firenze” in between all the other words I could not understand and would confirm the time I had planned to leave the station. I proved unlucky for the second time that day and did not see Florence anywhere on the schedule nor did I see any train leaving at the time I had seen posted on the internet. I walked back and forth from the platform to the station entrance hoping that, despite the fact that it was Sunday and I was in a small, foreign town, I would happen upon someone speaking English or a ticket office which I had previously missed. Much to my dismay, I found no such thing and became very worried. I did not have a ticket, I did not know the correct train to take, and I was supposed to have activated my Eurail pass at a ticket counter. After pacing back and forth repeatedly wondering what I would do, I passed by the office where the train technicians worked and attempted to ask a woman what train I needed to take to get to Florence. Not speaking a word of English, she told me to take the train coming to “Gleis 7” in ten minutes. After I nodded my head expectantly and repeated “Florence” about five times, she confirmed that it was in fact the correct train to take and I left the office. Feeling unsure that I was taking the correct train, and quite sure that I was going to be kicked off once the ticket-checker saw that I did not have an active ticket, I boarded and waited.

I sat nervously and anticipated the request for a ticket that I did not have. When the train employee arrived, I nonchalantly showed him my Eurial pass sans activation stamp or supplementary ticket, he simply nodded and continued on. Relieved, I happily embraced my second "bad-luck-followed-by-good-luck" of the day. Even so, I was still unsure if I had boarded the correct train so without taking out my journal or iPod, I sat and anxiously reviewed the signs at every station I passed. After about an hour, I found a map of Italy in my Eurail info packet just as we arrived at a station that looked relatively well-inhabited. Curiously, I stumbled off the train with my belongings and encountered the third "bad-luck-followed-by-good-luck" of my trip. My instincts had urged me to remove myself from the train and inquire about the possibility that it would take me to Florence. I ended up purchasing a ticket for a direct train to Florence and with thirty minutes before my new train was to leave, I called my hostess, Maria, to tell her I would arrive later than I had planned. In broken English she told me to take a taxi to her house and she would be waiting for me. After a very, very packed train ride on which I sat next to a very nice Italian girl, I arrived in Florence, got a taxi and finally ended up at Via del Pellegrino 45.

I rang the bell and was greeted by a short, grey-haired woman with a big smile on her face. She ushered me in and showed me to my room. Finally my crazy day was over and I was safely in Florence under the care of my very nice Italian hostess and in the company of two other students.


My day was trying but ended up teaching me a good lesson about staying calm and never forgetting the importance of asking for help.

Keep smilin'


j