I Needed One More Fare to Make My Night

The other day I was familiar enough AND oriented enough to ask a lost couple at a street corner, pulling their suitcases and looking bewildered at a map...if they needed directions.
Makaila said, "Dad, you don't know where anything in Rome is!"
I told her, "You are right, but for the first time in many days, I finally know where I am!"

Rooftops of Florence

Travel days....i.e. those days where we are between one hotel and another, bring about a different pace. It is strange how one can become attached and familiar with a small hotel room which one was not even aware existed a few days earlier. But, then, we were known a bit by the hotel desk men who greeted us as if we were old friends. (who had a charge card) The breakfast staff knew us by sight, if not by name or hometown or destination. When we walked out of the hotel in Rome, we knew which way to turn to head towards several general destinations. When we left for the train station, we could negotiate the walk without the map. But, now we leave all that.

Trains in Europe are an excercise in "manging personal space." The writer Paul Theroux commented on how crowded it was in China and that if you had binoculars and looked through them at some sight across a valley you would probably see someone there with binoculars looking back at you. I know I experienced that feeling in India....the only difference is that in India someone would be standing next to you waiting to borrow your binoculars. It was crowded. Mannerly in a sense, but crowded.

Europe is less crowded, but they have chosen to travel together in trains, which brings all of humanity in one cylindrical tube. In the States we put two people in a car and head for the coast. We put three people in a minivan and drive across the state. The only time you need to interact with one another is when you stop at the rest stop or pump gas....and even then interactions are minimal. It's fascinating on trains in Europe how we (or they, whomever) insulate themselves. Americans seem to have the notion that if we are all traveling together that we should probably get to know each others names, blood types and then sing Kum Bah Ya with those in around us.

Not so on European trains. We non-native speakers get special dispensation. As soon as we drag our suitcase on the train we are marked as Americans and while we are accorded as much respect as anyone, folks realize they don't even have to make small niceties since we probably don't know the language. Of course they are right, we don't know the language. But I notice that say, in Italy, Italians on trains pretty much ignore other Italians. There is very, very little of the old, "Good morning, how are you, where are you from, I hope you have a nice trip, my Junior sure is cute, how about that football game last night" stuff.

European trains. Whoosh! goes the train. Silence is the order of the day for the passengers. I know there are a variety of nationalities and that makes for language barriers, not just for us Americans, but it's fascinating. The train car is packed and their is virtual silence. Save for the constant "beeping" and "dingalinging" sound of cell phones. If it weren't for cell phones, one would swear that on trains, someone had hit the "Mute" button.

Love the trains though. I don't suppose America would ever consider something like that would we? Maybe I'll suggest it. Maybe someone just never got around to mentioning it. I can hear Congress now, "Oh, man! I knew there was something we forgot...a rail system!"

Florence, Cradle of the Renaissance. Or so I am told and so I will soon discover. We got in to the station. Took a cab. Discovered that you can practically spit out the hotel on the train station.

By the way, here is a great European travel tip which I am about to offer. I think it applies mainly to Italy, though not sure why and it has surprised me.... but Makaila will back me up on this...

Get small currency. Get small, one, two and five Euros. When you get cash from an ATM...say 200 Euros...and it dispensed in 4x50 Euros....walk back into the bank and break the 50's. Get 10 fives for every 50. 

Merchants in this country nearly have a collective fit when you produce even a twenty Euro. You'd think they were up for an Oscar each time you produce a 20 to pay for an 8 Euro bill. They make this shoulder slump type thing, then they roll their eyes, then mutter some sort of italian thing which I am probably better off not knowing. Then they throw up their hands in an attitude of helpless and hopeless dispondency. All for a 20 Euro bill. I haven't seen such acting since I tried to ask Debbie Jane to the Senior Prom in Lima.

Yesterday the cabbie nearly called in the military when I produced a 20 for the cab ride. You'd have thought the Greeks had invaded. I suppose that would produce less reaction from him.

I love this country, see all the sights, but avoid the 20 Euro notes. Much too much drama.

Peace,  Bob