Stop that Train!! / Perugia
My last night in Siena (I was there for two) was spent talking theater and sports with a nifty Auzzie named Dan. From 23:30 until 1:20. Thus thwarting my plans to catch a 7am train to Rome. After a quick morning of packing, running to catch little orange buses to the train station, throwing breakfast down my throat and deciphering Italian directions, I wound up waiting for a train to Florence. A train that would meet up with a slow train to Rome with an hour to spare. A train that would offer me a chance to relive my childhood memories of Piazza Navona and maybe sneak a peek inside the Colosseum.
A train that was already 45 minutes late.
Arriving in Florence at 11am, I realized that I had nine minutes to get myself on the Rome-bound train. But, by this time, my tummy was a rumblin'. Hearing my father's voice in the back of my head ("Don't cheat on the chow line"), I headed off for the little self service place in the train station. I'll grab myself some gnocchi, a bottle of water and a newspaper, and be on my way, I thought. Ah, the best laid plans...
Eleven minutes later, only gnocchi in hand, I watched sadly as my Rome-bound train pulled out of the station. Checking the schedule on the wall, I found the next (non super-fast and super-expensive) Rome-bound train left in six hours. I was not going to waste a day on train travel (this is a pledge I made early in the trip), so Rome, it appeared, was not going to happen today. I slung my bag down, plopped myself into a chair, stuck a fork into my gnocchi and started paging through my Eurail time table. Since Florence is probably booked up, where are we going? Verona? Turin? No, what's on the way to Rome? Where can I get some different scenery, crash for a night and then catch an early train into the Ancient City? This time, Let's Go provided the answer: Perugia. With Eurail confirming that a train left in 27 minutes, I grabbed my stuff, called the hostel and found a seat.
Perugia held me for two nights. Not because of the town (which is rustic and Umbrian, but not terribly exciting); not because of the jazz festival (which was fun); not because of the Baci chocolate (which is produced there but tastes the same as in the US); not even because of the hostel (which did have a great view). Perugia captured me for two nights because of Michael, Lena and Emily, two Germans (Michael is also Polish) and an American studying Italian for the summer and crashing at the hostel until they can find more permanent lodging. Michael, who was living in my room, hit it off pretty fast, and he invited me out with the group on my first night, where we attended a festival concert and then tried, unsuccessfully, to get into the clubs.
The next day, the four of us were a team. We enjoyed a leisurely morning coffee, then picked up picnic supplies and trekked across town to munch al fresco. We talked world politics, travel (Lena and Michael critiqued my guidebooks), theater (Emily is an aspiring actress/director), American and German world images, German words used in English (it does appear that kugel means "ball," kugelmonster is pretty much the same thing as Pac Man, and verklempt means "sexually frustrated"), drivers tests... just about anything you could imagine! That evening, with the Germany-Portugal consolation round game looming, Emily and I were dubbed "honorary Germans," donning black, red and yellow makeup with Lena and Michael. The four of us went out to an Italian bar and, German beers in hand, cheered as loud as we could as we watched Deutschland beat Portugal 3-1 to take third place in the World Cup!
This morning, I boarded a bus to the train station, awaiting another 11:09 to Rome (where, as you can guess, I am now). Michael walked me to the bus. The night before, German lager in hand, I exchanged emails, addressed and cell phone numbers with everybody. We promised to keep in touch. I hope we do.
A train that was already 45 minutes late.
Arriving in Florence at 11am, I realized that I had nine minutes to get myself on the Rome-bound train. But, by this time, my tummy was a rumblin'. Hearing my father's voice in the back of my head ("Don't cheat on the chow line"), I headed off for the little self service place in the train station. I'll grab myself some gnocchi, a bottle of water and a newspaper, and be on my way, I thought. Ah, the best laid plans...
Eleven minutes later, only gnocchi in hand, I watched sadly as my Rome-bound train pulled out of the station. Checking the schedule on the wall, I found the next (non super-fast and super-expensive) Rome-bound train left in six hours. I was not going to waste a day on train travel (this is a pledge I made early in the trip), so Rome, it appeared, was not going to happen today. I slung my bag down, plopped myself into a chair, stuck a fork into my gnocchi and started paging through my Eurail time table. Since Florence is probably booked up, where are we going? Verona? Turin? No, what's on the way to Rome? Where can I get some different scenery, crash for a night and then catch an early train into the Ancient City? This time, Let's Go provided the answer: Perugia. With Eurail confirming that a train left in 27 minutes, I grabbed my stuff, called the hostel and found a seat.
Perugia held me for two nights. Not because of the town (which is rustic and Umbrian, but not terribly exciting); not because of the jazz festival (which was fun); not because of the Baci chocolate (which is produced there but tastes the same as in the US); not even because of the hostel (which did have a great view). Perugia captured me for two nights because of Michael, Lena and Emily, two Germans (Michael is also Polish) and an American studying Italian for the summer and crashing at the hostel until they can find more permanent lodging. Michael, who was living in my room, hit it off pretty fast, and he invited me out with the group on my first night, where we attended a festival concert and then tried, unsuccessfully, to get into the clubs.
The next day, the four of us were a team. We enjoyed a leisurely morning coffee, then picked up picnic supplies and trekked across town to munch al fresco. We talked world politics, travel (Lena and Michael critiqued my guidebooks), theater (Emily is an aspiring actress/director), American and German world images, German words used in English (it does appear that kugel means "ball," kugelmonster is pretty much the same thing as Pac Man, and verklempt means "sexually frustrated"), drivers tests... just about anything you could imagine! That evening, with the Germany-Portugal consolation round game looming, Emily and I were dubbed "honorary Germans," donning black, red and yellow makeup with Lena and Michael. The four of us went out to an Italian bar and, German beers in hand, cheered as loud as we could as we watched Deutschland beat Portugal 3-1 to take third place in the World Cup!
This morning, I boarded a bus to the train station, awaiting another 11:09 to Rome (where, as you can guess, I am now). Michael walked me to the bus. The night before, German lager in hand, I exchanged emails, addressed and cell phone numbers with everybody. We promised to keep in touch. I hope we do.
posted by Ethan at 6:21 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home