Writing Assignment Four

An Unexpected Adventure

I stepped off the train at the Stazione Santa Maria Novella of Florence at eleven o’clock p.m., accompanied by five of my friends, tired after a busy day spent in Siena. We had come back to Florence to return to Rome, as there were no trains that went directly from Siena to Roma. I led the group to the self-service ticket machines, where we could buy our ticket to Rome on the 11:45 p.m. train that we had seen on the schedule the day before. However, to my dismay and shock, as I looked through the full schedule of trains to Rome that day, there were none that ran after 9:30 p.m., and the next train was not until 6:40 in the morning. “This can’t be right,” I said, “Where is the time that we saw on the schedule yesterday?” No one could answer that question, as a train was obviously not running at 11:45 p.m. to Rome—at least not from this train station. After much discussion about what we should do, we decided that we should ask for the advice of the only person we saw working at the station—the man at the baggage check.

We proceeded to the glass windows of the baggage checkroom, eager to speak to the man. He opened one of the windows with a “Dimmi” and I asked, “Are there any trains going from Florence to Rome tonight?”

He replied, “Not from this station. But there is another in Florence that does. It is called the Stazione di Campo di Marte, and it is in the south. You can get a cab there.”

“The trains run throughout the night?” I asked, skeptical about whether he was telling the truth.

“Sí, sí,” he said, “They always run throughout the night.”

With a “Grazie” we left the baggage check and found a taxi that would take us to the Campo di Marte, and even though it was five euro per person, we decided it was worth the money with our cumbersome and heavy luggage. I confirmed with the taxi driver that the trains ran at night to Rome, and was able to feel reassured that we would make it back to Rome that same night. When we arrived at the Stazione di Campo di Marte that had one train on the tracks already, we started to make our way to the ticket machines, only to be stopped by three Caribinieri. “Passports please,” they said, and with a nervous glance at my friends, I dug it out of my purse and gave it to the officer. They did the same, and we waited anxiously as they looked through our passports and read off information through their walky-talkies.

“Do you guys have your permessos?” I whispered quietly, only to have several people shake their heads with a no. Worried about whether we would be arrested, we waited as they finished talking to whomever they reported to, and eventually they gave us back our passports. When it was clear that we were not going to be thrown into jail, Ryan asked, “Do you know when the train to Rome leaves?”

One of the officers replied, “Yes, I think it leaves in five minutes. Hold on a moment.” Suddenly, he yelled across the platform to the conductor outside the parked train in rapid Italian, and the man answered back incomprehensibly. The officer turned to us, “Yes, it is that train right there. It is leaving now. Run to platform seven!” Without any hesitation, we all picked up our luggage and sprinted to platform seven, approached another conductor, and asked, “Vai a Roma?”

“No,” she said, “Non vado a Roma.”

“What?!” exclaimed Laura, “What is she talking about?”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said. “When does the next train leave for Rome?”

“Next train is not until 5:30 a.m. I do not know why they don’t run,” she replied, “Sorry.”

In complete dismay, we sat down to discuss what we should do as the train rode away. After much debate, we decided that, rather than spend money on a hotel that would probably not check us in this late (by this time it was already past midnight), we would return to the Stazione Santa Maria Novella, where the trains are faster, check our luggage again, and go out all night in Florence. After all, we might as well take advantage of being in Firenze for the night.

After waiting fifteen minutes for a taxi, we caught one that took us to Santa Maria Novella—another five euro. We entered the train station for the third time that day, and when we thought that it couldn’t get any worse, we saw that the baggage check was closed. At that point, we had no choice. A hotel it was. We wandered around the streets near the train station, looking for a place we could regroup, and were utterly rejoiced to find the golden arches of McDonald’s. At least here was a place that was open, had food, was warm, and had a place where we could sit.

Several of us ordered some burgers and fries while Ryan, being the only man in the group, decided to go searching for a hotel that was affordable and would allow us to check in this late. After about fifteen minutes, he returned to tell us that he had found a hotel that had three doubles for twenty-two euro per person, and that even though he had to wake up the owner, he was willing to take us in for the night. We immediately took advantage of the opportunity and gave our passports to Ryan so that he could check us in and get our room keys. After finishing our American meals, we made our way to our hotel rooms where there were warm beds awaiting us. The next morning, we finally returned to Rome, happy and relieved to be home in the Campo di Fiori where we belonged.