-The Journey to Florence, Italy-
- Advice Agent Don Roati of Summonton
- Confirm Wiretap [?] Nov 26, 90 to date day by day post REI claim in LAPD/PLotkin/ ANDREEN
- John Resnik in France since 1980- Sec Gavin USAF/Reagan/Lenin Affair"
We all look like crap, feel like crap, and are exhausted. Our bags are packed, and Chelsie and I sit on a bench in the train station munching our apples for breakfast. It's really early, the sun is just coming up, and it's crisp and clear out. It looks like it should be a beautiful day again. But Chels and I are dreading the trip ahead of us.
Somehow we have to find our way from this hell-hole Nice (it's actually a beautiful place, but the transportation strike we are experiencing is putting a nasty taste in our mouths instead) and get to Florence. We have reservations for a hostel there, and we can only think about falling into a bed and sleeping for hours on end.
The train comes. It's one of those R&R double decker trains. It's packed. It's packed with people trying to get to work this morning. By some magic, all of us from the overnight train are supposed to fit onto this train?? Chelsie and I quickly realize that if we don't get on this train right now, we will have to wait who knows how long for another one to come. With this strike going on, we would have no idea when that would be.
We push into the crowd towards the doors. We are typically polite Canadians, however, we see that gets you no where in France, and we need to get on that train!
No one gets off at this stop, so as soon as the doors open, Chelsie and I push forward, and hang on to each others backpacks to prevent getting separated- something that is entirely possible at this moment as we are being surrounded by tons of other ornery, tired travellers also wanting to get on this train.
We barely squeeze on. We have our backpacks on our backs, and the people around us are giving us dirty glares. Our bags are pushing into the people around us. We are standing, packed tightly with people everywhere. Typically when you stand on this part of the train, you can grab a strap above you to hold on and keep your balance. We are so cramped that there isn't really a need for that, we aren't moving anywhere. It's hot and getting somewhat smelly. I feel gross and dirty and really really want a shower. Chelsie and I are both wearing our coats too, and we are getting really warm.
The train starts to move, and we discover that although we are so squished between people, we can still lose our balance. We try desperately not to piss off the people around us even more by falling on them with our bags. It's already hard enough to keep your balance, but with a bag the size of you on your back, it's next to impossible to stop yourself from bumping into everyone.
It's painfully tight. It's hard to breathe. Chelsie has a look on her face of pure pain. She tells me that she doesn't feel good. We both feel like we could pass out.
(Last night I was retelling Chelsie what I was writing about in this blog post, and we killed ourselves laughing at this part of the story. We recalled how awful that train ride was, and how hilarious it is now! Chelsie reminds me that there was a small man somewhere behind me on the train trying to escape my backpack from crushing him. We remember the look of fear of being crushed on his face, and die laughing all over again.)
It's painfully tight. It's hard to breathe. Chelsie has a look on her face of pure pain. She tells me that she doesn't feel good. We both feel like we could pass out.
(Last night I was retelling Chelsie what I was writing about in this blog post, and we killed ourselves laughing at this part of the story. We recalled how awful that train ride was, and how hilarious it is now! Chelsie reminds me that there was a small man somewhere behind me on the train trying to escape my backpack from crushing him. We remember the look of fear of being crushed on his face, and die laughing all over again.)
We aren't sure if Ange and Luke got on this train, or Andrew or Alexander. We don't care anymore. The train car is stifling, and barely anyone is getting off at any of the stops for what feels like such a long time.
Eventually, the train starts to have space as people have found their stops for work. Chelsie and I take off our backpacks and go and sit down. We find that Andrew and Alexander have made it onto the train. We aren't sure about Ange and Luke. Chelsie and I feel nauseous.
Alexander is telling us about when he was in Paris, and how he fell victim to a tourist scam. I guess some people will tell you to hold out your wrist, and then they quickly start to make a bracelet on your wrist. Then they want you to pay for it, obviously. I am trying not to roll my eyes at him.
We finally arrive to the next station, but not yet to Florence. We discover we have a two hour wait until the next train we have to get on. This next train will be the longest leg of our journey to Florence...hence, why an overnight train would have been so wonderful...we are pissed at the strike and at the french!!
This next part is one of my favourites of our entire trip-it makes for such good storytelling!
We get off at this station in some random town, and think about what to do next with our small group of now-friends. An old weathered man is at the station. We actually remember seeing him at the station in Nice, occasionally throwing in his two cents about the ordeal. We are surprised to find him at this station. One of us gets chatting with him, and he tells us that he knows of a great little cafe where he can take us to kill some time before our next departure. His name? "John the American". He has a bike with him, and he wheels it as he leads us to this little cafe...He seems nice enough, and we are all so tired, we just want a coffee and somewhere to sit down.
He tells us that he lives in this city, and he seems to know the cafe owner quite well. We order chocolate croissants and cappuccinos for breakfast. John the American comes across as a wanderer, traveller, or vegabond-sort. Apparently he is from America as well.
The more we talk with him, the more messed up things start to sound. When Chelsie and I tell him that we are from Canada, more specifically Alberta, he gets excited, claiming he knows the RCMP very well. He asks Chelsie and I to pass along a message to the RCMP chief. He writes the message in her travel book. Chelsie was sweet enough to scan the page he wrote on for me so I could show you.
His writing is messy, but the catch is that all of it is in CODE. This guy is crazy. And then he starts telling us something about the CIA and that he has been fighting the mafia for the past 20 years.
This is the only photo I have of him (and our friend Luke):
If I remember right, John the American has also written a message for Luke to take back with him and give to someone important. Luke is reading what John wrote, and realizing that John is not exactly who we thought he was...your normal everyday dude.
Here is what John wrote in Chelsie's journal:
"Edmonton RCMP/Chief"We finally arrive to the next station, but not yet to Florence. We discover we have a two hour wait until the next train we have to get on. This next train will be the longest leg of our journey to Florence...hence, why an overnight train would have been so wonderful...we are pissed at the strike and at the french!!
This next part is one of my favourites of our entire trip-it makes for such good storytelling!
We get off at this station in some random town, and think about what to do next with our small group of now-friends. An old weathered man is at the station. We actually remember seeing him at the station in Nice, occasionally throwing in his two cents about the ordeal. We are surprised to find him at this station. One of us gets chatting with him, and he tells us that he knows of a great little cafe where he can take us to kill some time before our next departure. His name? "John the American". He has a bike with him, and he wheels it as he leads us to this little cafe...He seems nice enough, and we are all so tired, we just want a coffee and somewhere to sit down.
He tells us that he lives in this city, and he seems to know the cafe owner quite well. We order chocolate croissants and cappuccinos for breakfast. John the American comes across as a wanderer, traveller, or vegabond-sort. Apparently he is from America as well.
His writing is messy, but the catch is that all of it is in CODE. This guy is crazy. And then he starts telling us something about the CIA and that he has been fighting the mafia for the past 20 years.
This is the only photo I have of him (and our friend Luke):
Here is what John wrote in Chelsie's journal:
This is a snipit of what Chels could make out from it :
- Advice Agent Don Roati of Summonton
- Confirm Wiretap [?] Nov 26, 90 to date day by day post REI claim in LAPD/PLotkin/ ANDREEN
- John Resnik in France since 1980- Sec Gavin USAF/Reagan/Lenin Affair"
We are all exchanging looks by this point. We have to get going to catch our next train, and are definitely not sad to leave John the American!! Everyone is confused and slightly weirded out by him, as we watch him get on his bike and ride off into the town. I think there is a small part of me that wondered if it was true....nah.
Luckily Chelsie and I are taking the same train as Luke and Ange, but eventually we will be splitting up when they go to Rome and we head to Florence. I think Alexander has taken a different train at this point.
As we ride the train, we can see the Mediterranean Sea as the train follows the coast. We sit in a section for four people, a table in between us facing our friends. We are all so tired. However, our Aussie friends continue to maintain an incredibly positive outlook on the situation despite everything else that has happened. Chelsie and I, on the other hand, are hitting a wall. My body hates me, and I don't feel like sleeping or eating. I want to use the bathroom, but it's essentially a hole in the floor of the train that you squat over. Nevermind. I am really, really wishing I was home right now.
I have a vague recollection of what we talked about with Ange and Luke, but I do remember that some of it was about government...whatever it was, it was tired talk!
By 3pm, we are finally on our last train to Florence. We have said goodbye to Ange and Luke who will be taking their last train to Rome. We tell each other we will find them on Facebook and keep in touch. I feel so lucky to have met them and had them with us for what has felt like the craziest and hardest, most tiring part of our trip. I know I am going to miss them, especially since there has only been the two of us girls this entire time, except for our friends in France. The rest of the trip feels lonely, and strange.
This train is smaller, and the sun is growing lower in the sky. We are hanging on by a thread now, dying for a bed and sleep. There is a man eating gummi bears across from us, just observing us..eating his gummi bears...
I am feeling at my end, emotionally, and I know Chelsie and I are being very careful to not snap at each other. I don't think we even have the energy anymore even if we wanted to get into it.
Strangely enough, I reach a point as I see the Italian countryside fly by my window, and feel happy. I can't explain why, nothing has changed on this hot, small train. My body still hates me and wants to be put to sleep. But I start to smile on the inside, knowing this whole part of our journey is going to be something huge we remember, and can laugh about with each other long after we get home. I also realize that today we are halfway to going back home. The rest is downhill from here, and it's only a matter of time that our trip comes to an end.
Our tickets say "Pisa Centrale" on them. We don't know what that means, except that must mean this is where we get off. The train stops, and off we get, ready to find our hostel in Florence and finish this crazy past 48 hours. Read: our ticket says...Pisa...we think we are in Florence. Wow. Are you now convinced of how utterly out of our minds we are now??
We find a central information point, and ask the lady where we can get a map to find our hostel. We realize we are not in Florence. The lady at the desk tells us that we still have one more hour of a train ride to go.
We race back to the train before it leaves (by some small miracle it is still there), and get back on. We are crushed and irritable. We are also in total disbelief of such a silly mistake we just made. And no, we never did end up seeing the Tower of Pisa. :)
We arrive in Florence, for real this time. The station we are at is so small. No one speaks English. There is no bus to take us anywhere from this point into the city. Any taxis that were around are now gone, driving other knowledgeable people to their homes or hotels. We are clueless and can't think properly.
Then, a taxi van drives up. The looks on our lost little faces must have said it all. He points at us, we nod, we walk to the van. We try to tell him where we need to go- Emerald Fields.
He peels away from the curb, and my life begins to flash before my eyes. I might have even held Chelsie's hand as we watch this crazy Italian taxi driver fly through the city at lightening speed. He stops and gos so suddenly that we throw on our seatbelts and hold on. I was certain he was going to hit every pedestrian and car in front of us! We seemed to take every possible road he could in order to jack up our taxi ride price. If he got us to our location, I didn't care how many Euros he wanted!
In the middle of traffic, he suddenly stops at a curb, points that we are here, and we scramble for some money and toss our stuff onto the sidewalk. There is a door on the wall of the building. No name. We look at him, "are you sure this is it??" He's sure. He drives off. We slowly go inside and climb the stairs.
There is another door with a sign on it at the top of the stairs- "Emerald Fields Hostel". Thank God.
A young Italian man is sitting behind some make-shift desk. There are pictures and cartoon posters on the walls, and couches and a kitchen in the other main area. We "check in". He tells us that he does not see our names for tonight. He sees that we have not booked for the 16th like we say, but we have booked for the 17th and 18th. We are doomed.
"WHAT??" That's not possible. I booked this online, I know we booked the 16th!" Chelsie tells him.
My face drops, and I am about to burst into tears. I can't take anymore, and where are we going to find a place in the evening in Florence?? A full on meltdown is about to happen, and he is smart and can see it coming.
He tells us to hold on for a moment and gets on the phone. In rapid Italian, he seems to be explaining the situation to someone on the other line. It probably went something like this, "We have to find a room for them or all hell will break loose in t-minus 5 seconds!!!"
He tells us that Antonio is downstairs at his car. We are to get into Antonio's car, and he will take us to their sister-hostel a few blocks away where they have a room for us to stay.
We rush downstairs, see Antonio waving wildly from across the street by his silver hatchback, and proceed to cross a street full of crazy Italian traffic without dying.
He takes our bags and puts them in the back of the car. We get in, and it dawns on us that we are getting in some strange man's car and going to some strange place we don't know. Oh well!
The sister hostel is not far away, but he explains that the man from the previous hostel told him that we had big bags (ahem...mostly my mammoth sized bag) and he didn't want us to have to carry them that far. Aw...maybe we shouldn't be so paranoid.
He takes my bag for me, and we follow him upstairs. The hostel is actually more like an apartment with a shared kitchen and living room, but private rooms. He tells us that there is another couple sharing it with us. Our room has two single beds. There is a kitchen we can use. There is a bathroom with a shower. There is FREE internet. (If I didn't mention it before, free internet is pretty big to us on this trip).
After showing us around and then leaving, we put our things in the room. We look around in total disbelief. We cry and throw our arms around each other in pure happiness.
After all that, we are safe, comfortable, and alive. (Do I exaggerate much?) The relief was overwhelming!
We went to bed early, and both of us slept like babies that night.
Luckily Chelsie and I are taking the same train as Luke and Ange, but eventually we will be splitting up when they go to Rome and we head to Florence. I think Alexander has taken a different train at this point.
As we ride the train, we can see the Mediterranean Sea as the train follows the coast. We sit in a section for four people, a table in between us facing our friends. We are all so tired. However, our Aussie friends continue to maintain an incredibly positive outlook on the situation despite everything else that has happened. Chelsie and I, on the other hand, are hitting a wall. My body hates me, and I don't feel like sleeping or eating. I want to use the bathroom, but it's essentially a hole in the floor of the train that you squat over. Nevermind. I am really, really wishing I was home right now.
I have a vague recollection of what we talked about with Ange and Luke, but I do remember that some of it was about government...whatever it was, it was tired talk!
By 3pm, we are finally on our last train to Florence. We have said goodbye to Ange and Luke who will be taking their last train to Rome. We tell each other we will find them on Facebook and keep in touch. I feel so lucky to have met them and had them with us for what has felt like the craziest and hardest, most tiring part of our trip. I know I am going to miss them, especially since there has only been the two of us girls this entire time, except for our friends in France. The rest of the trip feels lonely, and strange.
This train is smaller, and the sun is growing lower in the sky. We are hanging on by a thread now, dying for a bed and sleep. There is a man eating gummi bears across from us, just observing us..eating his gummi bears...
I am feeling at my end, emotionally, and I know Chelsie and I are being very careful to not snap at each other. I don't think we even have the energy anymore even if we wanted to get into it.
Strangely enough, I reach a point as I see the Italian countryside fly by my window, and feel happy. I can't explain why, nothing has changed on this hot, small train. My body still hates me and wants to be put to sleep. But I start to smile on the inside, knowing this whole part of our journey is going to be something huge we remember, and can laugh about with each other long after we get home. I also realize that today we are halfway to going back home. The rest is downhill from here, and it's only a matter of time that our trip comes to an end.
Our tickets say "Pisa Centrale" on them. We don't know what that means, except that must mean this is where we get off. The train stops, and off we get, ready to find our hostel in Florence and finish this crazy past 48 hours. Read: our ticket says...Pisa...we think we are in Florence. Wow. Are you now convinced of how utterly out of our minds we are now??
We find a central information point, and ask the lady where we can get a map to find our hostel. We realize we are not in Florence. The lady at the desk tells us that we still have one more hour of a train ride to go.
We race back to the train before it leaves (by some small miracle it is still there), and get back on. We are crushed and irritable. We are also in total disbelief of such a silly mistake we just made. And no, we never did end up seeing the Tower of Pisa. :)
We arrive in Florence, for real this time. The station we are at is so small. No one speaks English. There is no bus to take us anywhere from this point into the city. Any taxis that were around are now gone, driving other knowledgeable people to their homes or hotels. We are clueless and can't think properly.
Then, a taxi van drives up. The looks on our lost little faces must have said it all. He points at us, we nod, we walk to the van. We try to tell him where we need to go- Emerald Fields.
He peels away from the curb, and my life begins to flash before my eyes. I might have even held Chelsie's hand as we watch this crazy Italian taxi driver fly through the city at lightening speed. He stops and gos so suddenly that we throw on our seatbelts and hold on. I was certain he was going to hit every pedestrian and car in front of us! We seemed to take every possible road he could in order to jack up our taxi ride price. If he got us to our location, I didn't care how many Euros he wanted!
In the middle of traffic, he suddenly stops at a curb, points that we are here, and we scramble for some money and toss our stuff onto the sidewalk. There is a door on the wall of the building. No name. We look at him, "are you sure this is it??" He's sure. He drives off. We slowly go inside and climb the stairs.
There is another door with a sign on it at the top of the stairs- "Emerald Fields Hostel". Thank God.
A young Italian man is sitting behind some make-shift desk. There are pictures and cartoon posters on the walls, and couches and a kitchen in the other main area. We "check in". He tells us that he does not see our names for tonight. He sees that we have not booked for the 16th like we say, but we have booked for the 17th and 18th. We are doomed.
"WHAT??" That's not possible. I booked this online, I know we booked the 16th!" Chelsie tells him.
My face drops, and I am about to burst into tears. I can't take anymore, and where are we going to find a place in the evening in Florence?? A full on meltdown is about to happen, and he is smart and can see it coming.
He tells us to hold on for a moment and gets on the phone. In rapid Italian, he seems to be explaining the situation to someone on the other line. It probably went something like this, "We have to find a room for them or all hell will break loose in t-minus 5 seconds!!!"
He tells us that Antonio is downstairs at his car. We are to get into Antonio's car, and he will take us to their sister-hostel a few blocks away where they have a room for us to stay.
We rush downstairs, see Antonio waving wildly from across the street by his silver hatchback, and proceed to cross a street full of crazy Italian traffic without dying.
He takes our bags and puts them in the back of the car. We get in, and it dawns on us that we are getting in some strange man's car and going to some strange place we don't know. Oh well!
The sister hostel is not far away, but he explains that the man from the previous hostel told him that we had big bags (ahem...mostly my mammoth sized bag) and he didn't want us to have to carry them that far. Aw...maybe we shouldn't be so paranoid.
He takes my bag for me, and we follow him upstairs. The hostel is actually more like an apartment with a shared kitchen and living room, but private rooms. He tells us that there is another couple sharing it with us. Our room has two single beds. There is a kitchen we can use. There is a bathroom with a shower. There is FREE internet. (If I didn't mention it before, free internet is pretty big to us on this trip).
After showing us around and then leaving, we put our things in the room. We look around in total disbelief. We cry and throw our arms around each other in pure happiness.
After all that, we are safe, comfortable, and alive. (Do I exaggerate much?) The relief was overwhelming!
We went to bed early, and both of us slept like babies that night.
