Train strike part Deux...otherwise known as getting stranded in the Cinque Terre

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It was cold and rainy the day I left Florence -- all very fitting, as I have to admit I was more than a little sad to say goodbye to Florence and my new friends.  It was, in the words of my German friend, absolute scheizer.  (For those unfamiliar with German cuss words, scheizer is a sligthly more, umm, poetic way of saying crap.)  My four weeks in Florence had flown by and now my classes were done, and it was time to leave to start my two weeks traveling Italy.  But, if you have to say goodbye, you should always do it in style. And we did just that. My last weekend in Florence is definately one I'll remember for a long time...brace yourself, its a bit of a long story, but oddly, one of my favorite memories of Florence!

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Helmut, the German, had wanted to drive out to the Cinque Terre for the day after classes ended.  It sounded like fun so I decided to stay in town an extra day, and leave for Lake Como on Sunday instead of Saturday (I figured George would understand).  So on Saturday, Maryanne, Helmut and I piled into Helmut's tiny 2-door Volkswagon Golf and headed to the Cinque Terre.  For those who aren't familar with the Cinque Terre, they are a collection of 5 towns that sit on the Italian coast (a bit like an isolated, quaint Italian riveria).  For years, the towns were connected only by hiking trails along the cliffs that lined the cost, but in the early 1900's, an extremely small, curvy mountain road was put in connecting the towns and then finally, some time later, the railroad came through.  (Trust me, the relevance of this will become apparent in a bit).  The best way to get to the towns by car is to drive to Lo Spezia, a town just south of the the first of the five Cinque Terre towns, park there and take the train in.  So we did just that.  We had a beautiful drive to Lo Spezia -- it was great to be back in a car with the radio on and the windows down -- parked the Golf, and took the train to Vernazza, the fourth town north in the Cinque Terre.

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It was an absolutely gorgeous day.  We drank beers and talked while sitting down at the harbor, sunning ourselves and generally being lazy.  Before we knew it, it was 7 pm, but we couldn't seem to get ourselves to leave.  We kept making excuses to stay.  Not only was it our last day all together, but Vernazza was just beautiful.  So we decided to grab some dinner, then another beer, then a few more photos...until finally, around 9 pm, we decided we definitely needed to get back to check the train schedule to make sure we caught the last train back to Lo Spezia.  Because of the way the towns are situated, if we missed the train, it would be -- to quote Helmut again -- scheizer.  I'm sure you're starting to see where this story is going now.  So we arrive at the train station at 9:15pm.  We're in luck - there are plenty more trains out and the next is arriving at 9:30 pm.  Crisis averted.  Or so we think, until a nice French Canadian couple approaches us to tell us a nation-wide train strike just started at 9:00 pm and is set to last 24 hours, until 9:00pm Sunday night.  A.k.a., scheizer.  We hung out at the station a bit in the hopes that a stray train might come, but when it became clear we were not getting out of there by train, Helmut, Maryanne & I -- along with our new French Canadian friends -- went back to the bar to regroup.  A few beers later, the bartenders helped us to try and call cabs, but all the cabs were booked by now with people frantically trying to get out of the Cinque Terre.  Did I mention that this was a national three-day holiday weekend in Italy?  Not only were all the cabs booked already, but all the hotel rooms had been booked and filled weeks in advance.  So there were no buses, no trains, no way to walk out of there, and no where to stay.  Double scheizer.

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At the bartender's recommendation, Helmut and I decided to go up to the town's one parking lot and see if would could convince someone who was leaving to give us a ride back to our car in Lo Spezia.  Maryanne and the French Canadians would wait together at the bar and keep trying for a cab.  It was now about 11pm at night.  Apparently, bartenders all over Vernazza had recommended this to others as well...as the parking lot was full of people trying to hitch a ride out.  By some miracle, Helmut and I managed to secure a place in a car for 30 Euros.  So into the front seat I climbed, as I wedged myself between the Italian driver and Helmut, while an Australian couple and a British couple squeezed themselves into the back seat.  And then we were off down that tiny, curvy mountain road.

Though in fact, "curvy" does not actually do justice to this road.  Hellishly psychotic and twisty is getting somewhat closer to reality, but still not quite sufficient.  It was, however, a hilarious ride.  The driver spoke no English and so for the whole hour drive, I got to practice my Italian.  He told me about his daughters and growing up in Vernazza, and I told him about my plans to woo and seduce George Clooney in Como.  This Italian song I actually know came on the radio, and he was so excited I knew the song he made me sing it with him (I know, that might be the scariest bit of the story).  So there I was, blathering in bad Italian and singing with a strange Italian man, as we barrelled down our curvy mountain road at midnight, with Helmut snacking on Italian mini-cakes next to me. Finally, around 12:30 am, we pulled into Lo Spezia and found Helmut's car.  Our Italian driver was super nice and let us follow him back to Vernazza so we could pick up Maryanne and the French Canadian couple, who we agreed to drop off in Lo Spezia on our way home.  The way back was insane.  Up hill this time with a non-Italian driver.  Lets just say I had plenty of opportunities to teach Helmut why we call the handles in the car "oh shit" handles...which he thought was hilarious.  I was on the verge of getting sick almost the entire time, while Helmut just kept shouting out "I love this."  My favorite memory of the night was when Come Sail Away by Styx came on the radio, and Helmut went nuts. So the two of us drove along in his Volkswagon Golf, following a strange Italian back to Vernazza, and singing Come Sail Away at the top of our lungs.

We finally arrived in one piece -- by God's good grace -- to Vernazza to pick up our friends. It was now about 1:30 am.  We were in the process of trying to figure out how to fit all five of us in the car when a couple from England showed up.  They were staying in the next town and had just come for dinner, before getting stranded by the strike.  The girl had a leg brace on and was having trouble walking, so of course, Helmut said we would give them a ride.  We were now up to 7, and all we had was a two-door Golf.  This took some creative engineering.  The French Canandian husband went into the trunk, Maryanne, myself and the French Canadian wife climbed into the back seat and the couple into the front seat.  And away we were.

Two minutes later, it becomes clear for the first time that the couple from England was actually staying in the fifth town, not -- as we thought -- the third town.  I.e., they were in the exact opposite direction we needed to go.  Nothing to do, however, and so with a shrug, we headed off for the fifth town in the Cinque Terre.  The now slightly drunk French Canadian in the boot kept popping up with hysterical commentary and the situation was so ridiculous that you couldn't help but laugh.  We finally arrived in Monterossa, the fifth town, at about 2 am.  We dropped off the English couple and at long last, we headed to Lo Spezia.  We pulled into Lo Spezia about 3 am, drove around for awhile looking for the French Canadian's hotel, dropped them off and then about 3:30 am, we headed for Florence.  Maryanne had, by this time, been passed out in the back of the car for a good hour and continued in that manner for the rest of the way home.  In an attempt to stay awake, Helmut and I stopped at the AutoGrill for a pre-dawn capuccino and then got back on the road, trying to entertain ourselves with bad music and increasingly non-sensical conversation (I know, the thought of me making even less sense than usual is shocking).  We finally pulled into Florence as the sun was rising.

It was insane.  Leave it to Italians to strike on a three-day national weekend and give abslutely no warning.  But as crazy as the night was, we managed to keep meeting the nicest people who all knew the best way to handle the situation was to laugh.  So in the end, it was one of the most fun nights I've had in Florence and one I won't forget soon!  I really did enjoy my time in Florence and will miss my daily cappucino breaks with Maryanne, Helmut and Justin (the Australian), our dinners together and our nights at the bar.  So its with a slightly heavy heart that I leave for Como...George better be ready to cheer me up!  I just read he broke up with his girlfriend of 4 years...coincidence?  I think not...