Italy like a swift kick in the butt...get it cause it is shaped like a boot.

Don’t be disheartened by my introduction to Italy I had a wonderful time and I will go into some detail about that after I am done ranting and raving here. Do read on through or skip the part if you like where I describe some of the uncomfortable experiences I have had. In the end I will speak of my wonderful visit with Carlo and I highly recommend visiting Italy and meeting my friend Carlo.

Now, to get this off my chest I will describe the trains in Italy (or at least northern Italy where I have been). Do not take them. If you do decide to travel by train, then expect the worst customer service you have ever experienced. I was yelled at (fists pounding on the table yelling). I was ignored. Overall I was treated with mild to moderate distain by every train official I had the displeasure of dealing with.

You may remember the issues I had with getting to Copenhagen from Italy. Really the Issue was getting the stupid people at the train office to pull their heads out of their neither regions and learn to sell tickets! I was told I could resolve this matter in Italy. First thing I did in Italy was to go to the train station ticket office and attempt to purchase a ticket to Copenhagen. The first person I talked to heard the word Copenhagen and she simple replied “Milano” (a 2 hour train ride away). I attempted to continue to ask her and she turned her back on me and turned off the mic into her station. Carlo was with me at this point and he attempted to resolve the matter with the next guy over. He actually received the same treatment. “Milano” seemed to be the only word they knew in any language. I resolved myself to a wasted 4 – 8 hours on a train to get to Milano and back in order to purchase my train tickets. Needless to say I was not pleased but I did not have a choice. I spent the rest of the day with Carlo but I will get into that later for now let’s stay on topic with buying tickets to Copenhagen.

The next morning I woke up ate some breakfast and headed to the train station. Carlo had written down some schedules for me so I knew when and where I need to go. This was helpful. I made my way to Milano without difficulty, they never even asked for my ticket. The scenery here deserves an aside to describe what you may see from a train window in Italy.

The trains have graffiti all over them. I am not sure why these do not get cleaned up but they remain painted and tagged by less than skillful artists. Those that are not tagged are just old looking and not very well maintained. The view from the windows does not offer much in the way of compensation. If you are lucky enough to get a glimpse of the beach through the jungle of buildings, you are greeted by row upon row of umbrellas and Cafés. It seems that to get a place on the beach here you must pay for access to the café private beach. Most of the time you are looking at towering buildings that seem to have deferred maintenance from WWII. Where the walls are not pealing or crumbling they are covered in more of that graffiti evident on the trains. The interiors of the trains lack any semblance of care as the seats are torn and broken and the toilettes rarely work at all.

After that pleasant train ride to Milano (Sarcasm) I approached the ticket window and attempted to negotiate my journey to Copenhagen. The line (there is always a line in Milano, if the line dwindles then one or two people go on break to build it up again) took about 45 minutes to get through. As I reached the front my spirits were raised as I was next in line and a new clerk was coming on duty. I was pleased he would be fresh and willing to help (my mistake for setting my hopes so high). It only took about three minutes for me to explain that the speaker was not turned on and I could not hear a word he was saying. I can only assume he thought I could not understand him when in fact I could not hear him at all. Nor could I read the lips of an Italian speaking broken English with an accent. By the time he blasted my ear by simultaneously turning on the mic and screaming at me, he was in a foul mood. Twice during our conversation he actually slammed his fists onto the table causing the keyboard to jump an inch or two from the surface. This fast slamming was done in conjunction with several swear words and many names I cannot interpret but the meaning was all too clear.

He did end up selling me enough tickets to get me to Copenhagen on time for my cruise. I have several transfers and quite a few long layovers in inconvenient places and times. At least I know I will make it there, so long as I am able to stay awake for 48 hours straight and still catch my transfers. I am typing this in the middle of this marathon so I may not be totally coherent.

On my way back to Carlo’s town I bought a ticket to get a reserved seat and a quicker train. The cost was minimal. Normally as you leave a train station only one train leaves at a time. The trains are listed b time and by the terminal station on that trip. If you know one or the other it is not a problem finding the correct track for your train. I happen to get the one exception. There were two trains leaving at the same time from opposite sides of the station, and I did not know the terminal station for the train I was on. Like any travel savvy individual I sought out the information booth at the train tracks to ask for direction. The man there of course spoke only one language. He seemed to understand by my gestures that I needed to know what track my train was on. He just kept repeating one word like it was supposed to have special meaning for me and make it all clear. He kept saying Latviona. I told him several times I did not understand what that meant ( in Italian). Finally I resorted to the hateful thing of just standing there and holding up the entire line until he took the time to actually help me. He wrote down the number 16 on my ticket. This number corresponded to the other track leaving at 16:00. I thanked him and went on my way.

At one point on one of my train rides I had my feet up on the seat in front of me. The conductor walked up behind me and did not say a word he simply snapped a handkerchief against my bare ankles as he walked by. He did not even slow down as I moved my feet to massage the stinging sensation in my ankles.
One last incident on the train worth mentioning here then I will be done. On the way back to Milan o while I was leaving Carlo’s town I went in and asked information what train I needed to take to get to Milano. I asked if I needed a ticket and she said no and directed me to the proper train. As I boarded the train I immediately noticed something was wrong. All the seats were in cabins with assigned cabin and seat numbers. I went and asked the conductor what I should do. It seems that Italy it the only country in the European Union to hire monolingual employees. The guy only knew Italian and seemed non paused with talking incessantly to me even after I told him I did not understand. Eventually I was able to buy a seat from him for three times the normal fair and I had to listen to him chastise me for getting on the train without a ticket.

I think Carlo was very concerned my trip to Italy would be a disappointment or marred somehow by these negative experiences. In examining the things that happened to me in Italy the only negative experiences I had were in relation to dealing with train employees. I guess if the train cannot or will not maintain their equipment then the employee experiences must not be much better. These incidents only served to heighten the joy of visiting with Carlo and his friends.
More on that in the next post