Getting to Mare Ligure, part 3

Last time on "Pursue Holiness," our daring adventurers had successfully achieved their beach objective, but the plot line was left unresolved ... how are they getting back?  No train tickets.  No open train station.  No knowledge of the language.  And worst of all ... blistered feet!



The adventure continues ...

We walked into the center of Vada and discovered a very pretty piazza anchored by the city hall.  The contrast of Vada's quaintness with Florence's business continued to amaze me.  All in all, I really was enjoying myself even though there were more questions than answers for our travel needs.

As we walked through the piazza, I discovered that the street name was the same name that I had written down the address for the tourist information office.  Hey!  Maybe we can still get in?  What time is is?  16:45. (That's 4:45 for Americani)  Yikes!  They might be closed or closing soon.  Quick, find the address!

The doorway in front of us was numbered "4" and the address we needed was "307."  But Italian addresses don't follow American formats.  In the US, one would expect a three-block journey from the first address to the second, and also crossing the street to get from "evens" to "odds."  Italian addresses have no standard format.  One can only generalize - they usually are sequential.  They usually go up as you leave the origination point.  That's about all that one can rely upon with Italian addresses.

So of course we went the wrong way to find "307" along the piazza.  We wound through the entire piazza only to end up six doors away from our starting point - if we'd traveled left rather than right!  But still, I found it!  However, there didn't seem to be much activity at that address.  The windows looked rather dark.  And if there were an "office hours" sign, I didn't recognize it.  (Wouldn't it make sense to put a tourist office sign in English?)

I pulled at the door, and WHOO-HOO, it opened!  We went inside and came upon an animated conversation between a woman sitting behind a counter and two men.  One of the men was on our side of the counter, the other man was to the left side of the counter.  I couldn't tell if he was a visitor or a worker.  They were speaking Italian, and I was unsure whether it was a heated argument going on, or simply an exuberant conversation.  I was wise enough not to attempt an interruption.  After all, I didn't want either the heat or the exuberance turned against me!

We waited for their conversation to end - which seemed like an eternity, but probably was only four minutes.  The first man left; the second stayed.  A new conversation started between Man #2 and the woman.  I still was unsure whether he worked there or not.  They both ignored my wife and me.  I stayed quiet.  Finally, he left, but her phone rang.  She talked on the phone, and it seemed to be an extension of the conversation with the first man.  At least I recognized some of the same sounds coming out of her mouth. (Note to self: get a better grasp of the language when traveling off the "tourist" path).

After what seemed like the second eternity, but was probably only six minutes, the woman looked up at me and asked, "Si?"

I responded, "Parle Englese?"

"Yes."

"Oh, good!"  I breathed a huge sigh of relief.  I had really hoped to be able to explain our predicament in English!  I proceeded to tell her our experience with the train station clerk in Florence and how he only gave us tickets for our travel to Vada, not our tickets returning from Vada.

The first question out of the woman's mouth: "Why?"

How should I know?  That's just what he did.

"He should have known that the Vada station is closed."  she said.

"So how do I get tickets?" I asked.  "Do you issue them here?"

"No.  You'll have to go to Cecina and get them from the ItaliaRail agent there."

"OK.  How do I get to Cecina?"

"You can take the bus," she said.

"Good.  Where is the bus station?"

"The bus stop is just down the street."

"So how do we ride the bus?" I asked.

The lady gave me a look that I interpreted to mean, "What?  Are you stupid?  You get on and sit down!  How else would you ride a bus?"

I rephrased my question.  "How much does it cost, and where do I buy tickets?"

Comprehension dawned.  Her face cleared.  "It costs 2 Euro per person, and you can buy the tickets here."

We gave her the money and then asked when the bus would arrive.  She replied, "It will be here in about 15 minutes.  And that's good because you need to get to Cecina for your tickets before the train back to Florence leaves."

Oh, then we needed to hurry.  So much for the idea of getting dinner.  We thanked her and walked to the bus stop.  Once there, I looked at my watch and saw that I still had 10 minutes before the bus arrived.  I asked my wife if she wanted some water, at least, while we waited.  That seemed a good idea, so I retraced my steps to a small market about half a block away.

I got the water, came out of the store, and saw the bus coming down the street towards us.  Yikes again!  I can't afford to miss that bus!  I hot-footed my way back to the stop, wincing with each blister-tortured step.

God truly does work in mysterious ways.  While I was getting the water, another man came to the bus stop.  As the bus approached, he waved to get the driver's attention.  The bus slowed down, pulled over, and stopped just as I made it back.  I am not certain, but I think without that fellow traveler to wave the bus down, we would have been left behind.  I am certain that neither my wife nor I would have thought to wave at the bus to ensure that it did stop.  So I breathed a silent prayer of gratitude as we boarded.

If you read my first blog post about this seaside adventure, you may recall that Cecina was one of my options for finding a beach.  I had ruled it out, however, because I wanted a more authentic Italian experience.  Now, I don't think one could get a more authentic Italian experience than boarding the intercity bus.  Not a single tourist-looking person aboard!

The distance between Vada and Cecina is approximately 6 miles.  As we made our way southward, the bus made several stops - both to allow passengers to board and to let passengers off.  After the second occurrence, my wife and I reached the conclusion that the bus stopped because passengers pushed the "next stop" button at their seats.  That was a scary thought.  How will we know to ask for our stop?

I went forward to the driver and told him we needed the stop for the train station in Cecina.  I was so flustered at this point, that I forgot to even ask whether or not he knew English before using English to say what I wanted.  God is still good.  The drive did speak English, and he said he would let us know when to get off the bus.  Grateful again, I returned to my seat and told my wife the good news.

It turned out that we didn't need the driver's help.  By the time we came into Cecina, I recognized the road signs indicating the train station (pictures really help!) and saw the station as we came around the corner and approached it.  Unlike Vada's train station, Cecina's station was in the heart of town, quite easily accessible.


We walked into the station, and the agent window was still open.  We waited our turn and then approached the man at the window.  "Parle Englese?"

"Yes, I speak English," he said.

I then told my story about the Florence station.  I finished, and the agent asked, "Why?"

"Touristi Americano!  Stupido!!" I said.  Really, I wondered privately, how should I know why he didn't give me my return tickets?

The agent looked at my reservation sheet, and he examined our out-bound tickets.  "Who wrote this?" he asked, pointing to where the train conductor had "stamped" our tickets after we had failed to do so with the ticket validation machine in Pisa.

"The conductor from Pisa did that." I said.

"Why did you not stamp your tickets?" he asked.

"I did not know that I was supposed to do so." I said.

He gave me a look that I interpreted to be something like "why don't you learn how our system works before you try to use it!  Now you're giving me your problems and I don't want to fix them!"

He turned to another man in the office and spoke in Italian, gesturing to our paperwork and towards us.  The other man responded, and I couldn't tell if this was animated or agitated conversation.  Eventually, the agent turned back towards me and said that he would give me our return tickets, but that we had a problem.

"What is our problem?" I asked.  How much worse was it gonna get?

"Your tickets are from Vada to Florence, but you are no longer in Vada.  You cannot use your Vada tickets in Cecina," he replied.

"So what are you telling me?"

"You must buy tickets from Cecina to Vada."

"But I'm only in Cecina because the Vada station is not open.  And I had to come here to get my tickets."

"You should have got your tickets in Florence." he said.

LORD, give me PATIENCE!!!!! (a silent prayer before responding)  "I realize I should have gotten my tickets in Florence, but the agent did not give them to me."

I anticipated the next question.  "Why?"

I decided that I couldn't win an argument for free passage back to my original turn-around.  "OK. How much is the train ticket from Cecina to Vada?"

"One point six Euro."

Amazing, the bus cost more than the train!  We bought our tickets from Cecina to Vada, got our tickets from Vada to Florence, and confirmed the departure schedule for the train we needed.  We had just over an hour before the train arrived.  Good!  Let's get some dinner!

Cecina is a little larger than Vada.  Maybe three times larger.  But as we walked through the town, we discovered a disturbing fact about Cecina.  It has LOTS of children's clothing stores, but not many restaurants.  And worse for us, the restaurants we did find were closed.  We walked past a pizza place that seemed more "fast food" than "authentic Italian" food.  And after exhausting all other options, finally went back and split a slice of pizza.  It actually was pretty tasty.  Even better for us, the gelateria was open, and so we enjoyed dessert.  Italian gelato, a.k.a. ice cream, is an incredible experience!  Highly recommended!!

We finished our meal and walked back to the train station with plenty of time to spare.  We were just about to board the train when my father-in-law called me and let me know that they had dinner left-overs waiting for us at the apartment should we be hungry when we arrived.  Given the limited dinner we had just eaten, I anticipated his soup and crusty Italian bread would be a real treat - no matter how late it was when we finally got there.


The train ride home was almost three hours, and we enjoyed a tremendous Italian sunset, just at the time when the train tracks gave us sea views to the west!  We took several photos through the car windows, hoping that a few would turn out well. (I think they did!)

We pulled into the Florence train station about 22:30 (10:30 p.m.) and walked back to our apartment - another 20 minutes walking.  So ... 27,849 steps.  13.18 miles.  1665 calories burned.  And that's just the foot traffic!  Add five hours of train, and thirty minutes of bus.

Mix in the gorgeous countryside, quiet tree-lined roads, walking along the Mare Ligure with pizza, gelato, soup, cathedrals, baptistries, and the company of my wife through it all.  Life doesn't get much better than this!!