A few days ago, in — what hotel was that now? where were we? — ah, yes, a hotel just below Monteriggioni, just off the Via Francigena, we were cocooning for the afternoon after walking 10 or so kilometres, some of them in pouring rain. (We didn’t yet know we’d be walking perilously close to cars and big trucks on a busy (and narrow) highway the next morning, but that’s a story for another post, isn’t it?)
My cocooning included beginning a post here. I’d uploaded photos, even added some text, and I’d intended to finish and post from Siena the next day. You know, after we’d finished walking 24 kilometres! Somehow, that energy didn’t manifest, and that post will be completed later.
For now, I need to tell you about my day, yesterday, the highs and lows, the worries and the problems overcome. Many of you were kind enough (on Instagram, where I posted highlights of each day) to applaud my completion of our walk from Lucca to Siena — and many wished me a few days of rest. Thank you!
Unfortunately, that’s not how we ended up planning this trip.
A brief summary of our itinerary’s evolution:
- I enrolled in a Paris Sketchbook workshop, a week-long gift to myself in celebration of my 70th birthday.
- To celebrate our 50 years together, we’d hoped to walk a fair bit of the Italian portion, but spraining my ankle on our second day out of Siena in April compromised that plan. Since my ankle was performing well, and I would already be in Europe for the sketchbook class, it made sense for us to start out in Italy together.
- The weather is better for walking the VF before my Paris class rather than in November, but we didn’t want to leave home until October 1st . . . and then needed a few days with our ex-pats in Rome.
- So we ended up with a very tight turnaround, finishing in Siena on Thursday, with the plan to head our separate ways on Friday (me to Paris, Paul back to Rome where he’ll begin another adventure of his own).
- But then this happened. If that’s TLDR (Too Long, Didn’t Read), I’ll sum up: Train cancellations due to track obstructions; train cancellations due to strikes; bus journeys changed arbitrarily to stations further from the (new-to-me) city centre than I’d planned, with no information about how to arrive at my hotel, as I travelled solo.
- At my daughter’s suggestion, I downloaded the Uber app and booked a ride from that bus station into Milan . . .
So instead of resting on Friday, after our triumphant and blistered slog into Siena Thursday afternoon, we got up early, finished packing, had breakfast, and got a taxi to the unusually quiet Siena train station — a national sciopero meant only essential trains were moving. We found the post with the green Flixbus sign, a minimum of information, and other travellers who seemed even more unsure than I felt. At least we’d pre-booked tickets and knew times of departure. And had someone who could wait with the bags while the other went to buy a couple of sandwiches, so we’d have lunch on the way.
And my bus arrived, and Paul loaded my suitcase into the compartment for Milan; we kissed each other good-bye; I found my seats (I’d accidentally booked two, and then managed to get them side-by-side, practically first-class seating!); and then he stood and watched until my bus departed. Then settled down to wait for his. We texted a bit as the distance between us grew — gradually adjusting to a very different pace than we’ve enjoyed while walking together the eight days before.
I worked to keep my texts light, although I was beginning to worry about whether I should try to change my Uber booking — we were half an hour late leaving Florence, and then drove in heavy traffic. I knew my Uber ride would wait 15 minutes, and I’d added half an hour to the scheduled arrival time in Milan, just in case. I also knew Paul could do little from where he was . . . and that to carry on with his own adventure, he needed to know that I could manage my own.
Our driver made up the traffic delay, and we arrived in, and left, Bologna only ten minutes in ritardo, and we got into Milan, San Donato, on time. By then, I’d got a message from Uber that Roberto was on his way, and there was a little map with little dots that showed how I’d get from where satellites thought I was to where Roberto was, near the designated “pick-up spot” . . . Off the bus, I tried following those dots, which were disconcertingly different from Google Map’s.
Worried (that word again!) that I wouldn’t get to Roberto in time, I stopped a stranger, “Puoi aiutarmi? Sai come usare Uber?” (Can you help me? Do you know how to use Uber?). He thought as I did, that the dots were “un po’ strani” — but he pointed across the street to where he thought I should wait. I thanked him, crossed the street, looked at the phone . . . and Roberto had disappeared. Not to worry, Roberto was soon replaced by Nello. But Nello disappeared as well, only to be replaced by Antonio. All well and good, until Antonio was gone and there was only, when I clicked frantically on Activity on the Uber screen, a report of a Cancelled trip for 3:00. The cancellation, I assure you, was not made by me.
And now my worry began to seem legitimate. Granted, I was right at what seemed to be a public transit bus depot, but no idea of which routes went where or how to use them. I couldn’t see any taxis — which might have had something to do with the train strike and the rain (oh, did I mention that all this drama — melodrama, if you insist — was accompanied by grey skies and rain. A bit of pathetic fallacy to emphasize the drama).
I did have a secret weapon, though. I can speak Italian. In fact, our taxi driver this morning told me my Italian was excellent, with just a bit of an Anglo-Saxon accent. And when I told him “Hai fatto il mio giorno,” he said, “Ah, I’ve made your day. In Italian there is a more usual way to say this.” And he taught me a new and useful phrase: Ho guadagnato il mio giorno (I’ve earned my day, literally, and I’m not sure it quite expresses the gratitude to someone else, but I’m tucking the expression in my back packet to use when I can).
But perhaps more basically than being able to speak Italian, I can speak, period. I’m willing and able to ask for help when I need it; I can overcome my shyness and fear of embarrassment. Because I know that if I’d asked enough people, I’d have found several who would have understood my English, and of those few, someone would have been willing to help me.
But I think the Italian gave me the edge. And an instinct for picking the right person to ask? Because I approached a 50 or 60-something woman, of neat and sensible appearance. I apologized for disturbing her, just as (I hadn’t realized at first) she was beginning a phone conversation. But she paused the call, and listened to my halting explanation — first time here, not sure how to get to Milano Centrale, three Ubers cancelled, etc. — and then she quickly said good-bye to whomever was on the other end of her phone call, and she told me to follow her.
I had to walk briskly, and I was so glad my suitcase was manageable, my daypack securely on my back, as I realized she was leading me to the Metro, down several long flights of concrete stairs. She assured me that the Metro was not affected by the strike, continued to walk and talk briskly, but efficiently rather than impatiently. We got to the ticket stile, and she asked if I had a card, and of course I didn’t, so she indicated that I follow quickly on her tail. I worried (yep, still!) that she’d point me in whatever direction at this point and I’d have to figure out the rest on my own, but no. She took me right to the track where the train was waiting, but put her hand out to stop me from getting on until she asked a young man inside whether the train stopped at Milano Centrale. Yes? Okay, there you go, good-bye. And me, thanking her and telling her she was an angel.
Now that my problem was solved, I texted Paul, and he applauded my resilience and good luck. But then he wondered how I’d get out of the Metro without a ticket. . . Yes, that had occurred to me. Would have been another worry, in fact, except that I was so buoyed by this woman’s light that I decided I could either squeak through the gates on someone else’s tail, or, if I had to, I could find some Metro employee to explain my story to. Luckily, I never had to test the second idea, and apparently I have the skills to evade transit fares when necessary.
It appears that I wasn’t charged for the cancelled Uber ride (I was quoted 47.23 Euros), and I paid nothing for the Metro. I found my hotel easily with the help of Google Maps, and there was enough daylight left for me to make my way to Il Duomo. I snapped the photo to prove it, turned around and headed back, worrying a bit (I know!) because my iphone battery was at 6% and I had no map of the city without it. Got “lost” in a large public garden (Giardini Pubblici Indro Montanelli) and couldn’t find an exit through the fence that encircled it. But you needn’t worry, because I did get out (yes, I asked someone) and back to the hotel. 8 kilometres on my iphone, so my feet know I still need them.
Early dinner, a good night’s sleep, a generous breakfast buffet (always tempted by the pastries, but generally sticking to muesli and yoghurt, my regular fare at home).
And now I’ve written a blogpost, and shared a 70-year-old woman’s solo travel experience, worries included. Keeping it real, one post at a time.
A reminder: I’ve been happy to read your comments on the posts I write while travelling, but I’m not able to respond to them given the limitations of time, energy, and Wifi connection. Thanks for understanding. I’ll be interested in your own experience of travel stress or worry, overcome. It’s surprising how nicely those worries diminish with a bit of time, right? And become part of our travel stories . . .
xo,
f
Well done you! Although I’ve traveled a bit over the years, recently it’s been with friends or family. My brother and I just returned from a week in Scotland, where the biggest challenges were night driving on the left side of the road with a manual car! After high school I traveled in Denmark for six months, going to some classes during the week and exploring on weekends, solo. I was more sure of myself then or perhaps niave enough not to realize there could be problems. Enjoy your drawing course : )
Coach and train travel can be overwhelming because there are so many variables. As long as we have a tongue to speak and occasionally a kind stranger, solo travel is possible if not a bit nerve wracking.
Your story far outshines mine, but over 50 years ago when I was a slip of a girl of 25, my cousin and I travelled to Italy, our first venture away from an English-speaking country. But the first thorn was that she had to remain at work for a week while I’d be in Rome by myself. I of course had no Italian and, at that time, not many Romans had English. In those days there was no Metro and I was shy and with little sense of direction , but I still managed the highlights and loved it. Everything Art History had prepared me for was real! On the day I was to go back to Da Vinci to meet my cousin’s flight and pick up our car for our “real” trip, there was a taxi strike. Someone at the hotel arranged with a friend to drive me, and all I remember was that the driver wanted me to tell him everything I knew about Jackie Kennedy. We went on to pretty much drive the perimeter of the country and so enjoyed all of it. For me it was the basis for many trips back, each one wonderful, but only one like that.
We got tangled up in a rail strike in Singapore once & ended up travelling with a bus full of locals to Kuala Lumpur . It was like a long party all the way plus they took us to all the best food stalls on route . We returned by train a few weeks later & it was boring by comparison !
As you say , if you ask you can find out . I’ve always thrown myself on the mercy of strangers even when there was a language barrier . I seem to be good at sign language ( it’s like playing charades ) & realised early on that you must smile . It’s surprising how many people would accompany us , as you found , & some even jumped in their cars for us to follow them . It’s nice to have an excuse to speak to the locals I think & quite a few interesting conversations have begun that way . My bugbear is ticket machines , if there’s a wrong way to use one I will always find it . So I approach them with trepidation, sometimes waiting round for an ‘expert’ to arrive . I try repay the favours when I’m about in York & come across wandering visitors.
Hope the sore feet have recovered & you just have happy memories to remind you of your trek .
Brava Frances! It was stressful even to read! I’m always so grateful for people who help other people (and pre-war Sarajevo was a champion in my travel book). Luckily,with your Italian and this nice lady,everything ended well
Public transport strikes are always something that could break a day(or a trip) and it seems there are many strikes these days
I love Milano and hope that you’ll find it lovely,too
Dottoressa
Complimenti! L’hai fatto proprio bene. And isn’t the Duomo magnificent? Apparently there was no time to see more of Milan, so I hope there will be another opportunity for you to explore this stunning city.
When I was there in August, I had to ask a lady at a small Sale & Tabacchi whether there was a bus from where I was way south of the centre back to the Central Station (my hotel was round the corner from there). She told me that unfortunately there wasn’t, agreed with me that it would have been nice to be able to look out of a window during the trip, and directed me to the Metro. Where I forgot my ticket in the machine at the entrance, so I arrived at the other end without it and approached one of the guards to explain my error. It seem most tourists fall into that trap, because he simply waved me through. Next time I knew, and so will you.
Good on you to have a solo adventure! You will have stories to tell and recount~ you are such a positive example for your children and grands.
Wow! Your experience makes for a great story, but oh my, how stressful it must have been! It brought back memories of our much calmer trip from Florence to Milan a few years ago. Thankfully, the trains were running. We were able to walk from the station to our hotel and from there to the Duomo. Ours was only an afternoon and overnight stop on our way to Paris, so we didn’t see a lot of the city, but the elevator trip to the rooftop of the Duomo was well worth it and we also enjoyed a walk through the gorgeous and glitzy Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II mall and the grounds of nearby Castello Sforzesco.
As another noted, stressful indeed to simply read of your adventures! I find that as I age (71) and after nearly 50 years of travel with my husband, I’m becoming more anxious about solo travels, especially given my horrendous sense of direction. Even with IPhone navigation I can wander hopelessly! I think I was far more cavalier and confident in my youth.
Good for you to have gotten from point A to point B AND to have seen the glorious Duomo to boot. Milano is stunning, and emerging from the metro to behold the Duomo one of my enduring memories.
Hope the remainder of your trip is less fraught. As always, I’m really enjoying your posts.
I bet you didn’t play that scenario over in your head beforehand – and you sailed through it (tho it may not have felt like it at the time!). I’m curious to know what your Metro saviour of “neat and sensible appearance” was wearing – could you give a mini OOTD??
Agreeing with Wendy in York about the malevolence of ticket machines. Uber is a mystery to me – it only operates in Edinburgh and Glasgow in Scotland. One of my adult children in Glasgow uses it, and their experience always seems to be of the disappearing dot and eventually giving up and getting a totally reliable black cab.
Looking forward to your continued adventures, and hopefully smooth travels.
Author
I’ve never used Uber before (reservations about it on several levels) and only downloaded the app because taxis cannot generally be booked ahead in Italy but Uber allows that and the drivers have to have a very credible certification. But it did not serve me well, and I expect I’ll be deleting it!
Wow! Congratulations on so many levels!! I’m in awe—really. We’re currently traveling within the US and I’m completely challenged just from packing and unpacking! Good journey and happy sketching!
Oh Sue, thanks for your post. I’ve been wondering how you were getting along with the VF and if you’d started the sketching course. All I can say is a wholehearted ‘good on you!’ for managing all those very stressful travel situations so beautifully. (Re-reading this it sounds patronising but it really isn’t meant to be!)
Asking for help (and doing it so well in another language) is so often the best way to go. I’m so pleased it all worked out.
I can’t believe I wrote ‘Sue!’ I’m so sorry. I have been enjoying catching up on your posts, and those of Sue’s, and mixed up your name. Sorry, Frances! xx
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I knew that’s what happened, Genevieve, and happy to be associated with my friend, Sue. Not offended in the least 😘
I think you’re amazing – what you’re willing to do on your own and what you do as a duo. Well done. I’m beyond impressed.
Well done, Frances! I am very impressed. I have traveled some solo (much more travel with my husband though, I admit.) It seems like almost all of my solo travels have gone smoothly. The one trip that went awry was on a return trip from Tucson to Minneapolis, more than 30 years ago, about three weeks before we were going to be moving to Tucson. Long story short, I flew down to Arizona for my uncle’s funeral, in mid-March, what should have been about a 30 hour trip total, leaving my husband with our very young children at home. All went smoothly until seemingly out of nowhere, while I was already flying back to Minnesota, an unexpected blizzard barreled out of the Plains, and the airport was closed. The flight was diverted way north to Grand Forks, North Dakota. There was a water fountain and nothing else to eat or drink in that tiny airport. When the storm abated after about six hours, we were finally flown back to the Twin Cities, arriving about 2:00 a.m. My husband was not going to wake up our 1 and 4 year old children to come get me. I stood in a line to get a cab out in the 2 feet of fresh snow, wearing spring weight clothes (meaning a skirt and bare legs and socks and tennis shoes) knowing I had no cash or even a credit card with me to pay for a cab. After waiting for probably an hour and a half, shivering hard, I was invited to squish into a cab with at least 4 other people. . . Here is the kindness part: I was the last to be delivered home, and I explained to the driver that I need to run inside to get the money to pay him. He said, “Don’t worry. I made so much money tonight, this one is on me.” And off he went, my saving angel.
I am looking forward greatly to hearing about your workshop!
You did it! I’m also impressed that you’re already planning to do more of the pilgrimage. This is not a one and done for you! Congratulations!!!
That was an enjoyable yarn to read on a rather gloomy wet day here in England. I applaud your fortitude and flexibility, plus the mild transport transgression at the end. And now I sincerely hope you have some quiet and relaxing time to yourself with a coffee and autumn sunshine. I look forward to following the next stage of your forays.
Your adventures are inspiring! Can’t wait to hear @Paris.
Fantastic! Fantastico!? I so admire you. Like you I’ve decided not to be afraid to ask for help and yes, like you, I am very comfortable asking women for help. Trust is such a good virtue to have retained over the years. Looking forward to more of your travel posts.
Now this is a real accomplishment! And is it just so satisfying your Italian has reached the level where it can make your life better in unforeseen ways?
You are amazing!
Many years ago I dislocated my toe while in Paris. While hobbling along (struggling really) with my luggage trying to board a train, a lovely elderly gentleman offered his assistance. Turns out he was a physician at the Cleveland Clinic (Cleveland is my hometown). It was such a wonderful encounter proving that you can rely on the kindness of strangers.