| Always Double-Check Your Train Ticket |
Everybody has their bonehead moments from time to time. You do something dumb, you say oops, you fix things, and then you move on. As a result of one particularly serious bonehead moment of mine, Thursday night turned out to be one of the more stressful nights of our trip so far.
I had finished up my Rome blog post, packed up my things, and the three of us headed to the bus stop near our hostel. We walked leisurely, since we knew our train wouldn't be leaving for about an hour. I usually prefer to arrive at the station earlier than necessary, just so I don't have to worry that something might happen and we might miss our train, but I was reasonably confident that we would arrive at Termini station with about a half hour to spare, so there was little need to rush.
We arrived at Termini and, since this was a night train, I headed off in the direction of a sandwich stand to grab something to hold me over until the morning when we would be arriving in Venice. We made a stop at an ATM, getting some more Euros to spend in Venice, and then walked over to the departure board to find out at which platform we should be waiting. When I didn't see our train on the board, I felt only slightly alarmed, thinking that perhaps they hadn't gotten around to putting our train up yet but would soon. Just to double check, I pulled out our train reservation from my pocket. The time was correct, 22:36. The station? Roma Tiburtina. Wait...
We were at Roma Termini. I had directed us to the wrong station. For a fraction of a second, I considered our options. I didn't have a clue where Tiburtina station was. I knew I had heard of it, but it wasn't on my map and I had no idea how to get there. One more important detail - our train departed in less than 30 minutes. That train was our bed for the night, as well as our already paid for ride to Venice. We needed to get to it. So I made a spilt second decision and headed straight for the exit. We needed a cab, and fast.
Things were moving quickly past my eyes, but I remember seeing the long line of people waiting for cabs and beginning to worry. We didn't have time to wait in any lines. Just then, a dark skinned man in a suit called out to us from behind. He told us he had a taxi and could take us where we needed to go, but I knew that this man was one of the many unlicensed cab drivers that every guidebook warns against using, and Rome is considered a mecca for sly cabbies. I didn't know if he had bad intentions or not, but I was suspicious to say the least. "Tiburtina?" I asked. "Yes, yes, of course, let's go," he responded. "How much?" I inquired. "25 Euros." "25 Euros?" I asked. "Yes, 25 Euros," he confirmed, pulling out a generic business card for an airport limousine service to try to reassure us. He seemed to think we could make it to our station in time, so against my better judgement we followed him around the corner to his taxi. The "taxi" turned out to be a dark green, mid-90s model Mercedes C-class wagon with not a single marking identifying it as a cab. For a moment I considered the pros and cons of getting into this seemingly harmless man's car and trusting him to get us where we needed to be in time. That thought process ultimately led me to do to an about-face, almost in unison with Marc and Alex. Not smart, not worth the risk, I thought. The man chased after us, but we ignored him.
We moved quickly back to the taxi stand, precious minutes ticking away. We saw a heavy set Italian man in a gray NYC t-shirt standing next to a tiny white ford with Comune di Roma Taxi decals. I'm not sure why, with a line of people waiting for cabs, that this guy was standing around, but we really didn't have enough time to wait around and wonder. "Tiburtina?" I asked. He spoke with good English and quoted us a price of 40 Euros. I attempted to haggle for a moment, but the guy wasn't budging. I did some quick mental math to figure out how much money was at stake here. €40 to possibly get to the train in time, or forfeit our €90 in night train tickets and still have to find and pay for a place to sleep in Rome for the night. The choice was easy. We threw our bags in the trunk of the tiny hatchback and got in. We sped away, taking turns quickly and running red lights here and there. As we drove, I wondered if we would make it in time, I wondered if we were even going in the right direction, and I wondered if our cabbie was giving us a horrible deal. I decided that he probably was, but I knew we were doing what we had to do. That thought was all but buried when we started driving on what I believe was the wrong side of the road. This guy is really trying to earn his fare, I thought. We chatted idly for a while, the cabbie telling us about the dangers of taking rides from illegal unlicensed taxis, all while making a dozen lefts and rights from memory.
I couldn't have been more relieved when I saw the sign for Tiburtina with about twelve minutes to spare. I paid the guy his €40, writing it off in my mind as the price we had to pay for such an adventure, and we leapt out of the car. Bags in tow, we ran into the station and headed straight for the departure board. There was a train leaving at 22:36, but the destination was not ours, and no train number was given. After a minute or two of confusion, I checked the timetables posted on the wall and confirmed that the train on platform 17 was indeed ours. We had less than 10 minutes, and ran toward our platform. We reached the end of the corridor and found a printed temporary sign taped to the wall instructing us that to reach platform 17, we had to turn around and go back to where we had started. We did not have time for this. We must have looked ridiculous, running back past the very people we had probably just knocked out if the way a moment before. Running in flip-flops and loaded down by heavy backpacks, we followed another sign, turning down a corridor to our right. We sprinted past a busker playing what was probably the most fitting song possible for the situation we were in, on some instrument I didn't stop to identify. For a moment, it really did feel like we were in some strange comedy film.
We spotted the sign for platform 17 and ran up the ramp. At the top, we found ourselves with hundreds of other people, all waiting for the train to arrive. We had actually made it in time. I couldn't have been more content to stand there and knaw on my sandwiches from Termini while the three of us talked wildly about the intense half an hour we had just experienced. The train rolled in a few minutes later.
My bonehead moment had almost done us in, but thankfully we played our cards right and everything turned out fine. As we boarded our sleeper car, I think the three of us all had the same general thought - this is the stuff great trips are made of.
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Glad you made it. The scene in the cab sounded like the Jerry Seinfeld routine...did he have bald tires? Do the cabbies over there have B.O. too? Anyway he saved your butts, thank goodness. That's the kind of mistake you never make twice. Enjoy Venezia. Check your emails when you get a chance. Happy 4th! Love Dad
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Glad you made it. The scene in the cab sounded like the Jerry Seinfeld routine...did he have bald tires? Do the cabbies over there have B.O. too? Anyway he saved your butts, thank goodness. That's the kind of mistake you never make twice. Enjoy Venezia. Check your emails when you get a chance. Happy 4th! Love Dad