An Action-Packed Day of Unpredictability

When I had originally boarded the bus in Siena, I asked the driver if Colle Val D'Elsa was the first stop. He made a motion that indicated "kind of" and then pointed to himself - meaning, I'll tell you when. So I sat near the front, enjoyed the scenery, and waited for my cue.

We make a few little stops that are clearly not station-like and I can see what he meant. However, the next stop is looking suspiciously like some kind of station...but perhaps that is just because it has a large covered area. I am continuously looking at the bus driver, waiting for any kind of eye contact to let me know this is my stop - but I don't get any. So I stay put.

As we continue on, I can tell that we are leaving town and are now headed for some other city and that was, in fact, my stop. I immediately become exasperated; what am I to do now?? The driver now makes eye contact with me and gives me this look like, "that was your stop, why didn't you get off?" Booooooo!

The next stop is a hospital parking lot; not getting off there. After that is a teeny, tiny town. We're talking, one stoplight town. I get out and see that it is the train station. I go in to look for some help, but it's Sunday and everything is closed. The info office: closed. The café: closed. The ticket office: closed. I try to buy a ticket from the electronic machine, but unlike the ones in the major train stations, this one is solo italiano. Grrr.

I march back out and try to decode the bus stops. If a bus comes here from Colle, one must go back, right? I'll just retrace my steps, so to speak. But I can't make heads or tails of the dang thing, because it lists all the stops as street names and I have no map, so I don't know if these streets are in Colle or here (wherever "here" is...).

I spy another bus stop a few hundred feet away and decide to go look at that (just in case). As I am inspecting the wide variety of lines that stop here, suddenly someone begins talking to me. I don't know where he came from, but it's the gentleman who was sitting in front of me on the bus. I had noticed him because it was apparent he had been through some kind of accident (or possibly been burned?) and only part of his nose remained. But here he was, speaking to me in rapid Italian, and I can only pick up every couple things he says. I do understand him when he says, "You were supposed to get off at the first stop, but you didn't. You missed your stop, no?"

So he shows me which bus will take me back to Colle Val D'Elsa (yay!) but continues to "chat" with me, even though I don't really know what we're talking about. We manage to get through pleasantries and where I'm from, etc. He asks me where I'm sleeping and I answer, "In Volterra." He tells me that if the bus doesn't come, he knows where I can sleep here. I pretend there is no inuendo here and say, "No - the bus WILL come. I'm sleeping in Volterra..."

But the time for the bus to arrives comes and goes...and still no bus. There is another one in 30 minutes though, so I haven't given up hope. Unfortunately I don't really want to spend the whole time talking to disfigured face man. I mean, he's certainly a sweet man - helping me out and everything - but I need to sit down and get my bearings a bit. I need to figure out what I'm going to do if a bus doesn't come and/or I miss the bus to Volterra (remember, there is only one I can catch...).

But then suddenly the bus comes roaring down the lane in a fury of blue madness (inter-city buses are blue) and stops at the station. We are still at the stop a few hundred feet away, so I jog over there so I can get on the dang thing. My new friend cautions me and asks the driver first if this is the bus I want. Indeed it is, so I throw my crap on the bus and get on - I'm not missing it! I wave to my friend and sigh in relief that I'm able to get back to where I wanted to be in the first place (thank GOODNESS for the four hour lay-over...)

This time I know what my stop looks like, so finding it and getting off in the right place is no problem. I walk around looking for the ticket office or a tabacchi stand (where you can also buy bus tickets), but of course neither is open. I go back to the stop, confirm my bus time, and ask someone waiting, how do I buy a ticket. He tells me I can just buy it from the driver. Oh good - that seems easy enough.

I head back toward "town" to get something to munch on and wait out my (now) three-hour lay-over. Because of all my grief, I get not just a cappuccino and brioche, but some kind of desserty-pastry too (imagine filo dough, powdered sugar and bavarian creme....). Ahhh, now I'm starting to feel better.

After I eat, I consult with Rick Steves and take a look at where I'm going and try to figure out where the monestary actually is. But soon I hear someone talking and I look up, and a very cute italian young man is looking right at me. I give him a look that says, "Are you talking to me?" and outloud I say, "What?" and he begins repeating whatever it was he was saying. Of course it's in Italian and I don't understand because it's too fast, so I say, "I don't speak Italian," in Italian and expect that to be the last of it. But apparently, this was an invitation to come over to my table and sit down. Suddenly, I'm on an italian date again*.

Only this time, he doesn't seem to speak English. Obviously I don't speak Italian. But this does not discourage my new friend. It seems we both know enough of the other language to understand, but not to reply. So we have a bi-lingual conversation about very simply topics. Eventually he asks me if I am staying in Colle. No, I say, I'm trying to get to Volterra. He tells me it is only 20 minutes by car. When is my bus? That is too long. Bus is 50 minutes. It's very close by car; I have a car. Only 20 minutes by car. (I'm getting the impression he wants to drive me there...)

Well this is interesting. Of course my gut reaction is: no way man! I can't get in the car with a stranger and let him drive me to another city! That's ludicrous! But then I remember I'm in Italy and not America, not to mention small-town Italy...and I start to consider it. It would be nice to get there now, rather than in 3 more hours....plus, I don't think I'm going to get rid of this guy by simply polietly refusing a ride....hmmm.

So after about a half an hour of more small talk (read: me furiously trying to speak italian and barely getting my message across) and listening to my ipod (which was hilarious in itself - he would ask me if I had something, like 50 cent, and then when I'd play it, he would "sing along" but it was quite clear that he really had no idea what the words were and was just saying something close), I decided I felt comfortable enough and if he asked me again, I'd let him drive me.

He doesn't disappoint me and soon we're off. The whole time I just kept shaking my head to myself and saying, "I cannot believe you are doing this. I cannot believe you are in a car with a stranger." And then I'd have to stiffle the temptation to laugh hysterically. The truth was, I wasn't scared at all. It was clear he meant no harm - he was mostly just hitting on me.

After a few moments of driving he asks me if I want to get a drink at a bar. Uhhh....sure? He immediately pulls over and we go into this random dive. It has a fooze-ball table (which he makes me play) and one table and the bar. He asks me if I've ever had Sambuca, to which I reply no. So he orders two and the bar-tender serves up two mini-glasses of clear liquid. I ask him if I'm supposed to shoot it (because it looks like hard liquor to me) and he says yes. So we clink glasses, and like the good girl I am, I shoot it. I look over and he is sipping his. D'oh! I feel like SUCH an idiot, but oh well - I just have to laugh it off. He asks me if I like it and I say (with much pantomiming) it tastes like toothpaste**. He thinks this is hilarious. He then gives me the rest of his drink, because "he is driving." I start to protest, but realize, this is actually quite a good point. I finish the drink and we go back to the car. It occurs to me that everything with this guy is so abrupt - no dilly-dallying.

Indeed we get to Volterra inside of 20 minutes and when we arrive, he helps me with my bag as we walk through town. He is leading the way, so I just fall in line and follow him. But eventually I ask him, "Do you know where we're going?" He says, no. (Well then...??) So I get out Rick and show him the street we should be looking for. He asks someone and then we head in the right direction.

There are no hostels in this small town, so a monestary was the next best thing. It quiet and institutional and private. After sharing a room with several people, I'm ready for the privacy and don't mind the 20 EU price. Once I'm all settled in my new room, we head back into town (especially because I don't particularly want to be alone in a room with this boy...) and again he abruptly suggests a drink. Again I agree and he steps into the first bar we pass (definitely not following my morning protocol). He orders un café and sits down; so I do the same. He seems surprised that I got the same thing, but I didn't know what else to do. I'm making this up as I go here, pal.

We get our drinks, finish them in about 2 seconds and then before I know it, he's paid and we're back on the street again. What happened to Italian lingering?? Before long though, I tell him I'm quite tired and need to go to bed. I walk him back to the car to say good-bye. As you might imagine, this boy wasn't going to all this trouble for nothing, so I won't lie to you: I kissed him. I figured it's all part of the experience, right? (But don't worry parental, over-protective sibling types, my integrity is still fully in tact!)

Really, I think the whole thing is a riot. I can't believe I a) accepted a ride from a stranger and b) let that stranger kiss me (though he was pretty intent on it - italians mean business); it's all so unlike me! But hey, I'm embracing the culture: I kissed an Italian, and I liked it ;)

*I didn't share with the greater blogsphere that back in Verona (where I was penniless for a time) after I treated myself to my expensive, celebratory I-have-money-again lunch, my older, paternal waiter introduced me to a "nice-boy" waiter from the café next door. Long story short, I decided to be brave and go have a drink with the guy. He spoke very good English and we had quite a nice time. However, he wanted me to stay for dinner...and more (eke!) and that scared the crap out of me, so I left and went to Vicenza. All in all, good practice though....

**In Venice I ran out of toothpaste and had to buy some of the Italian variety. I tried to choose something "minty," but what I got was more akin to....black licorice flavor. It's an acquired taste (now it seems normal), but a shock when you're expecting mint. (And no, the toothpaste is not black.)