As I said, our alarm startled us awake at 5:00 am the next morning. We had already paid our hostess the night before, as well as asked her if she could perhaps pack a croissant or two in a bag for us since we'd be leaving far before breakfast time. We got ready in record time, placed our key on the empty desk, and then headed out into the still dark streets of Florence. It was hard to believe this was the same city that had been giving us amazing fits of claustrophobia for the past two days--how incredibly peaceful it was this time of morning! Peaceful, that is, save for the occasional annoying car that would illegally swerve around the pedestrian-only streets. Yes, I know it is too early for the tourists to invade them, but if they wanted to drive on the `sidewalks', shouldn't they at least do so slowly or be remotely courteous to the few of us that are on foot like we should be?![52]

We managed to arrive at the station in one piece, however, and had barely settled into our train when it started to leave. Wow, Italian trains on time? Yes, it left at exactly 6:01 bound for Genoa, just as planned. Maybe this Travel Day from Hell really would run smoothly at least! We napped in the very empty train car, eventually breaking out the breakfast packed for us. Wow, how nice! Croissants, jam, crackers, meat, even two cans of coke!...a bigger breakfast than we would have had at the hotel. M. Barbieri must have really liked us!

Three hours or so later we saw the Genoa train stop and got off. Knowing our next train wasn't due to leave for 52 minutes, we weren't in a big rush, but figured it would be smart to check where the track would be for our 10:20 train to Ventigmilia would be. Hmm, this is strange. There is no train at that time. Here's one at 10:18 and one at 10:24, but neither go to Ventigmilia. What's going on here? We waited in the ticket line at the station and luckily found somebody who spoke English. "You are in the wrong station" he qualified, and I suddenly realized that there was a "PP" written after "Genoa" on the piece of paper the train information man gave us[53]. Genoa has more than one train station?! I then panickedly prompted him for a way to get to that station in time for our train in...45 minutes!?! "The bus" he replied. Just our luck to screw up in a city with no subway system.

So we went to the station's newspaper stand and bought two bus tickets for L3000 a piece ($2/each!) and waited outside for the bus. "Principali?" I inquired to the driver, which was the name of Genoa's main train station (thus the "PP"). He nodded and we got on, sitting in that overcrowded bus for what seemed like forever...until I noticed us pass what looked like the bus stop for the station we wanted. "Scusi, Principali?" I raised my eyebrows at a woman as I pointed my finger outside the bus, and she muttered something that made me sure that we had indeed missed the stop. But I knew we could get off on the next one......anytime now....it's sure to come up.....c'mon, stop already!

Even with having to walk those extra 5 blocks or so, we still somehow made it to the station with some 20 minutes to go before our train. Since I was planning on using up the last of our Italian Lira in Genoa[54], Doug watched over the bags in the station while I went outside to a film shop to buy some film[55]. Like I said before, you get pretty creative with communication when you don't know the language. I dashed into the shop, said "Per Favore" and pointed to my camera. When he still looked confused, I drew attention to the little window on it that showed the type of film and exposure. He lit up and gestured to where the right kind of film was. Knowing just a little Spanish, I asked "Cuanto", and it was close enough. He said the numbers slow enough for me to understand, but just to be sure, I gave him my notebook and pantomimed writing. You'd be surprised how far you can get with stuff like this if you are willing to look a little silly and are polite about it! I ended up with two rolls of Kodak 36-exp. for L8500 (~$5.50 total...not bad at all, and surely half the price of what it would have been in a English-speaking tourist booth!)[56].

Doug is less than pleased at Italian disorganization and incompetence

We got to the Ventigmilia station at 13:20, knowing our next train would leave at 13:23! With rain pounding on our heads, we raced off the train to the billboard with track assignments...only to find that there was nothing there but stupid advertisements! So we flew down the stairs into the tunnel and finally found a schedule, then sprinted toward the specific track and came out from the tunnel....just to see it leave! What, they couldn't have waited for 30 seconds?!?! I screamed at the train, but on it went, and it wasn't long before we noticed a large group of people coming out of the tunnel after us. Look at how many people were counting on that connection, and the French train just plain left without us all. Why didn't the Italian train warn them of their dilemma like all the other countries did!?! Because this was Italy, that's why!

Defeated and furious, our group of forsaken travelers progressed to the train information booth of this backwards and insignificant town, only to find that the attendant there was completely clueless[58]. The posted billboard schedule said that there was a 14:48 train due, but the giant switchboard said the next wasn't until 15:25, and the attendant wouldn't or couldn't tell us why. And of course it was ridiculous of us to think he'd actually be able to tell us how to go on to Arles now that our Nice connection was completely blown. Oh well. At least he handed me a schedule from which I could try to figure it out on my own. How do you like that....that 14:20 connection to Nice would have been impossible anyway, since that train we just missed wasn't due there until 14:25. So much for the knowledgeable advice from the expert back in Florence!

Now we were left stuck in this hick station with no money for 2 hours because of 30 measly seconds. Luckily for us we chatted with a very interesting young woman from Boston who had been living in Italy for several months now; originally she was shaping pottery but she ended up sculpting Venetian masks and painting murals. What a carefree life she must lead, although it must be pretty lonely, too, because she stuck to us like glue. We also met an Englishman traveling with his dog--you figure that one out. Our train eventually came and we gleefully hopped on--it was second class only, though, so we were subject to listening to a Keanu Reeves faker play horrible guitar and ask for donations[59]. At least we got to see some of the French and Italian Riviera[60]!

We barely made the 16:10 train that luckily would go all the way to Arles, retreating to the smoking department to play our 369th game of rummy in avoidance of the perpetually snorting guy[61]. It arrived in Arles after 7 pm--fourteen hours later than we started...and it was dark again! Anxious to get off the frickin' trains, we weren't careful enough to check our luggage compartment and my $100 prescription sunglasses decided to travel on without me. Major bummer, and what a fitting close to such a trying day, huh?

Unable to find an open Tabac (Tobacco shop) in this small town that would sell us a phone card, we decided to just walk directly to our first (and closest) choice listed and pray they had a room. We walked into the Hôtel Régence...to find a man and woman brighten up and give us the warmest greeting we'd ever seen as we walked in the door. With their arms outstretched as they began babbling off tons of French, they walked right up to us and shook our hands...as if they were expecting us! Did we send them a psychic message alerting them of our arrival or something? Yes, they indeed had a room open, and we could get one with a shower, phone, and WC in it...for $40/night?!? Less than half of last night's? Oh man, we needed this!

The owners of the hotel knew only French, and though Doug had of course studied lots of French in high school and college and lived in Metz, France for two months back in 1993, he hadn't used his French since and was still a little shy about using it. Luckily their daughter spoke wonderful English, so we were able to straighten out the details with her. We asked her where a good place to eat would be[62], and she had suggested a place down the street. We risked it, and though it wasn't dirt cheap, it was a very pleasant, bonafide French experience. Doug ordered the menu du jour at 69F (almost $14) and me a set entree for about $11, but we learned that the menu du jour is by far the better deal if you find anything you like. I got merely a pork entree, whereas Doug got an entree plus a shellfish salad and a dessert known as `floating island' which was some custard thing in a chocolate sauce...man, that thing alone was worth $14! One of the only meals we had with actual tablecloths on the tables, we lived it up[63]. Doug sipped at his 1/4 liter of wine for $2 (in a fancy restaurant such as this, the wine was still so cheap?) and me at my 1/8 liter coke for $4 ...where was the justice in that[64]? Well, at least Doug was getting braver with his French. We sure were going to need it in this totally different country!