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April 7, 2006

A little help from some strangers

We all thought that the New York City public transportation strikes were bad - but in Italy, strikes are just a normal thing. I can't even count the number of times I have stood, waiting at a bus stop for 20 minutes before someone would pass and casually mention that there were no busses running on that line that day. Those of us waiting would exchange looks, and a heated conversation would start about what a hassle these strikes are. The conversation would usually last longer than it would take to walk to the desired destination. That's the thing with Italians, they can always get a good conversation out of a bad situation.

Sure enough, last Wednesday I found myself waiting for one of the trains that run from Rome's center to the far outskirts of the city. I had been teaching English lessons all morning and was on my way back to school. After about 15 minutes and no sign of the train, a young woman in heeled shoes, clicking and echoing in the empty station, walked up to me.

"How long have you been waiting?" she asked me in Italian.

"About 15 minutes. None have passed," I responded.

She waved a newspaper in my face. "No trains, there's a strike. Are you a foreigner?"

"Yes."

"Where do you need to go?"

"Trastevere. Do you know of a bus that I can take?"

"Come with me." With that she put her hand on my back and pushed me along with her out of the station. As we approached the street, she began to yell in thick dialect. "A-oh, Francesco! What bus goes to Trastevere?" It wasn't until after that I realized she was shouting across the street to an old shoemaker, sitting outside and getting some sun.

"Take the 990 to the center. Ask the bus driver what to do from there," the old man yelled back, puffing on his cigar. The woman escorted me to a bus stop. She mused over the newspaper for a moment, informing me that not all public transportation was on strike, just the trains.

A bus pulled up to the curb and we got on. The woman marched right up to the front and confronted the bus-driver about where I should transfer to get to Trastevere.

"Stay on until St. Peter's - then take the 23 to the 8 tram," he informed me, paying more attention to act out his directions with his hands than drive the bus.

"No, no," an older woman interjected from the front seat. "Go to Piazza Cavour then take the ...oh, what is it?" She turned around in her seat and shouted to the back of the bus: "A-oh, Renato! What's that bus that goes from Cavour to Argentina?"

"The 40," a voice called back.

"Yes, the 40," the first woman confirmed.

"Not the 40!" another woman shrieked. "Take the 30."

"No, she should go ahead and take the 23," yet another man said, waving his cane.

"Yes, the 23," the bus-driver agreed.

"But the 40 is much easier - and goes right to the tramline," the first woman argued.

"What are you saying?! It's the 30!" the second woman snapped.

"I don't know of any 30," the first woman said haughtily.

"Never mind the 30 or 40." The man with the cane winked at me, "Listen to the driver, not these birds. Take the 23."

"Why didn't she take the train?" someone else asked.

"There's a strike," the young woman explained.

"Oh, what for?" the voice in back called. "Just to give us a hard time?"

"Last week I waited 45 minutes before I heard there was a strike," the second woman informed all of us.

"What line?" the first woman inquired.

"The 40," she replied.

"Do you mean the 30?" Just then, the bus screeched to a halt and the doors opened.

My original guide pushed me out. "Wait here for the 23. I'm headed in the other direction." The doors closed before I had the chance to thank her. I stumbled up on the sidewalk, out of the sea of Roman traffic and waved my bus-full of friends goodbye.

Posted by Kelsea  at 6:44 AM | Permalink

Comments

Posted by: Beverly at April 8, 2006 9:04 PM

Posted by: Joey Brunelle at April 10, 2006 5:07 AM

Posted by: Cherisse at April 28, 2006 6:20 PM