I'm going to try to keep this post short, because the beach is calling my name, and after weeks of sub-par "Spring" weather here in Cádiz (including thunder/hail/torrential rains) I'm so ready to answer that call.
So picking up where I left off, Becca and I took a train to Florence on Tuesday, arrived that evening prepared with detailed directions to our hostel. Once outside of the Florence train station, we found our stop and followed the locals and other tourists onto the bus, route 17.
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| Not my photo, just for illustrative purposes. A Florence bus. |
We noticed no one was showing any tickets, paying the bus driver, or even swiping any kind of pass. The bus driver had his iPod headphones in and didn't appear to be checking or selling tickets, so we just took a seat, wondering what we were supposed to do--maybe it was a ride-free zone, pay-as-you-leave? Folks, before I continue, the moral of this story is when in doubt, ask someone.
About ten minutes into the ride, an inspector came on the bus and asked for our ticket. We explained that we didn't have any because we didn't know how to buy them, and took out a few euro, expecting to just pay for the ticket then. Well, as we were informed, that's not the way things work in Italy. At some point, Becca said, "Sorry, we didn't know."
And this dude goes, "In Italy, we don't have sorry, we have you pay the fine."
I just looked at this guy like, really dude? Is it necessary to be a dick about it? Obviously we're coming from the train station, with our huge backpacks on, honestly unsure of how to pay and not trying to just get a free ride on your bus system. But fine, so I say, "Ok, how much is the fine?"
"Fifty. Each."
Fifty euro. Each. Mierda.
Thankfully, we both had the cash to pay the fine right there, I don't want to think about what would have happened if we didn't have the money on us. On the other hand, I then had 40 euro in cash left for four more days in Italy, where everything costs twice what it should.
I could feel my blood temperature steadily rising. I knew that nothing I said would change anything, so I just clenched my jaw and took a few deep breaths, really deep breaths. As the inspector was writing our receipts (I refuse to call it a ticket) I told him, "Look, I know it doesn't matter at this point but just so you know, we honestly didn't know how to pay. We just got off the train and we've never ridden the bus here."
He didn't respond, but I know he understood. It took SO much effort to bite my tongue and not make some smart-ass sarcastic remark as he walked away. But in my head I was like, "Hey buddy, thanks for the warm welcome to Florence, see ya around!" "Got any more insider tips about how things work in Italy?" "Hope you made your ticket quota today!" Safe to say there were more than a few colorful adjectives thrown in there, too.
So yeah, that one stung, and I was close to crying when we got off the bus. But I just had this moment like, "You know, there are plenty of things worth crying about, but I'm not going to let this be one of them. It's just not worth it for me."
So that incident kind of soured our arrival to Florence. I messaged my mom and her response was perfect (don't moms always know what to say?) "Mean people suck, in any country."
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| Word. |
I understand that there are rules, and when you break the rules there are consequences, and sometimes those consequences are expensive. Like, really expensive. But what I don't understand is being a jerk about it. I'm a firm believer in the fact that it's not that hard to be nice to people, it's just not.
So the lessons here are: Ask questions. Always bring extra cash. Be nice. And if you've had a pretty crappy day, then a giant calzone, some red wine, and gelato are definitely necessities.
Part III coming soon... ¡hasta entonces!
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