Have you heard the one about 3 Americans, 2 Italian Train Stations, 1 Door, and the Angel?

So remember that time I told you I would tell you a story about these people?

and then didn't?

Here it is, finally. It's long. Sorry.

Once upon a time in a land not far from me called Italy...

I had visited my friend in Milan for the afternoon (old news) and ran to catch a train back to the Lake Como area where I was staying.

Here is what you should know about Lake Como: there are many many towns surrounding the lake itself. Pretty much only two have train stations, the one in Como proper being the bigger of the two. The other station is in a town called Varenna. "Station" might actually be a little too strong of a word for the train situation in Varenna. In fact, buying tickets is not something you can even do at that "station". You have to go down the street and around the corner to the travel agency (that you pray is open) to buy tickets and then make your way back to the tracks to stamp said ticket in a yellow box before hopping on a train that seems almost inconvenienced by stopping in such a small place overrun with tourists. 

Anyways, enough description of the train station.

So on my way home from Milan I ended up sitting next to a very nice older couple from the States. They were staying in Como for two weeks (I think...it's been a while now, details are fuzzy) making day trips and short overnight excursions to nearby cities in Italy. They were lovely. I know a lot of people my age wouldn't necessarily enjoy chatting up a retired American couple on an Italian train but I did. I like talking to people older than me sometimes more than people my own age. I think it has to do with the fact that they have stockpiles of cool stories and usually curse less than people in my peer age group. That is neither here nor there. Back to the story...

So after two separate hour long delays (Thank you, TrenItalia) on a normally semi-short trip from Milano to Varenna we got to know each other pretty well. I heard stories about their children and their lives which were really cool. For instance, one of their daughters used to be one of the few hand-picked flight attendants to the royal family of Saudi Arabia and lived years of extravagance flying all over the world, staying in the world's nicest hotels, eating the best food, being financially taken care of by the King, and meeting all kinds of people. Once the women of the royal family even treated the girls to a week at the spa and then had private designers make them gorgeous outfits just for them. Which I cannot lie, reminded me of Real Housewives when they went to Morocco. Now she works as a flight attendant for a private company and works very little and gets paid very well. 

We talked about everything you can imagine and they kept saying how proud my parents must be to have a daughter like me. They said how much getting out of the country and really living while you are young is the best investment you can make. Sufficient to say, when people have cool stories, clearly like traveling, and give self-esteem boosting compliments...I think the world of them.


The drawback to having such great conversation on an Italian train is that you stop paying attention to every stop. However, I knew the order of the stops by reversing them in my head from the trip into Milan earlier that day. Therefore I knew when we were getting close. 


When it came time for our stop, we got up and made our way to the door. I tried to open it. 


Nothing.


I pulled even harder...beginning to think I was just a weakling that needs bigger biceps for train travel efficiency. 


Still no.


Panic.


A guy is yelling at us in Italian from the seats pointing to the next car's door. We try to run to the next door as the train takes off again.


I don't know what to do and am mainly confused as to why the door wouldn't open. I later learned that some Italian trains have doors that don't open. How great is that?!?! No sign. I have traveled many times on Italian trains and have never had this problem. Bizarre. So FYI, the red handles on train doors that look identical to the blue or white ones in the other cars DO. NOT. OPEN. 

Something like this would have helped!

This was a problem for several reasons.
1. We didn't know how far it was to the next stop.
2. All I knew of the next stop was that it was in an even smaller town with no ticketing office or machine open and nothing available at that time of night on a Saturday.
3. The last ferry for the night that we were supposed to catch in Varenna would be leaving at 20:30 (8:30 p.m) and it was currently 19:50 (7:50 p.m.).
4. Almost no one on the train spoke English and sadly my Italiano is pretty much limited to niceties (Scusi, prego, per favore) and food related words pronounced much like Giada de Laurentiis taught me to.

I began to do the only thing I could think of...to find the conductor and ask him/her what to do. 


I left the American couple by the second door and ran to go find someone, mainly to figure out how to buy a ticket going the other way without someone thinking we were schwarzfahr-ing, as the English assistants in Austria like to say. 


However, about the time that I am about 5 or six cars from them the train comes to a stop at the next station. Crap!


I ran like the wind back to them just in time. We all decided to get off the train.


While I was running through train cars like an idiot, the American couple were panicking to a nice Italian lady about our situation. She said there was another train coming in the other direction but she wasn't sure we could make it due to the delays of our train. 


She was right. At that exact moment, we watched a train pull into the track opposite of us and pull away. We were then told that was the last train of the night. NO MORE. Until 6 am. No taxis to be found. Nothing, nichts, nada.


The nice Italian lady took pity on us though and told us in broken English to follow her. So we did.


She greeted her husband and I gather from listening to their conversation with my extremely limited Italian knowledge but good language ear/lots of cognates that we were three lost Americans who needed a lift.


Which, they provided all the way back to Varenna. Right to the ferry docks. They wouldn't take any compensation and gave us hugs and kisses on the cheeks telling us they were happy they could help. This reinforced a fact I have always believed. There are good people everywhere. Every time I travel, I learn this more and more. 


Thanks to our angel's super fast driving in a sweet Italian auto, we were even early for the last ferry and got a chance to stand around a very chilly Varenna at night and chat a bit more with my new friends, John and Liz. 


John even insisted, like a good grandpa would, that I wear his coat because I was shivering in my little sweatshirt.


We even had enough time to get a photo and swap contact info before taking the ferry across the lake back to Menaggio, where we all were staying. 


I like that a lot of times travel confusion leads to new friendships. 


John and Liz names get added to the long list of awesome people I have met traveling the rails of Europe. Their names have also been added to the list of people who are getting periodic postcards from me during my travels.