“Buona sera, grazie mille,” I thanked the cab driver as I quickly exited the trusty taxi that had just dropped us at the Siena train station. It was a few minutes past nine (21:00, that is) and our six-person gruppo needed to catch the 21:18 if we were going to make it home that night. Thankfully we made it with a few minutes to spare, and soon we were taking our seats on Saturday’s last Florence-bound train. A sense of relief flooded over the six of us, thankful to be on our way back to Firenze where we could catch a connecting train home. After a week’s stay in Florence, we had spent the day in Siena exploring the beautiful Tuscan hill town, but we had no intention of spending that night anywhere but our apartments back in Rome. With a heavy load of schoolwork to be done by Monday and empty pockets from a week of Florentine leather market perusing, we felt a sense of comfort knowing that in a few hours we’d finally be back in the Eternal City.
Our train rolled into Florence’s Santa Maria Novella Station just before eleven and we gathered at the end of the platform as Katie, a member of our gruppo, went to double-check departure times. Earlier that day I had jotted down a couple of the latest trains we could take that night, but we hadn’t bought tickets yet because we weren’t sure exactly when we would be back from Siena. A few minutes later, Katie returned with a clearly distressed look. She sighed as she told us, “Guys…the next train isn’t until 6:30 tomorrow morning.” We stared back at her with gaping mouths, shocked that neither of the trains we were counting on would be taking us back to Rome tonight. What in the name of Medici were we going to do?
After a few minutes of evaluating the situation, we decided to make absolutely certain that no train would be leaving for Rome before 6am. One of the few workers still at the station informed us that no, we were out of luck at Santa Maria Novella, but there were night trains running at Campo di Marte, the smaller station across town. The six of us quickly decided that this was our chance, and hastily hailed a cab to the other station. As our taxi sped across Firenze, we waved goodbye to the Duomo and the Florentine facades we had grown to love that week, but were ready to leave.
We pulled up to Campo di Marte, crossing our fingers for a night train to Roma, and sprinted into the station. Our hopes were crushed, however, as we scanned the departure times – the next train home wasn’t until after 7am. Forlornly, we dragged our feet along the platform with no real destination before hearing “Ciao! Ciao!” Having grown accustomed to Italian catcalls, we ignored the greeting until we realized it was coming from two formidably attired carabinieri who sternly demanded our passports. We waited nervously as the carabinieri read our information into their radios. I’m sure the same thought was running through all of our heads: paying for a hotel room would have been better than spending the night in a Firenze jail cell!
Thankfully, our passports were returned to us with only a few questions about our travel plans, and when the carabinieri learned that we were trying to get back to Rome that night, they pointed to a train a few platforms over and told us that it was about to leave for Roma. Frantically the six of us raced over to the train, limbs flailing and luggage dragging in a desperate attempt to make it home. We had just barely arrived when the conductor at the other platform corrected us – this train was going to Naples, not Rome. Thoroughly discouraged and now out of breath, we had to accept our fate. We weren’t making it out of Florence that night.
We stepped out onto the freezing, empty street and gazed around at the quiet store fronts, all boarded up for the night. With no other option, we chose to do the American thing – settle into one of Italy’s many McDonald’s. Open until 4am, this fast food establishment served as our warm haven until we made our decision. Should we pay for a few measly hours in a hotel or tough it out in the cold until the 6:30 train? As the sole male member of group, Ryan volunteered to venture out and see what he could find out about a cheap place to stay. Soon he returned with an offer we found hard to turn down – a nearby hostel for 22.50 euro per person. Defeated and exhausted, we gave in. It was almost 2am and we weren’t getting home to Roma, no matter how badly we wanted to or how hard we tried.
Though it cost us a collective 135 euro, we made the right choice. The hostel was clean, safe, and more comfortable than I expected, plus it gave us something that resembled a full night’s sleep. The next morning, we caught a 9:00 train and finally stumbled into our apartments around noon, drained and weary, but exhilarated from a night spent unlike any other before.
Writing response:
From writing this story, the most apparent thing I learned was how to cut out unnecessary details. I’ve realized I put in extra words and extra sentences, which is good when writing a really descriptive piece but when I’m trying to convey a message, sometimes it gets muddled. I would have liked to write this longer and include more thoughts and details of what happened because we had such a crazy night, but I think that this length showed the events and still conveyed the emotions we felt.
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