Our plan is
to take the 5:50 p.m. train from Pisa to Lucca
We
eventually continue moving, and arrive at the Lucca
“No train to Minucciano,” he says.
“Yes. There was a 7:40 train on the schedule,” I say.
He looks at his watch. “It’s 8 o’clock.”
“Yes, I know,” I say, “But we’ve been here since before 7:30 and the train schedule says it was supposed to come at 7:40 p.m.
“Yes. There was a 7:40 train on the schedule,” I say.
He looks at his watch. “It’s 8 o’clock.”
“Yes, I know,” I say, “But we’ve been here since before 7:30 and the train schedule says it was supposed to come at 7:40 p.m.
“No,” he
says. “No train to Minucciano.”
I am perplexed. “But it’s written on the
schedule. Am I reading the schedule wrong?” I ask.
“No. Times are different
today. Day before a holiday.”
The day BEFORE a holiday? “We need to get to
Minucciano tonight,” I repeat. “What are our options?” He has a “not my
problem” look in his eye. He sighs and types something into the computer. “You
could go to Piazza al Serchi,” he says. “That’s the station before Minucciano.”
(We know enough by now to know this is a far different situation than being
dropped off one bus stop early).
“Could we get a taxi to Minucciano from
there?” I ask. He shrugs, which I translate to “I don’t know and/or I don’t
care.” (I find out a few minutes later that I was standing between him and the
end of his shift. I was not registering on his priority list). “Grazie,” I say,
although I’m not sure why.
I go
outside and break the news to Judith, who is as dumbfounded as I that the train
schedule has changed because it’s the day BEFORE a holiday and there is no
indication on the schedule of any such change. I see a conductor getting off a
train, presumably at the end of his shift. “Scuzi, parla inglese?” He smiles
and holds his thumb and index finger a few centimeters apart. “A little bit,”
he says. “Speak slowly.” I explain our predicament and he calls one of his
colleagues over. They tell us the train station at Piazza al Serchi will drop
us too far to walk (a conclusion we’d already reached, but helpful to have it
confirmed) and taxis will be too expensive. Our best bet will be to stay in Lucca
By this
time, it’s after 8:30, so we begin looking for a hotel. We consult Rick Steves’
book and choose a bed and breakfast that looks promising. We take out Judith’s
cell phone to call the number, only to find the battery is almost drained. We
start walking. When we arrive at the B&B, the door is locked. We ring the
bell, but no answer. We try a few more times, but no luck. There’s nothing for
it but to keep walking. It’s dark and we’re not entirely sure where to go (we
decide to try to find one of Rick’s other recommendations).
And then we see it,
“Hotel Ilario.” We stop in at the front desk and are greeted with the beautiful
smile of a 30-something English-speaking angel.
We ask him if they have any
double rooms. “We have one room with a double bed,” he says. “How much?” we
ask. “One hundred and nine Euros, including breakfast and free wifi,” he says.
“We’ll take it,” we say, figuring sharing a double bed is far better than
sharing a park bench (to our delight, the bed ends up being a king size).
In the
morning, we take advantage of the breakfast (on a beautiful sunny terrace),
where I savour two café lattes, eggs, bacon, fruit, bread and cheese.
We check out after breakfast. Our friend at the front desk is still working. We thank him
profusely and I ask to take his picture. “Of course,” he says. “And if you
enjoyed your stay, please go to Trip Advisor and write a review.” We agree that
we will. “Five dots,”he says. “If you’re only going to give it four dots, don’t bother,”
he jokes. “Five dots it is,” we say, and will be happy to oblige.
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