How One Euro Can Win You Over

POSTCARDS FROM ITALY - STILL IN ROMA TERMINI (Well I was stuck there for 3 hours)

Here’s another piece of advice to potential travelers to Italy from outside the Eurozone. You want to change some money into Euros as fast as you can. Here's why.

After following rest-room signs half-way across the station, up an elevator, through the main section of a crowded restaurant and around a corner I finally found myself in front of…a ladies’ rest-room sign. There were a couple of other confused men standing there. On a hunch I lugged my bags around another corner and lo…there it was…the men’s rest-room sign. Before I could dash in, however, I was stopped by a lady sitting outside. Apparently you had to cough up 70 euro cents to use the rest-room. And not having changed my money yet I was only able to cough up green-backs. She wasn’t very impressed. I didn't blame her. After all a dollar is about five cents less than 70 Euro cents today...and thats without counting the commission that a currency exchange company would charge her.

But, I really had to go. I mean really. It was a bad situation. Let me give you an analogy to help you understand how bad it was. It was like crawling miles across the Sahara to an oasis, dragging three pieces of luggage, throat parched with thirst, oilskin bottles all having run out of water three days before. And when you finally got to the oasis, you found that the pool had been drained of all its water, that had then been packaged into prettily labeled plastic bottles being retailed by the local Bedouin tribe for 70 Euro cents. And thats when you realized that you only had deeply depreciated dollars in your pocket. It was exactly like that…except with the liquid flows reversed. You get the picture, don't you?

Back to the problem of the gated rest-room. I repeated my question about whether a dollar note would do, in the hope that asking again might magically change the answer. But the woman had already started talking to the next customer. It looked like I’d have to trudge back down with my luggage to find an ATM. At that moment I felt a visceral hatred towards my bags. I wanted someone to rid me of them. Just take them away…Oh and maybe give me 70 Euro cents? I just didn't think I could successfully hunt down an ATM and get back without an embarrassing mishap.

It was at that point that I came to another in my series of idle in-transit generalizations about Italy…specifically about Italian commuters. It goes thus: Italian commuters are a generous angelic group of people, blessed by the grace of the almighty (if there be one).

My epiphany happened because I heard the guy, who'd been behind me in the queue, say “Here’s another Euro for this gentleman.” This Farishta (or "angel" for the non-South Asian readers, if there be any) had obviously seen the dismay on my face and perhaps having sensed my pent-up "stress", decided to do his good deed for the day. The lady at the door let me in with a rather sour expression - no doubt annoyed at having played even a small part in delivering customer-delight. I had this resistible urge to go down to the Illy cafe stall and apply for a waiter's position, just so I would have a chance, some day, to do nasty things to her cappuccino before serving it to her.

However I had more pressing issues to deal with. Five minutes later – yeah I told you it was like being without water for three days except just the reverse – I walked out lighter in body and spirit and wearing rose-tinted glasses vis-a-vis Roman commuters, that stayed on for the rest of the hiatus at Roma Termini. Those rose-tinted lens made everyone at the station look great...except the lady outside the rest-room.

But you kind of guessed that already didn't you?

Minor Adventures in Roma Termini

POSTCARDS FROM ITALY

Recently, over Arabic mint tea (love it) and miniature feta cheese pies, I got into a debate over whether it makes sense for me to send postcards while I’m in Italy. I mean really. Who writes post-cards anymore? I never wrote or sent post-cards or other forms of snail mail even when it wasn’t considered slow. So to me its really is an almost alien thing to do. But its important for certain people that I care about. And so, here goes, a virtual post-card all the way from Italy…If I can get myself to sit down again, I might write some more…and might post a couple more.

A large part of my first day in Italy was spent in Rome’s main railway station – Roma Termini. Not exactly a tourist hot-spot. But a good place to observe a slice of daily Italian life and make sweeping generalizations (always a great way of passing in-transit hours, by the way).

I liked what I saw of Italy in Roma Termini. It seems like a fun, quixotic place...can be exasperating if you're in a hurry to get anything done...but if you have all the time in the world then you'll probably be happy to get swept up in its first world chaos.

I was able to pick up a few rules of engagement quite quickly. For example, no customer service query can be resolved without the person actively engaging at least three of his/her colleagues in voluble conversation first. Unless of course, the answer is a no. In which case it is delivered without hesitation or explanation…leaving very little room for negotiation or question. As in,

Passenger: “Can I leave by an earlier train so I can stop lugging three pieces of luggage across the length and breadth of the station, causing multiple near-accidents, sending my shoulders on their way to untimely dislocations and spending my money on intestine corroding coffee; given that the trains seem to leave every 15 minutes and are half-empty anyway?”

Ticketing attendant: “No.”

Passenger: “Oh OK. By the way could you tell me how much a new ticket to Florence would cost.”

Ticketing Attendant: “For sure. Let me just interrupt my bella colleagues over there who’re serving other customers, and confer with them to make sure I don’t give you the wrong price. And while I’m at it I’ll also find out for you how you could go about making mortadella cheese at home, just in case you’re interested.”

The conversation didn’t quite go like that – but it very well could have. Like I said, Italy can be great fun – if you’re on vacation. Which brings me to Rule Number One –

Go to Italy - if going on vacation. And if you go on a business trip, Don't!. Or at least, pack an extra set of worry beads.

Reading Escalators

I have a theory. One that I’ve validated by my time-tested method of making sweeping generalizations based on anecdotal data and unscientific sample sizes. That method was last used with great effectiveness with my theory on tattoos and marrying men.

I think that you can tell the pace of life in a city or country from the speed of their escalators. The most reliable predictors are escalators in the public transport network – the ones in airports and railway stations. In department stores and corporate buildings, escalator speeds can be influenced by the organization’s dynamism and therefore create noise in the sample set. I take special note of the escalator speeds every time I go to a new city. Come to think of it, it might even be verging on a scientific sample size by now. Because thanks to my itinerant work I’ve been able to build up quite a large set of data points.

In New York the escalators move at speeds that would get you speeding tickets in Billings, Montana (Full disclosure – I’ve never been to Montana so I could be wrong about this). In Paris, they move at a leisurely pace meant to ensure lovers - or even plain strangers who’ve just bumped into each other - get at least a few minutes of passionate kissing in, before its time to walk again. In London, if they work, it’s a brisk professional pace much as it is in Bombay, though both are slower than NYC’s. Escalators are zippy in Taipei and in Tokyo and slow down in balmy Barcelona.

In Rome, where I got my latest proof-point, it was clear from the escalators at the airport, that this is a country that likes its siesta. Jet-lagged and exhausted by your 24 hour multiple-stop trip? Exhausted by a late night spent partying? Hell, just clamber aboard an escalator in Rome and get a power nap while it oozes – umm rolls - towards its destination. I'm pretty sure the cartoon on the left was thought up by a manic depressive denizen of Rome.

OK, I exaggerate. Escalators in Rome will get you to where you need to go in a shorter time than walking. Just about. But hey, whats the hurry – Take time to smell the flowers. Or, if you’re on an escalator in the airport, to read the billboards slowly sliding by. Who knows they might actually tell you something useful.

No such luck in Rome though. The billboards spaces were all blank.

So I read a book instead.

PS: It’s the latest piece of non-fiction by Tom Brokaw – called Boom! – about the sixties. Its Pretty Darn Good.