Language!

Language! In most of the places I visited, there was no problem with language. Many people spoke English, that is, if you stayed in a city. On the outskirts of large populated areas, at that time, not so much. I was sure almost everyone spoke some English, but they refused to. I noticed that they would speak to other foreigners in Italian, Spanish, and some languages I couldn’t identify. It gave me an idea. Wherever I went in Europe, I would ask in Spanish if they spoke Spanish. Some could, others not. Then I would ask in a Spanish accent if they spoke English. It worked like a charm. At that time, before my semester in Spain, my Spanish was far from great. I improved greatly while I was there. Perhaps the reason for that was that I was always speaking to people. I was supposed to be at the University, in class. I did start off that way, but when I entered the classroom that first time, the assignment was for the same book I had just finished working on at home! Boring. I also realized that I could sit in class and speak fairly well, but I was flustered on the street asking for directions or looking for a restroom.

I fell in love with traveling. A few hours in any direction would expose you to completely different worlds, from the terrain, the dress, the language and the foods.

I took the train south from Sweden. My next stop, and as it turned out I was alone, in Milan Italy.

Unlike all the other places I had stayed at, whether hotel, hostel, dorm, etc., this hotel was gorgeous. I had a deluxe room, and it felt as if I was in a palace. It was only for two nights, but I could have stayed for a month in those accommodations. I fell in love with Milan or Milano. Everything from the opera house to the fresco of The Last Supper. The food was another revelation. I had no choice, once again, to enter a restaurant by myself, and I had progressed to being able to do so without too much anxiety. Everything was beautiful and delicious. While staying there, my boyfriend from home called me. He was coming to visit! He would be arriving in Spain the day after I arrived. I was checked into a hotel in Madrid, but where would he stay? We were in for a little culture shock.

He had told my parents that he was coming to see me. My mother thought I was part of the plan. Honestly, I was as surprised as she was, but I was pleased! My problem was how I would navigate the two friends and my boyfriend together. I had several weeks to work on a plan.

I had a whirlwind adventure in Italy. After Milan, nothing worked out the way I thought it would.

My plan was to travel east from Milan to Venice. From Venice, Southwest to Florence, South to Rome then to Naples.

After these cities, I would take the big train ride back to Milan, but only to transfer trains to cut across to Southern France and continue Southwest to Madrid.

In those days, people carried Travelers checks. You would have allotted amounts of money dropped off at different American Express Offices for you to claim when you got there. The purpose was to resupply your cash without the burden of carrying too much money at any one time. You could easily exchange Traveler’s Checks for the local currency or use the check alone if the purchase was large enough.

I had restocked my cash supply in several places along the way. The next infusion of cash would be waiting for me in Rome.

Venice lived up to all the hype I had ever read about it. I was there for four days and in the company of many of my school mates. I had my own room. It was the one time we all hung out together. It was pleasant and everyone seemed to tolerate everyone else. On the second evening there, we decided to go to dinner together. We had a recommendation of a restaurant that was within walking distance of our hotel. There was no air conditioning in the hotel, and it was hot and muggy. There wasn’t even a fan in the rooms. Most of us didn’t have air conditioning at home either. The hotel windows opened, but we learned that hoards of mosquitos would be your evening and nightime guests. Some learned the hard way. We had returned from wherever we spent the day and came back to the hotel to shower and change.

We decided on a time to meet downstairs in the hotel lobby.

I got there first. The lobby was stifling. I walked outside and stood against the wall . With a few minutes a sailor approached me. He was wearing a uniform I didn’t recognize at all. He was definitely African and I remember saying to myself, that I had never seen anyone that dark. Before you jump to any conclusions, I grew up with Black people. This was just an observation, like saying, Oh, she’s so blonde.

He walked right over to me, asked me in very British sounding English if I had the time. Ok, no problem, I looked at my watch and told him the time. He stood there, a little puzzled, and asked if I was Italian. I laughed and told him I was American. He continued to stand there and finally he said, “Oh I understand, you won’t go upstairs with me because I am black, or negro or whatever word he used. I was floored! I didn’t understand. It dawned on me that he thought I was a hooker. I laughed a little and told him I was a tourist waiting for my friends to go for dinner and the lobby was so warm I was waiting outside.

He didn’t believe me. He muttered something under his breath and walked away. Two others in my group came out as he was stomping away and asked me what happened. I told them, and they exchanged looks. “Sure,” one of them said, “he just came right over to you? You’re sure you didn’t encourage him?”

“Really,” I replied, “ yeah I was going to have a little quickie and then run downstairs to meet you. Where did this come from?”

The rest of the girls finally came down the stairs and as we were walking to the restaurant, the encounter with the sailor started to be whispered through the group. They were pathetic. We sat down to dinner and the gossip mill quieted down. I’m not sure they accepted the true story but it was revived when that very same sailor came by our table and apologized to me. He was watching and figured that I truly was a tourist. He said no more and left.

They knew what the saw and heard, they knew what happened in Stockholm, they obviously they knew about the zipper on the boat. I think they were jealous. I never told them about the Columbians, or the American fleet, yet they always thought I was doing something to get men to come over to me.

The weather started to be questionable. It was cooler than expected, and rainy. I was glad for the cooler temperature, but everything looked gloomy.

From Venice I traveled with the girls to Florence. We checked into the pension we had reserved. The four buddies were in one huge room, and I had a room to myself. The pension was filled with college kids from all over. I liked the eclectic atmosphere. Four days to play in Florence. What a great city but the weather was awful. For two days it rained on and off with an occasional peak of sun. I recall going to the same sights they did, but to an outsider no one would guess we were a group of 5. The morning after we arrived we all went to the bank to transfer some travelers checks into cash. The bank was busy and instead of one line, we split up into 3. I of course was alone on my line. It didn’t take too long and I was facing the teller who was a young guy, and adorable. He had blonde hair and blue eyes and definitely did not look Italian to me. I guess the thing I noticed about him was his aura. He absolutely glowed. He took my checks, and my passport and laughed at my last name. He showed me the identification he wore and our last names were one letter apart. He spoke English well, and started calling me cousin. He gave me the money I wanted , smiled and told me to have a nice day. That was that. At the door to exit the bank, the 4 others looked at me with daggers shooting from their eyes. “What ?” I asked. One of them said, “Oh so now you are seducing the teller!”

I just rolled my eyes and didn’t respond. If they were interested in meeting anyone, I would suggest they get the scowls off their face and be polite. Well no harm, nothing would come from it. We ran around Florence that day, at an exhausting rate. One of the girls didn’t feel too well. She didn’t look well either. She didn’t want dinner so she stayed in her room and the 4 of us went to eat. The next day, she wanted to stay in bed. Her friends didn’t seem too concerned. I barely knew her. I asked how she was doing and all they said was OK. The rain was steady now at at times torrential. It ruined our day. We did sights near the pension, ate close to the pension as well and returned early. There was a central room at the place where people would congregate. I have no idea if they did or didn’t. I said goodnight,

When they were alone they decided that they were moving on a day early and going to Rome. Early in the morning, they packed their things and left. They wrote a note to me and slipped it under my door. I found it a couple of hours after they left. It said, “ _______ is really sick. Nothing we can do for her. We didn’t want to spend another day with her like that afraid we would catch whatever it was. You can take care of her if you want or leave for Rome!

What? This was their friend, this was their sorority sister. I was at a loss.

I went to her room, the door was unlocked and she was in her bed. She was burning up. She was delirious. She wasn’t making any sense. I ran to the office and told them I needed a doctor and that my friend was extremely ill. It took practically the whole day to get a doctor there to see her. I’m not sure if it was because of the weather or inavailability of the doctor. I went in every hour or so, to see if she wanted something, to put a compress on her. I tried talking to her but she just moaned and really didn’t answer. Finally, the doctor came and summoned an ambulance.

We waited again for hours. The rain continued, it was dark and I had no idea what to do. I asked her if she wanted me to come to the hospital with her. She said yes. She asked several times where the others were.

Now I don’t know if they same customs still exist in Florence today but back then, the ambulance attendants were dressed in weird clothing. It seems as if they dressed as they did in the Middle Ages when the volunteers would come to take away the bodies of the victims of the plague. When they entered her room, she started screaming, “Don’t let them take me, I’m not dead yet!”

To try to keep her calm, I rode in the ambulance with her. At the hospital, they took her someplace and I was asked to come to the office. I was told that they couldn’t keep her unless I paid $200. You have to remember it was the 1960s. It was all the money I had until I could get more in Rome where the American Express was. I was crying as I gave them whatever cash I had and signed travelers checks over to the hospital. Then, they told me I couldn’t stay in the hospital! It was pitch black, it was pouring but they put me in a taxi, made sure I had at least the fare to get back to the pension and off I went. It was now about 11PM. As in Mexico, no one was allowed in after the gates were locked and no matter what I did, I was locked out.

I wanted to get out of the rain. I remembered a block away was a large building with a tremendous covered porch. I walked there, and sat down in a chair on the porch facing the street. I started to cry. A maintenance man on the inside of the building heard me and came out to see. He spoke no English, I spoke no Italian. However, he spoke Spanish! He said I could come inside but I could only stay a little while. No one was allowed in the building after the staff left for the day. He knew how to put a phone call through to the US. I have no idea how much that call cost, but I was able to reach my parents and give them the name of the girl. Basically that’s all I knew about her. I told them the hospital they took her to, and that the hospital had taken all my money.

My parents figured out how to contact her parents by going through the school. They told me they would send more money to Rome. I told them I would be able to get there the next day, or so I thought.

The man told me to stay out of the rain on the porch. I thanked him and sat where I was sitting before. The building was lit up, softly, but from the road in front of it, you could see if someone was on the porch. If you were looking that is. There was a traffic light on the corner. About 30 minutes later, unbelievably a motorcycle came down the road in the rain. The light changed and it went by. A few minutes later, the driver circled back. The motorcycle stopped and the person put the cycle on the street and got off to come look on the porch. I was frantic, I started knocking on the door hoping the maintenance man would reappear. He did not.

I turned to face the helmeted figure who said “Cugina,(cousin) it’s me!”

It was the bank teller. I asked him how he possible could identify me from the road. He told me the neon yellow raincoat I wore was his first clue. I was wearing it in the bank. He came to check because he thought it might be me. I told him my sad tale and he told me he was taking me to his mother. He did! The next day after breakfast he took me back to the pension, packed up my stuff, I packed up the other girl’s stuff and left it with the pension people with her name. They understood. My blonde blue eyed glowing bank teller, took me to the train station and said goodbye. The rain had not abated. I boarded the train, it left the station. I slowly, slowly traveled about half an hour and stopped. I was stuck on that train for 10 hours! The floods had created havoc, so much so that the Ponte Vecchio, where I had been about 30 hours earlier was damaged and parts washed away. I make reference to this in my novel Enoch.

It took forever to get to Rome, but I finally did. I got my money, and ran, and I mean ran, through a few of those fabulous places I had always wanted to see. I vowed some day to return. It took me over 50 years to accomplish that. I got back on the train to transfer at Milan and start my journey to Spain.

Months later I found out that the sick girl had been flown back to the US. She had mononucleosis. She never contacted me. Her parents acted hostile to my parents, and when people asked her buddies why I stayed behind with her the answer was, “She wanted to stay, she met a guy!” Wow according to them I had one swinging time in Europe. I unfortunately saw them again on the ship going home. We avoided each other. I wanted to sue for the $200 I spent on her hospital stay, but my parents said no. It was done, she got the help she needed and some day perhaps, she would thank me. She never did.

I realized that I had enough credits to graduate early. I knew that even if all my credits from Mexico City and Spain were not accepted, I still had enough. I was set to graduate a month before my 20th birthday. I never thought it would be possible, and my dad use to tell me that he graduated at 19. I did it! Quietly, later he told me that when he went to college and became a pharmacist, it was only a two year course!!