Salerno Woes

Our trip from Salerno to Gaeta was nothing if not unhappy. Never have I been more fed up with Italy, and Italians, than trying to get to Formia. Air and I got up early enough to pack our bags and check out of the hostel, but we stayed at the hostel for the internet, to book the next set of hostels and send off messages and blogs. The Canadian girls, who had been in the same room as us, were looking for hotels in Salerno, absolutely fed up with the disgusting nature of Hostel Koine. I'll get back to it later, but suffice to say I'd never recommend staying in that hostel if you can help it. We were all enjoying the noon-time breeze while we sat there, chatting and working on our various projects, when these two older men came around asking if we wanted American coffee. Now, not just "coffee" like an Italian might say, or even a normal American accent. "Coi-feeee," the Brooklyn/Boston accent from the Sopranos, that Napoli-thug accent. Air and I sat there, stone-silent and ignoring the hell out of them, but the two Canadian girls, to be Southern for a moment here, Bless Their Souls, kept talking to them in what any woman will tell you is the "get the hell away from me" way. The guys didn't take the hint and kept coming back, saying things like "I run a hostel just over there, you should stay. Free breakfast and nice rooms. Always clean." Coming from the man who smells like three-day-old fish and wearing crocs and sweatpants with a man-purse, you know not to even entertain the idea of staying there. The Canadian girl, either brilliant or stupid, asked him "What's the name of your hostel? Why isn't it listed anywhere?" He couldn't answer. No idea what the name was. "Thanks, but we're fine looking at hotels." Smart girls, sort of. There is a certain etiquette for this type of thing, and it's called RUDE AS HELL. Be that person who won't take that sort of thing. Because, girls, if you don't, you entertain a whole world of trouble that you just can't handle. Air and I never once made eye contact, or said anything beyond, "No, grazie." The twits tried to say that they weren't Italian, but refuted their own claims by speaking Italian to each other. We left asap.
After having looked up train times we knew what train we wanted, how to get to the station, we're well versed in buying tickets and even in asking where things are. Air and I are no fools, we might not be the greatest speaker ever, but we can be readily understood and our simplistic sentences, while simplistic, are to the point. We got the tickets from the automated booth, had a wonderfully nice Italian man, who spoke English (one of three in the whole of Salerno), help us find the right binario, and sat there. We were an hour early, giving us plenty of time to make sure the train was running on time, that we were at the right part of the station, and were headed in the right direction. It was 1:30 when the board suddenly changed from binario 2T, to "CAN." CAN is the abbreviation for "cancellare," easy enough even for the untrained to understand.
Air and I took turns waiting with the bags while the other went to ask for help. I went down to the ticket office to ask if the train was canceled, or just late. Possible outcomes (from my experiences) generally ran from blank looks to helpful information. I waited in a line that ran over twenty minutes for five people, and got to the booth with a pre-conjugated sentence. I asked the old man at the booth, "Is the train to Formia canceled, or late?" Blank look. "Is it canceled, like the board says?" Still blank. "Hello? Canceled?" The man takes the ticket, says in mumbled Italian something about binario due. I looked at him, and just snatched the ticket back and walked away. I went to the Passenger Help center, and had to wait as three people asked rapid-fire questions before I could say, in the same terms I asked the other man, if the train was canceled. This man took the ticket, looked up the train number, told me the time of the train and shooed me away. I stood there, near tears at this point because it's hard enough trying to be polite while speaking little Italian let alone trying to understand such fast, southern accented Italian, repeating that I spoke "un po' di'Italiano!" and "Lentamente, per favore, lentamente!" Finally he seemed to understand that I was not Italian, that I was in some distress, and that I didn't understand him. He handed me the ticket, told me, in fast Italian still, to go back to the ticket desk and exchange my ticket for a bus ticket. I asked him two things, "Downstairs?" and "Bus?" because it made no sense. He had three words of English to his name, and one of them was from the words I had just said to him. I took my ticket back to Air, and she and I took the bags down to the ticket office. We stood in line once more to face the same old man, who was just as helpful this time as last. We pointed to the board right behind us and told him, in Italian, that the board said canceled, the other man had said to change tickets, and what should we do? The man was just as helpful as before, "binario due, binario due." We both looked at him, turned around and asked, loudly, if anyone at all spoke English so we could communicate with the (obviously idiotic) man. Blank stares. We went to the automated ticket stand, checked times, went to the Polizia Ferrovia (Station police) who spoke no English as well, asked every single officer we could find as to what we should do. An hour later we were told to head to Naples, or to Rome.
Now, Formia is on the Rome line, not the Naples line, so we tried to get on the next train to Rome, but our tickets were for a different line. The regionale trains, not the intercity ones. We asked the Polizia once more, in Italian, and were shooed away. We asked the next one down the line, and we were blatantly ignored, or so we thought. I followed him and said, loudly and, I admit, rather rudely "ENGLISH. ANYONE ENGLISH? DOES ANYONE HERE SPEAK ENGLISH?" Over and over until he seemed to understand that we needed real help. He brought us to the policeman we had already talked to twice, and finally someone from the rail line came to help. Three men and they couldn't decide if we needed to go to Naples or to Rome. Yeesh.
We finally figured out that we should go to the train for Naples and try to ask once we got to Naples. We asked if we needed to change tickets, and they said yes. So we assumed that meant change tickets at Salerno station, which we weren't going to do. We asked at the train to Naples if we needed to change tickets, and whether or not it was the right course of action, and the nice little old man was the sweetest, most sincere man. He renewed our faith in Italians by saying, "Yes, take train to Naples Centrale, change train to Roma Termini line. Train at 4:36." Wonderful, wonderful man. We asked, almost in tears of relief, if we needed to change tickets there, and he shook his head. We took the train, which left at 3, got into Naples Centrale at 3:45, and went to the customer care center there, asking if we needed to change tickets, and which train to make sure to take. The man was wonderful as well, told us in his broken English that we had were fine, no change necessary, and that the 4:36 was correct. We thanked him profusely, and left to wait for the binario to post.
At this point we'd been carrying our full bags everywhere, were tired, hungry, thirsty, and ready to collapse. At 4:20 I went to look at the departures list, always posted at each train station, which has the Binario numbers for each train, at least which binario the train usually calls from. Since the train hadn't posted yet, we went to the train standing at number 12, the usual for the regionale Roma termini, and asked if it was the 4:36 to Rome. Yes, it was, and we got on immediately. A good thing too, because that train was absolutely packed two minutes later as the board changed and everyone rushed on.
Deflated, Air and I sat quiet and dozing for an hour, knowing that Formia, our stop where C. and T. were waiting for us, normally came up around 5:45. We disembarked and found our friends, and then figured out which bus to take to get to Gaeta. I had to ask the driver where to get tickets, buy the tickets, and get us back to the bus right before it left. We sat on the bus in the back, talking in relief and just resting aching feet and backs. A bunch of annoying teens harassed us a bit, staring and saying nasty things that we pretended not to understand. After we got off the bus (early to avoid the kids) we had a bit of a hike to the place we're staying at, (C.'s grandparent's apartment) but we took it slow. We were greeted by the nicest little old couple I've had the pleasure of meeting in a long time, and that just wiped away the whole ordeal. We had a home cooked meal, went out for gelato, toured around a bit, and had a wonderful evening.
Overall, I'd say that the city of Salerno was nice, Air and I had an easy enough time getting around and making ourselves understood, but the South of Italy is much like the middle of America: they speak one language, and it isn't yours. If you don't know Italian, or aren't comfortable trying to make yourself understood, skip it or make it a day trip.