Mind the Gap

"MIND THE GAP."

Getting off the tube and lugging my big blue backpack towards Heathrow airport, I didn't realize how much I would come to miss those familiar words pronounced with such authority in a lovely English accent in the coming days. I was on my way to Italy, and I was too sick and too excited to worry about actually planning or thinking ahead. I didn't realize just how unprepared for a sojourn into a foreign country I was.

Most of the time, before I plan a week and a half in another land I do some research. I like to look up such topics as the local language, cuisine, transportation, customs, and oh yeah: the sights I intend to see. Instead, my friend and I spent the days before the trip in a feverish haze, snuggling a box of kleenex and carrying on a love affair with Nyquil and Tylenol PM. Come the judgement day, we had no plans, no map, and not even a guide book. We did, however, have plane tickets, backpacks, booked hostels and a whole jar of precious American peanut butter, so we figured we'd be ok. We bought a guidebook that first day, got a wonderful map from our hostel, and bought bread and jelly at the train station. Though we didn't have plans, we were game for an adventure, and everything turned out just fine in the end. We had a wonderful trip...but...

But. That's such a frightening little word. So insignificant, and yet so crucial. We loved Italy, but, and this is going to sound bad: we didn't love the people, and they didn't seem to love us. Except for the young men, of course. Before leaving, we'd been warned about Italian men, but I guess we thought it wouldn't be so bad. It was. I figured, the Italians can't be all that different from the English. I'd heard that most Italians in Rome and Florence speak English or Spanish or at least understand a bit of Spanish, so I thought we'll be fine. I never thought to look up useful phrases in Italian, things like "Where's the bathroom?" or "I'll have the chocolate." I knew the word for "thank you" and I thought I was all set. Wrong.

Getting out of the airport, Amanda and I saw a sign saying "Uscita/Exit." We joked that now we now knew three words in Italian, "Grazie," "Pizza," and "Uscita." We laughed then, but later in the trip I was so happy to know that word. In a place where every word is foreign, it's helpful to know the way out. It got me out of grocery stores and tourist shops and crowded and horrifically confusing train stations. We didn't know it then, but "Uscita" was probably one of the most important words we could have learned. Unhappily for us, there were a whole lot of other words and phrases we wish we had known. Words and phrases like "what is that" and "where is it" and "stop it now or I'll kick you" and "hey, I may be American but I'm not stupid." Most of the time everything was just fine. We learned that most people would at least serve us if we pointed and gestured and smiled. But. Some wouldn't. You'd think they'd be more friendly when you're trying to pay them for their goods. We learned to only enter shops with clearly posted prices and friendly-looking employees. We aren't exactly mean or creepy-looking so we usually managed to get by...until the day we decided to buy train tickets to Florence.

I can't repeat the whole story here, or I will start yelling and hyperventilating. The short story: the first man behind the desk at Termini sold us the wrong tickets. I don't know why he did, if it was an honest mistake or an intentional error. Unfortunately, I strongly suspect the latter. We had asked for "Florence Santa Maria Novella Station," which doesn't exactly sound at all like "Stazione Rifredi," which is a station used to connect Rome to Florence trains with trains going to Milan. Thank goodness we realized the problem before we left the station. We waited another half hour in line and got stuck with a woman who was so violently ill I don't want to even describe her or her condition. Next we went to a woman who I can only describe as the nastiest person I've ever met. She cancelled our old tickets without asking and booked us tickets that were 3 times as expensive as the ones we had asked for, then refused to give us back the old ones or let us leave without paying for the painfully expensive tickets. I have never been so angry in my life. She pretended to not speak enough English to understand us, but her name tag declared that she was fluent in both Italian and English. Finally, we found a customer service line, left her, and were able to cut our losses and only lose 9 Euro each just because that woman was having a bad day and refused to help the two American students. Had we been in an English speaking country where we were familiar with the customs, she never would have been able to get away with it. When I demanded her manager she would have had to produce him, instead of claiming to not understand. Her treatment left me angry and helpless, which are not feelings I am comfortable with.

When I left the Heathrow tube station, I didn't understand just what that old, oft-repeated phrase was telling me: mind the gap. I didn't yet realize that the gap I was about to so carelessly jump straight into was one dividing culture and language, thrusting me into an unknown land that I was entirely unprepared for. Returning to London, I have never been more aware of this gap. From this point on I will mind it with the respect it deserves.