Two ways to Rome

Back by popular demand…the story of how my family was separated boarding a train from Monaco to Rome.

On my family’s first trip to Europe, my mother had arranged for us to take a bus tour from Nice, France to Monaco, and rather than return to Nice with the tour group, we would exit the tour in Monaco and catch a train to Rome.  My mother had arranged everything and we had the train tickets in hand when we got off the bus at the train station.

My dad had one rule:  everyone must be able to carry his/her own suitcase (before rolling bags).  Our tickets were for a certain car of the train (say car 8, for instance).  When the train pulled into the station, we were lugging our suitcases down the platform towards our appointed car.  As this was our first train trip in Europe, my parents did not know that the train would only remain in the station for three (3!!) minutes.

As I was struggling with my suitcase, I looked up at a window of the train and there was a group of boys about my age (14 at the time) waving at me.  I was so excited and flattered!!  Imagine!!  But then, I realized that they were waving at me because the train was leaving the station!  It was so embarrassing.

My mother, my father, and my brother all started running and jumped onto the train.  I was running as best as I could with my suitcase, and all of a sudden one of my lime green papagallo flats came off, and I was down.  My father was standing at the door of the train, so he jumped off to help me.  My brother saw that my father jumped off, so he jumped off too.  My mother was about to jump, but some of the people on the train held her back because by then the train was going faster and she was wearing high heels (it was the mid-60’s!).  Helpful passengers on the train threw off all four pieces of our luggage.

My father was the loveliest, kindest man, but slightly incompetent in some of the ways of the world.  My mother had made all of the arrangements.  My mother knew words and phrases in several languages.  My mother was accustomed to wrangling children.

Fortunately, a Cook’s tours operator saw what had transpired and took pity on my father instructing him to get us into a cab and catch the train at the next stop.  I’d never seen my father so flummoxed.  His face was red and all the veins were standing out on his neck.  My brother, who was 10 at the time, was crying.  I found it all pretty amusing.

The Italian cabby took us on a wild ride on the narrow, curving, mountainous road that is probably a 6-lane highway now.  At a certain point, the cabby looked around at my father and said “pasaportes,” to which my father said “no pasaportes,” because my mother was carrying all four passports in her purse on the train.

The cabby threw his hands in the air and began yelling then muttering in Italian.  He took his foot off the gas.  What was the point in rushing?  The next stop of the train was in Italy, and the cabby said we wouldn’t be able to cross the border without passports.  Of course not!  But my father was in adrenaline-induced emergency mode and waved the cabby to continue and to hurry.

We arrived at the border crossing and my father got out of the cab to talk to the border patrol officer.  He told him in English, of course, what had occurred, and miraculously, they let us pass through the border into Italy!!  This would NEVER happen today and was pretty unbelievable even then.

So we caught the train, boarded the train, and ha ha! my mother had gotten off of the train in Menton, a stop in between Monaco and this stop at Ventimiglia.  Oh the Gods were laughing!  and I was laughing, but my brother was still crying!

Fortunately, my mother had prepared a type-written itinerary for the trip which included all of the details, including the name and address of our hotel in Rome where we arrived to have a day of pre-arranged sightseeing (now without my mother), and wait for her to catch up with us the next day.

In Rome, my dad had all four pieces of luggage, no passports, and no money.  We got by somehow.  My mother, who had gone back to the hotel we had just left in Nice, had all the passports, all the money, and no suitcase.  She did however have a lovely day on the beach in Nice all alone without children or husband.  I think a Frenchman even flirted with her!

My Mom flew to meet us in Rome the next day.

After our adventure, my dad made a new rule:  everyone must wear tie-up shoes.