New York, New York: The city so nice, they named it twice.

 The city so nice, they named it twice.  We'll have to see about that!

Crossing two state borders on a bus line

Completing our visit to friends in Springfield, Massachusetts( in November 2018), we took a Peter Pan Bus Lines coach to our next destination, NYC.  Our luggage safely stowed in the hold, we find comfortable seats on the bus. On board we have our backpacks and the large bag with sandwiches and snacks. At the start the driver tells us confidently, in his sonorous voice, we should be in NYC by about 11:45 am after a three and a half hour drive. Our connecting bus is at 12:30. We were starting at 8 am. That should give us a comfortable tranfer period and so we settle down unperturbed.  

Crunch caused by a clogged artery

We drive by Hartford, Newhaven, Milford, Stratford, etc. But we cross the border into NY state only at 12:15. We thought we had good time, but get worried when the heavy traffic prevents our progress. We have no idea if this is unusual. Passengers are already beginning to worry about transfers. They consult the driver and he updates them after calling the station. By the time we query him about our transfer he says we have already missed the bus and he has no idea when the next connecting bus is. 

On the bright side

We crawl past Harlem, the Bronx, Lincoln Centre, Central Park etc. It was like sitting on a tour bus without a guide. We get to see parts of New York city which we might never have otherwise, before we arrive at Port Authority station at 1:45. 

Unsettling and ghoulish

It is a huge station and a maze, to say the least. Parts of it are so old, dimly lit and littered, it feels like we are walking in a musty dungeon or crypt. But there are no ghosts to walk through: just people, milling about as though invisible hands were pulling them away this way and that, to be walked around. It is all very flustering. 

Lucking it out

DRink and grandson find their way to the business office and explain our situation. Our next connecting bus is not till 6pm. They request a refund. We had bought the tickets at a throwaway price, and so, instead of a refund, what was provided in lieu was the amount for the fare to take the Metro to Brooklyn, where we were headed.  

Good luck buying a ticket, asking for help

Now we have to get our seven-day Metro passes. Grandson and I go to a counter manned by a clerk of definitely East Indian orgin who callously says we are at the wrong place and recommends the information desk we don't know where. The dark lady there says she knows nothing and she cannot help while all the while she is looking down at a bunch of papers she is shuffling. We are dumstruck by the rude response. We ask again politely, pretending not to be offended. Dismissively she simply repeats, "wrong counter". This will not do. No official designate seems to be helpful. Determinedly we go in search of a ticket counter looking for and reading the signs with peeled eyes and (before our eye brows become permanetly stuck in an expression of incredulity)we find one with a long queue. The customer at the ticket counter takes nearly 10 mins to get his problem resolved. It takes another exasperating 10 mins ( or did it seem like 10 mins?) before my turn. But then the lady who was helping the male ticketing officer now takes over and a few precious minutes are lost in the takeover process. I prepare to pay by credit card but the ticketing lady (also coloured) says only cash will be accepted. We decide to try the machines but I do not want to use my credit card in a crowded place. I will need change to use the cash option on the machine. There's another machine that will give you change for a $100, and we wonderd why. Then I remember what I had read earlier: the ticket vending machines only accept smaller denominations. So we walk back to DRink for a $100 note. Jeepers creepers! The machine will only accept 50s and 20s. 

Caution kicks in. We do not want to use the change machines in a crowded area. So we go back to the counter where there is now a queue of about 20 people. Another long wait; another 'officer' who just clocked in claims attention from the ticketing lady. At long last it is our turn. Its $32 plus $1 for each one of us. I ask for route maps, and my words probably got lost in the melee. 

We go back to the rest who have got hold of some NYC maps, distribute the tickets, and when the queue has subsided a little, go back to the lady and ask for maps. This time we not only get immediate attention but also not one but two maps. Things are certainly getting better. We work out our route, walk to the right platform and off we go to Brooklyn. The train is crowded but we manage quite well with the luggage. We were all so pooped with the adventure on our first day in a city whose metro was  notorious, the hustle and the unexpected rudeness and nonchalance, that none of us thought to take pictures amid the flurry, except for one while waiting for the train.

Smooth sailing

We have such seasoned travellers (and DRink has printed google map directions to our destination) among us that we get off at the right station, climb up a flight of stairs with all our luggage, take the right bus, get off at the bus stop that grandson thinks is the right one and then roll, push and pull our suitcases, turning into one short street after another until we reach our destination. 

We have to carry the luggage up a flight of steps (the stoop) for this is a brownstone house with lots history. We get the keys from the lock box having been sent the code in an earlier email. Then getting the right keys in the right holes and learning whether both had to be turned at the same time seemed to take ages but it would have been only around 10 mins, I guess. It's already after 5pm and getting dark.What a relief to walk into a well furnished apartment with the house rules clearly laid out. The grandchildren, having had previous Air BnB experience with us know exactly what to do, especially connecting to Wi-Fi! When we are just about warm enough we hear a knock on the door. It was our host with a  buoyant  huge bright smile to welcome us. 

With our spirits uplifted and after a good night's  sleep we would be ready the next day to take on the city that never sleeps . 

Highway holdup, Mamma Mia!

Leaving Rome we managed to get onto the ring road that circles the city. We were hoping to find a Northbound exit that would take us to Pisa via a Mediterranean coastal route. But we were confronted with boards that showed only directions to Pompei. We must have literally gone around in circles before we found one that we thought would take us North. After a rankling hour( or so it felt like) luck struck. Having lost nearly an hour we eased into the highway traffic hoping to get glimpses of the sea. But we were disappointed. We were mostly driving through foothills and agricultural land. After nearly 2 hours of driving the road veered towards the coast. Finally we had views of typical Mediterranean villas on our right, and the deep blue sea on the left. That feast for the eyes only lasted an hour before we drove inland again. 

We were approaching Livorno, a port city, but we were going to bypass it and drive towards Pisa. All traffic slowed. It was a three lane highway and I stuck to the middle lane in readiness to change lanes when I saw the sign for Pisa. We had already been driving for three hours. 

Then traffic slowed further gradually coming to a full stop. The drivers waited patiently in their seats for nearly half an hour and then began getting out and talking to other drivers. Their conversations are dramatic being animated with their numerous hand gestures Those who had phones tried to find out what was happening, but most were throwing up their hands in the characteristic Italian gesture accompanied by "Mamma Mia". We too got out of the car and tried to converse with other drivers but between our English and their Italian there was no coherent communication. The gist of the matter: nobody new what was happening. Many theories were floating about. Must be an unusually massive traffic jam, being the rush hour. After all on coming traffic is smooth. Probably a truck has overturned spilling its contents and blocking all the lanes and as usual police are slow to take action. Perhaps a major traffic accident that even ambulances and traffic police find hard to approach. 

We were simply a large parking lot for nearly three hours. Luckily for us, we did not need a bathroom break. Finally traffic began to move. We were hoping to see the cause for the standstill but there was no clue at all. It remains a mystery to this day.

Picking up speed we reach Pisa. As we cross the river Arno we see that bridge is crowded and all along the banks candles had been lit. A festival was being celebrated. We found out that the local holiday honoured a Saint. We were in no mood to enjoy the festivities since we wanted to vist the Tower and its surrounds and then leave for Florence. It was already late in the evening. We had to park but no space was available. Having come this far we had to at least have a glimpse of the famous tower. So we took a risk and parked our right wheels on the raised sidewalk hoping that we would not be caught and made to pay a fine. (Fines in Italy are instant). It would also delay our drive to Florence. I didn't fancy driving in the night into a new city where we had yet to find accommodation. So what do we do but launch ino a brisk walk-run to the renowned tower, take the obligatory photo, rush back. We breathe a great sigh of relief to find the car safe and no parkiing ticket anywhere. 

By the time we reached Florence it was already dark. We stopped near a hotel that looked promising, but Drink went in to check and did not approve. We drove slowly again looking for another Hotel. As I was driving very slowly and stopping frequently, a female driver behind me looked out of her window and loudly mouthed something in frustration. Luckily I found a tight spot, beside another hotel, into which I wedged the car while she sped by and we also decided on staying there. Enough was enough. We had spent most of our day on Italian roads.