Lost in Translation

Dear Reader,

I'm sure you've all heard the saying "Lost in Translation" and many of you might even have seen the movie so you'll understand this little tale from my most recent visit to Italy, Croatia, Greece and Turkey.

First I'd like to say that I always work very hard at speaking the language no matter where I am. In some places, France, Italy and Spain, for instance, I do very well, particularly in France. I studied Greek for about three months before our first adventure to that country and even made up a list of helpful words and phrases to use in Croatia. It's fun attempting to speak different languages and also very rewarding when they understand you. This is why it can be extremely frustrating when they don't.

We had rented an apartment in Bergamo, Italy in advance and being that it was our first stop after a very long flight, a shorter flight and then a 2 hour train ride, I wanted everything to go smoothly. Most of the transportation did go smoothly. The flights were on time. The train left right on schedule but then there was the hour's delay I mentioned before. This put our arrival in Bergamo after 9:00PM.

Since we had never arrived in Bergamo by train before, I asked the landlord if he meet us there. He responded that it is an easy 20 minute walk from the station to the funicular or a short bus ride and he would meet us at the top of the funicular. He said to send him a text upon our arrival and not to call him. Keep in mind, Bergamo is a hilltown. The lower city, the Citta Bassa, is modern and sprawling but flat. The upper city, the Citta Alta, is quite a climb and is best reached by the funicular which goes right up the side to the top. There are higher points than that in the Citta Alta and also another funicular leaving from the opposite side going up to another village which is even higher than Bergamo. This funicular is called Colle Aperto.

Before we left home as part of my extensive preparation and planning, all of which I type up in my "Practical Tips", I researched the buses in Bergamo and found that the number 1 bus leaves directly from the station in the direction of Colle Aperto and stops at the funicular station that we wanted. It is always important when traveling in a strange city in Europe especially to know the name of the end of the line for the buses so you don't go in the wrong direction. This happened to us years ago in Siena and we had a very long ride into the countryside in the wrong direction. Never again! Most buses have two directions unless you happen to be boarding at the beginning of the line. The bus number 1, for instance goes to Colle Aperto and in the opposite direction to the airport. These names are usually in large print on the front of the bus.

I printed out the schedule and directions to find the correct bus so we wouldn't waste time wandering about. Not all buses stop directly in front of the station. Several stop in an area off to the right across the small traffic circle. According to Fodor's, I believe, the number 1 bus was one of the latter. As soon as we arrived we headed out the front door of the station across the traffic circle to the bus stop. It was dark and there were lots of buses coming and going but no number 1. In the meantime, I sent a text to our landlord who said he would be waiting for us at the top of the funicular by the time we arrived. Finally I asked someone where the number 1 bus comes and she pointed to the front of the train station. Of course, one simple little piece of information had to be wrong. It happens all the time.

We returned to the front of the station where there is a traffic island in the middle with buses stopping on the left and on the right. None of them were number 1s. I sent another text to our landlord and he said again to take the bus to the funicular and he'd meet us. So we waited. We were both exhausted. No one standing outside the station, and by this point there were very few, knew about the number 1 bus. I saw two buses pass that said Aeropuerto (airport) so it made sense that the number 1 bus was still running. I began boarding every bus that arrived and asking them about the bus to Colle Aperto. Each driver said no, not this bus. I was beginning to worry at this point. Finally a bus arrived in the correct spot so I asked the driver in my best Italian if the bus went to Colle Aperto. He said "No, finished." in English. He said we would have to walk. Before I could clarify my question, he took off. I told John what the driver said and he replied "I knew it.".

At this point I sent a text to our landlord advising that the bus is no longer running and we would have to walk. He texted back again saying to take the bus to the funicular and he would meed us at the top. Obviously he did not get my meaning. I decided to call him even though he said not to but got no answer. Now I was mad. I knew we had to get off at the funicular. I knew we had to take the number 1 bus towards Colle Aperto. I just couldn't explain it in a text. Again I attempted to text my landlord but my Italian phone was somehow stuck on an unfamiliar program that changed every letter I typed to something else as it was guessing what I was trying to say. It was impossible to send a text that made any sense at all so we decided to hoof it to the funicular.

It was already well after 10:00PM by this time and we were wiped out. Every step felt like slugging through wet sand and my back was getting tired. As we reached the half way point to the funicular I glanced at the street and saw a number 1 bus with no sign stopped a few cars back from a traffic light in the middle lane. I started waiving my arms but he started to drive off so I ran into the street and banged on the door. The driver shook his head and pointed ahead to what I presumed was another bus stop. I shook my head as well and kept banging on the door until he opened it. I asked one simple question: "Funicular". He said "Si" so I waved at John and made him come running into the street with cars on either side of us and we got on board.

Two stops later we arrived at the funicular station. It wasn't a long wait for the funicular for which I was grateful but when we got to the piazza at the top we could not find our landlord, Gianmauro. Of course, it had been over an hour since my first text to him so I wasn't surprised. The problem was, even though we new approximately where the apartment is located, generally apartments don't have an office of any kind and the landlord needs to give you a key to get in. I tried texting Gianmauro again but the same stupid program kept changing my letters again. It was idiotic and I wanted to stomp on the stupid phone!

There's a nice little bar, gelateria across the piazza from the funicular. I remembered it well from last year when we had to call our landlord and wait for her to show up. I also had trouble last year calling our landlord because apparently I was not supposed to include the city area code or I was supposed to include it. It got lost in translation but fortunately, a very nice woman who works in the bar used her phone to call our landlord for us last year and explained to her that we were waiting.

Here we were again at the same bar waiting for our landlord. John sat down in one of their outdoor chairs but I felt too guilty to sit without buying something. So I went about asking every man if he was Gianmauro. Most of them looked at me like I was nuts. I kept trying to text with no good results. Finally, the angel from the bar asked if she could help me. There was no way I could explain to her in Italian why I couldn't text. I asked if she knows Gianmauro but she shook her head. I told her the name of the apartment and then some recognition came into her eyes. I showed her Gianmauro's phone number and she called him from her phone and he answered. Amazing. This made two years in a row that we were helped by the woman at the bar. It was embarrasing and I hope she doesn't recognize us the next time we are in Bergamo!

Gianmauro was at the apartment and said he'd be right over. When he arrived I tried to explain to him about the buses and the texts but it was lost in translation. He spoke very good English as well but didn't understand what I was saying about the Colle Aperto bus. He told me then that Colle Aperto is on the opposite side of the Citta Alta where the second funicular is located. He said people make that mistake all the time and go all the way to Colle Aperto and then have to walk across town to his apartment. I tried to explain that was not my intent, just the direction we needed but he just shook his head as if saying "stupid tourists" so I gave up. Even in English, I can't explain myself sometimes. Maybe it was just going for over 24 hours without any sleep and trying to concentrate on my Italian and all that walking that caused my inability to communicate. Plus having to use a foreign phone that I use only once per year when we go abroad made things even more difficult. Whatever the reason, it was a great relief to find Gianmauro still waiting around and to have such a wonderful apartment to rest in. I decided to concentrate on small talk and find out what restaurants might still be open at 11:00PM. 

In Croatia I put my list of words to work with mostly positive reviews. I knew how to say "please and thank you" and how to order a beer and a whole list of restaurant talk which I put to use first in Dubrovnik, then later in Split and Trogir. When we were walking the ramparts of Dubrovnik we stopped at a public WC where a very nice restroom attendant was in charge. I greated her in Croatian and she greated me back in kind. I got out my list of words to ask her a question and she gave me an entire Croatian language lesson while I waited for the john. It was fun. I had forgotten the word for goodbye so she told me that too and when I left I said goodbye and thank you in Croatian. She was all smiles.

In Athens I impressed the hell out of every clerk and waiter with my pronunciation of thank you which I cannot spell here but it sounds like "heff car east toe'". I could also greet them with the non-formal "Yassas", which is much easier than their formal greetings. Nothing there was lost in translation, though the only bus we took was in Piraeus to the metro stop and we had no tickets when we boarded because my practical tips advised we could purchase them from a newstand or ticket box. There was no ticket box at the cruise terminal in Piraeus so we went to a newstand only to find out they don't sell bus tickets. The good news is that the bus driver spoke English and gave us a free ride. We promised to buy our all day metro/bus passes at the metro station. Outstanding! Nothing was lost in translation there.

Being misunderstood or lost in translation isn't always a bad thing. The first time we went to Verona, Italy many years ago, I told John he was going to practice his Italian on that particular trip. I even enrolled both of us in an Italian 1 course which we both enjoyed immensly. Still, throughout the entire trip all over Italy, John froze up and made me do the talking. When we approached the desk clerk at a hotel in Verona, I nodded to John that it was his turn. He had all the words memorized and was ready to go. John politely greeted the desk clerk. He correctly requested a double room with private bath. He even asked for the nightly rate. I was impressed. Then John asked the clerk "Acete carta di genica?", or in English "Do you accept toilet paper?". The clerk looked at me with a very bemused face and we both lost it at the same time. Poor John, we howling in laughter and John didn't even know what he'd said. Before I could ask the clerk myself if he accepted credit cards he shrugged his shoulders and said "Maybe". We laughed some more and then he agreed they also accept credit cards.

For months after we returned home I looked for the charge for our stay in Verona on my credit card statements but we were never charged for our two night stay. Perhaps a little "lost in translation" can be a good thing, an ice-breaker, even a way to make new friends, as long as you can laugh about it.

Dobragenie (I think that's how it's spelled)