The Struggles of Life Abroad

Torino, Italy
Spring, 2012

When you think of the difficulties you might encounter while traveling or living abroad you tend to think of the big things–not speaking or reading the language, different etiquette rules, etc. But in my experience it is often the small things–like doors being pushed instead of pulled, multiple buttons to flush a toilet instead of a simple handle, no toilet seat at all…these are the types of things that tend to catch me off guard and leave me flustered and confused. My first week studying abroad in Torino, Italy had many difficulties of this sort, including an incident with a train.

My college roommate, my now-husband, and I all spent a semester studying in Italy during our undergrad. None of us knew more than an handful of Italian words when we arrived, and of those our pronunciation was horrific. We had only been in Torino for a few days when we decided we needed to get out and explore. My roommate, Alyssa, had heard about a walled-medieval town on the outskirts of the city that Tyler and I agreed sounded worth visiting. So we headed to the train station, phrase books in-hand.

We were successful in finding the correct train and listened anxiously for the right stop. When we heard the name of our stop we all quickly headed for the door. When we got there we were surprised to find it closed. On any train or bus I’ve ever been on in the US the doors open automatically at a stop and shut when the vehicle is about to start again. We had no clue what to do–we just stood there staring at the closed door. There was a large handle on the door and we finally decided to try it–even though we were sure an alarm would go off or someone would come and yell at us. This is why these things are normally automated!

Alyssa tentatively tried the handle and to our great surprise the doors slid apart. We hesitated a moment longer–still feeling uncertain–and then Alyssa stepped forward to exit the train. At the exact moment she stepped through the doors they closed on her; sandwiching her between them. For a brief moment she was stuck there, her lower body half outside the train, her face a picture of complete shock. A moment’s struggle and she was through the doors, and outside the train.

Tyler grabbed the door handle and tried to open the door again, but this time it did not budge. There had been no warning signal, nothing to alert us that our chance to exit the train was over, but now we were stuck inside the train, and Alyssa outside on the platform. I ran back into the passenger car and spinning around frantically began shouting, “USCITA, USCITA, USCITA!” Which means, “EXIT, EXIT, EXIT!” Except I had the pronunciation completely wrong and wasn’t forming an actual sentence, so it really shouldn’t be surprising that the other passengers ignored me entirely and made no move to help us.

Even as I was shouting I felt the train shift under my feet, and I looked at Tyler in horror, and then we both turned to look out the window to where Alyssa still stood on the platform. Her face mirrored the looks of shock and confusion on our’s as the train slowly moved away, leaving her behind.

None of us had international phones, so there was no way of contacting her. There was nothing we could do now except sit down and wait for the next stop, and then get back on a train heading back to Alyssa. But the fears immediately began bombarding our minds–“What if she tries to come to us? What if she heads back to the apartments without us? What do we do if we get back to the stop and she isn’t there?” In retrospect none of these fears were really serious, but at the time we were overwhelmed–our first excursion and we were already lost and separated.

Even as we fretting over our fears the image of Alyssa’s face as she was squashed in the doors (just like the warning stickers posted on them!)  came to my mind and I suddenly burst out laughing. Tyler looked at me in confusion. Through my laughter I managed to say, “Alysssa. The doors. Her face!” At this Tyler cracked up too and we laughed the whole way to the next stop. When we exited the train–this time successfully–our fears returned. It was about 15 minutes until the next train and I couldn’t help but worry about Alyssa waiting for us, wondering if we were coming for her, when we would get there, or whether she should just go back to the apartment.

Finally the train pulled up and we were once again headed back the direction we had come. When we arrived at our stop we ran out onto the platform looking frantically for Alyssa. She was no where in sight. Then we saw her–getting onto the very train we had just gotten off of a little ways down the platform. We ran after her yelling for her to wait. She saw us, and climbed down, just before the door latched and the train started moving.

We spent a few moments spilling out our separate adventures and expressing our relief. Then we decided to continue on our venture. A few minutes later we were approaching a magnificent medieval town, rising up on a hill over the surrounding suburbs. We entered through an arch in the wall around the city, climbed through winding streets, past beautiful churches, and finally to a castle at the top of it all with beautiful views looking out over the city and the Alps beyond.

It was a successful trip after all and well worth the hecticness and confusion. And most importantly, the adventure gave me one of my most hilarious memories. I’ll never forget the look on Alyssa’s face while trapped in the door, or the image of me running around yelling, or our pathetic naive faces as the train pulled away. Who would have thought a train door could have presented such difficulties?