accidentally terontola
EDIT [July 19, 2011]: Hi! This is a blog I kept while I was working and travelling in Europe a few years ago. I haven't updated it since 2007, but I'm leaving this note because I've realised that if you google search "Terontola," this blog entry comes up pretty high on the list of results. Who knew? In its heyday this blog had, like, seventeen readers, and three of them were my mum. But now there's this whole search engine debacle where I'm starting to feel kind of bad for Terontola, because this blog entry isn't what I'd call great press for the place.
I'd hope it would be obvious that my hatchet job on this harmless hamlet was (a) exaggerated for my own entertainment and (b) more Trenitalia's fault than Terontola's. But just in case that's not perfectly evident, I think I should clear some travel writing karma and tell you straight up that this town is - sigh - really not that bad.
So - are we cool? Do you feel reassured about your choice of agriturismo or school project topic or whatever it was that led you to google Terontola? Phew! Now on with the snark.
Our time in Perugia was, however, cut tragically short by an unscheduled three-hour layover in Terontola on the way there. Terontola, as yet untouched by the ravages of tourism, is a tiny Tuscan village whose cultural bounty is only equalled by the friendliness of its inhabitants: which is to say, there’s nothing to do and the people are jerks.
Our visit started with a random passport check by the police. We were worried the delay was going to cause us to miss our connection. Ah ha ha. Ha. I bolted to the announcements screen and failed to find our train. I bolted to the ticket window and hemmed loudly to attract the attention of the ticket seller, who was crouched by the window with his fingers between the slats of the blind, spying on the featureless street.
‘Excuse me. What platform for the 9:40 to Perugia?’
‘There is no 9:40 to Perugia.’
‘Um, yes there is. We bought tickets for it this morning.’
‘It doesn’t run on Sundays.’
‘But the machine sold us tickets for it.’
He grinned the slow grin of a malicious mutant frog.
‘The machine,’ he enunciated, ‘made a mistake.’
‘Well when’s the next one?’
‘Twelve thirty.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Half. Past. Twelve.’
‘I see. Well is there anything interesting to see here while we’re waiting?’
His grin stretched so wide his thin lips disappeared completely.
‘Nope.’
‘Thank you very much. You’ve been so helpful.’
As I turned to go I added, ‘You know, you’re a genuine arsehole.’ That last bit was in English, but he knew, and he was okay with that.
I broke the news to New Guy, who took it very well, and we went to the bar across the road for a cappuccino. I repeated my question about local sights, and the bar tender jerked his head toward the train station. ‘Genuine fascist period article.’
‘Awesome.’ I looked around the bar and saw a collection of brightly coloured posters advertising scratch lotto tickets. ‘It’s my lucky day. I’ll take a scratch card, thanks.’
‘Oh no. We don’t sell those here.’
‘Of course you don’t.’ I turned to NG. ‘What now?’
‘We could go back and tell that guy he’s an arsehole again, but that’ll take up five minutes, tops. If we walk really slow.’
Instead we struck out for the edge of town, which was conveniently close to the centre of town, there not being much town to speak of. Soon we found ourselves among cypresses and brooding hens and crumbling brick houses. An old lady with not many teeth left shot the breeze with us for a while, since she needed a break from carrying a load of firewood home in a bucket. She wouldn’t let us help her. New Guy took a lot of photos of cypresses and crumbling brick houses, the merits of which we compared and debated, concluding that some of them would be very nice places to live, if they weren’t so close to Terontola. We walked up a hill, and walked down it again. We got back to the station in time for another cappuccino and a couple of sudokus before the 12:30 train. On the way to Perugia we swapped MP3 players. I looked out the window at the waters of Lake Trasimeno, milky green under the glowering sky, with lots of little castles standing out on headlands and islands. New Guy looked through the photos he’d just taken. ‘You know,’ he said, ‘it looks as if we meant to do that.’
‘I know, right? I’m going to do a big blog feature on Terontola.’
You see I’m a woman of my word.
I'd hope it would be obvious that my hatchet job on this harmless hamlet was (a) exaggerated for my own entertainment and (b) more Trenitalia's fault than Terontola's. But just in case that's not perfectly evident, I think I should clear some travel writing karma and tell you straight up that this town is - sigh - really not that bad.
So - are we cool? Do you feel reassured about your choice of agriturismo or school project topic or whatever it was that led you to google Terontola? Phew! Now on with the snark.
Last weekend I went to the new laundromat which has just opened on my street. The best thing about it was the parade of coiffed old ladies in their fur coats and cats-eye glasses who paused at the window to chew gum and gawk. I must have seen at least a dozen of them stop and stare before one woman got up the courage to come in.
‘I see you’ve opened your doors, treasure. Compliments on your new business.’
I explained the misunderstanding.
‘Well anyway, how does it work?’
In Italy it’s always quicker to have the conversation than to try to avoid it, so I ran her through a little tour of the facilities, being sure to mention the discounts attendant on purchasing a loyalty card.
‘Thank you dear. I must say it’s very impressive.’
I gave the talk a couple more times in the morning, and wondered why I didn’t own a laundromat. It has to be about the only business where you can be off getting your hair done while the money rolls in.
The weekend before was a bit more newsworthy. I went to Perugia with the blink-and-you’ll-miss-him new teacher, an English guy with a great MP3 collection and a Gobi-dry sense of humour, who unfortunately was just called back home for family reasons. So I’m meeting the replacement’s replacement’s replacement for coffee tomorrow, and I know I’m going to start mixing their names up, but at least with all the switcheroos I’ve met some interesting people. Anyway, Perugia is very pretty and medieval, plus it’s in Umbria so I’m ticking off those regions one by one, and they did me a good hot piadina, drippy with mozarella and herby green bits, to keep out the February cold. New Guy had prudently packed his lunch, of which I naturally ate half as a chaser for my piadina. We saw the cathedral and the main square and a bunch of Etruscan things but the best things were the windy steep streets.
‘I see you’ve opened your doors, treasure. Compliments on your new business.’
I explained the misunderstanding.
‘Well anyway, how does it work?’
In Italy it’s always quicker to have the conversation than to try to avoid it, so I ran her through a little tour of the facilities, being sure to mention the discounts attendant on purchasing a loyalty card.
‘Thank you dear. I must say it’s very impressive.’
I gave the talk a couple more times in the morning, and wondered why I didn’t own a laundromat. It has to be about the only business where you can be off getting your hair done while the money rolls in.
The weekend before was a bit more newsworthy. I went to Perugia with the blink-and-you’ll-miss-him new teacher, an English guy with a great MP3 collection and a Gobi-dry sense of humour, who unfortunately was just called back home for family reasons. So I’m meeting the replacement’s replacement’s replacement for coffee tomorrow, and I know I’m going to start mixing their names up, but at least with all the switcheroos I’ve met some interesting people. Anyway, Perugia is very pretty and medieval, plus it’s in Umbria so I’m ticking off those regions one by one, and they did me a good hot piadina, drippy with mozarella and herby green bits, to keep out the February cold. New Guy had prudently packed his lunch, of which I naturally ate half as a chaser for my piadina. We saw the cathedral and the main square and a bunch of Etruscan things but the best things were the windy steep streets.
Our time in Perugia was, however, cut tragically short by an unscheduled three-hour layover in Terontola on the way there. Terontola, as yet untouched by the ravages of tourism, is a tiny Tuscan village whose cultural bounty is only equalled by the friendliness of its inhabitants: which is to say, there’s nothing to do and the people are jerks.
Our visit started with a random passport check by the police. We were worried the delay was going to cause us to miss our connection. Ah ha ha. Ha. I bolted to the announcements screen and failed to find our train. I bolted to the ticket window and hemmed loudly to attract the attention of the ticket seller, who was crouched by the window with his fingers between the slats of the blind, spying on the featureless street.
‘Excuse me. What platform for the 9:40 to Perugia?’
‘There is no 9:40 to Perugia.’
‘Um, yes there is. We bought tickets for it this morning.’
‘It doesn’t run on Sundays.’
‘But the machine sold us tickets for it.’
He grinned the slow grin of a malicious mutant frog.
‘The machine,’ he enunciated, ‘made a mistake.’
‘Well when’s the next one?’
‘Twelve thirty.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Half. Past. Twelve.’
‘I see. Well is there anything interesting to see here while we’re waiting?’
His grin stretched so wide his thin lips disappeared completely.
‘Nope.’
‘Thank you very much. You’ve been so helpful.’
As I turned to go I added, ‘You know, you’re a genuine arsehole.’ That last bit was in English, but he knew, and he was okay with that.
I broke the news to New Guy, who took it very well, and we went to the bar across the road for a cappuccino. I repeated my question about local sights, and the bar tender jerked his head toward the train station. ‘Genuine fascist period article.’
‘Awesome.’ I looked around the bar and saw a collection of brightly coloured posters advertising scratch lotto tickets. ‘It’s my lucky day. I’ll take a scratch card, thanks.’
‘Oh no. We don’t sell those here.’
‘Of course you don’t.’ I turned to NG. ‘What now?’
‘We could go back and tell that guy he’s an arsehole again, but that’ll take up five minutes, tops. If we walk really slow.’
Instead we struck out for the edge of town, which was conveniently close to the centre of town, there not being much town to speak of. Soon we found ourselves among cypresses and brooding hens and crumbling brick houses. An old lady with not many teeth left shot the breeze with us for a while, since she needed a break from carrying a load of firewood home in a bucket. She wouldn’t let us help her. New Guy took a lot of photos of cypresses and crumbling brick houses, the merits of which we compared and debated, concluding that some of them would be very nice places to live, if they weren’t so close to Terontola. We walked up a hill, and walked down it again. We got back to the station in time for another cappuccino and a couple of sudokus before the 12:30 train. On the way to Perugia we swapped MP3 players. I looked out the window at the waters of Lake Trasimeno, milky green under the glowering sky, with lots of little castles standing out on headlands and islands. New Guy looked through the photos he’d just taken. ‘You know,’ he said, ‘it looks as if we meant to do that.’
‘I know, right? I’m going to do a big blog feature on Terontola.’
You see I’m a woman of my word.
posted by Katrina @ 9:40 PM
