JULY 2024 - Which Way

In 1959, before traveling to Europe, I joined an organization called SERVAS. People with rooms to spare offered them at no cost to travelers for two nights. The aim of the program was to encourage peace and understanding through travel and hosting. Since I’d be traveling on a very tight budget any help with the cost of lodging meant a lot, but I especially looked forward to meeting local people and having a chance to visit and share experiences.

I was in Florence, Italy the first time I decided to ask a host for housing. I checked my suitcase at the train station, taking only a small bag with what I needed for the two nights. To save money, I hitched a ride. The man was pleasant and spoke pretty good English. I told him where I wanted to be let out. All too soon I realized he was driving in the wrong direction. When I questioned him, he grabbed my thigh, then put his hand on my crotch, and told me there was a price to be paid for the ride. I shoved his hand away and told him to let me out. He drove even faster. When we came to a red light, he didn’t stop, but when he slowed down, I opened the car door and fell out, scrambling to run off the road. I had no idea where I was. I took care of my scrapes and bruises as best I could.

Through a combination of mime, a few Italian words I knew, and my Italian/English phrase book, I discovered the house I wanted to stay in was about four or five miles from where I was. I walked to the pensione, arriving about 4 pm, exhausted, hungry, and thirsty. I checked to make sure I had the correct address and rang the bell. 

A gaunt woman, dressed in black, who looked to be in her 60’s, opened the door, spewing Italian that did not sound friendly. I finally understood that I had transgressed local custom, that I should have known it was siesta time, and that anyone with a modicum of respect would never have rung the bell before 5:30. 

I apologized, trying to say I didn’t know, but she refused to listen and told me to return at 5:30. I was too tired and too upset to do anything more than nod at her words. She slammed the door shut. I stared at the closed door not sure what to do. I decided to walk to a small park near the house, drank from the fountain, ate a few nuts I discovered in my bag, found a somewhat secluded place, lay down, and fell asleep. I got up, washed my face, and more than a bit afraid of how I’d be received, walked back to the house.

This time I was greeted by the host, a woman in her 70’s who spoke pretty good English. Once again I apologized. She looked at my SERVAS book, reminded me never to appear at a host’s house before 5:30, and showed me to my room. I lay down on the bed and when I woke up it was dark. I had to use the bathroom. After washing my hands, I went to turn off the faucets but I couldn’t tell which way was off. No water appeared no matter how I turned them. I twisted them in the direction I guessed was off and went back to my room.

In the morning I was woken by an irate host who told me I’d ruined the water system, that there was no water in the house, and didn’t I know which way to turn off a faucet? Stunned, I tried to tell her what had happened but she was too angry to listen. She told me to leave. I didn’t know if she meant for the day or to never return but I packed my bag and left the house. No way could I go back.

Have you tried to communicate in a language you don’t speak? How did you manage? 

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JULY 2024 Monthly Stories