Stephanie Moreland
Professional Writer & Photographer

The waterworks began yesterday. In my adventure so far, yesterday was by far the toughest day for me to take. I woke up at 5 am (for the third day in a row) due to a combination of the heat and my excitement about beginning my volunteer vacation in Altamura. I wanted to get to Termini in time to catch the train. My first problem was that I didn’t know how to read my train ticket (so I had no idea what seat and car I was supposed to be in). My second problem was that I didn’t see “Bari Centrale” on the departure monitor that tells you what track you are supposed to leave from. So essentially, I had no idea which departure gate or “Bin” number I was leaving from, and now idea which train, car, or seat I was assigned to.

I waited for “Bari” or “Centrale” to pop up, but it never did. I saw “Lecce” which was scheduled to leave at the exact time that my train was supposed to. Where the hell is “Lecce”? I desperately flipped through the train schedule to find “Lecce” but could find nothing. I waited in line at the ticket office, and the man behind the counter (who was about the billionth Italian that despised me because I don’t speak Italian) told me to go to track 12. Fine. So, I make my way over to track 12 and asked an employee if that train went to Bari. “No”, he said abruptly and walked off.

So it was 30 minutes to departure time, and I had no idea where my damn train was. I found a customer service agent, and she said, “No Inglese! Other side”. Fantastic. So, I went to the other side, almost in tears at this point because I was sure that I would miss my train, and asked the lady behind the counter where I was supposed to go. Finally, the lady says to me, “Si, Lecce is the one you want…it is the last stop…take track 9. YOU must look to see which train it is…do not ask someone that you cannot trust”. Oh, that’s terrific advice…thanks so much, I wish I would have thought of that. And I was supposed to know that Lecce was the same train as Bari how exactly? Little did I know (in my naïve first-train-trip experience), that the train number on the ticket corresponds to the train number on the departure monitor.

Finally, I made it on the train,  jumped in a random car, convinced that the doors would shut on me at any second with my luck. I asked a woman to help me (in Italian), and she said, “You are in first class! Wrong car!” Okay, soooooo sorry. Finally, a man helped me get to the right car and I found my seat. There was a handsome Australian man sitting across the row that smiled at me and offered some assistance…ok so all is not lost.

By the train lurched into gear, however, the silent tears were running down my cheeks. I hid my head, and put on my oversized sunglasses so the handsome Australian would not see me cry. “What in the name of God am I doing here?” The thought just kept running over and over again. I kept trying to convince myself not to cultivate the pity party further with negative thoughts. But, dear God, it’s so hot all the time with no escape, and I keep getting lost, and encountering people who are disturbed by my mere presence in their city. Never mind making friends….they won’t give you a chance to talk. This is not what I thought it would be at all. The worst part was knowing that I would be back in the heat in Altamura and then going back to blazing Rome all over again. What the hell was I thinking, really? I’m such a travel wuss. And now I can be categorized with every other stupid American tourist- doesn’t speak the language, complains about the heat, can’t sleep without central air conditioning, and doesn’t know her way around the damn train station.

I listened to Yo-Yo Ma on my iPod and watched the Italian country side pass by on the five hour train ride. I tried to sleep and just enjoy the process, but I was feeling seriously discouraged. The train ride was nice- the scenery was spectacular and the air-conditioning was blowing. I tried to shake off the funk that I was in, but I knew I still had to get from Bari to Altamura, so the fun was only beginning. I got off the train in Bari, and went looking for the train to Altamura. Someone helped me find the station, but then I didn’t know which platform to take. I sat outside and people started showing up. I thought perhaps there would be a sign telling passengers which train would take them to Altamura, but nothing was there. To make matters worse, I was sitting on a very long bench that could have sat at least twenty people. Slowly but surely, the seats across and behind me filled up with glaring Italians. But no one would sit anywhere near me. It was like I had some kind of disease that could be transmitted by air---the tourist disease. They just stared at me and glared, and I became more depressed. I looked at my cell phone. I need my mom or my brother or one of my friends to call. I need them to tell me that I’ll make it. I need them to tell me that it will be alright and that I have to keep going…I know that’s what they would say. I needed to hear that even though everyone hates me here, I am loved somewhere in the world, and just to remember that fact, and to move along with it and forget about the people who are behaving this way. But the depression and isolation creeps into my pores and I can’t control it.

Then Anna Maria saved my life---or at least my day. I was biting my lip to keep from crying in front of these people, and I asked two ladies (in Italian) which platform I was supposed to be on. They nodded and told me “due” (two), but a young woman said in accented English, “Do not listen to them. They are wrong. Follow me, and I will tell you. Perfavore, don’t listen to them, ok? It is platform one.” She proceeded to walk me to the yellow box, and I punched my ticket. Then she sat across from me on the train. I was literally soaked to the bone in sweat at this point, and my head was throbbing. I had not eaten (as is the case with the few days before) because it was so hot, and I was having trouble with the water (or maybe the food, but something had my stomach in a twist). I just couldn’t eat. Anna Maria and I talked for an hour and a half on the train to Altamura. Although we had the problems with the language barrier, facial expressions and hand gestures seemed to work nicely for us. It turned out that she worked in the travel industry and had always dreamed of going to the United States. She thought it was wonderful, and would give anything to go someday. We built a friendship in an hour and a half, and before I got off the train, we had made plans for me to come to Matera to visit her so she could show me around. We exchanged contact information, and before I said my good-byes, she put her hand to her heart and said, “I am so happy to meet you. I am sorry that you have difficulties, but you have new friend now. We will stay in touch.” I expressed my gratitude, and walked away to wait for my ride from the train station.

I looked like I had jumped in the water fully clothed when I walked off the train. I was beyond exhausted, and my head continued to ache. I tried to make myself eat some peanuts, but my stomach was in knots, and I thought they would just come right back up again. I filled two water bottles from a freezing cold fountain, gulped them down, and filled two more. Of course, this might not have been the best course of action if the water was in fact the problem, but I knew I had the early signs of heat exhaustion. Terressana (my ride and one of the people who helps run Sinergie, the company that holds the work camp), came racing up in her mini European car just when I thought I was going to collapse. She was small, dark, energetic, and the warmth of her smile and personality made me feel much better. We chatted as we pulled up to Cappuccini, the ex-monastery that was to be my home for the next two weeks. It was a bit ramshackle, but a huge complex that offered a cool respite from the scorching heat. The monastery was on the edge of the city of Altamura, and the city center was an easy 10 minute walk away.

I met Antoinette who has participated in this program for the past six years. Vinci, a participant from Hong Kong, was smiling and friendly, and they both greeted me enthusiastically. They showed me to my room- a dorm-like facility with three twin beds. Terressana brought me cold ice water in a pitcher, and showed me the shower. “Mangia! You need to eat something, Stefania. You shower then eat.” I nodded wearily and peeled off my disgusting clothes. The ice cold water ran down my body, and I felt the relief from the heat course through my veins.

I put on clean, dry clothes and headed down to eat. They had prepared a cold rice salad and fresh bread from Altamura. I choked it down, but it was what I needed. I chatted with Antoinette and Vinci about lives, careers, travel, and education. I thought if the rest of the group ended up being this nice, I couldn’t wait to meet them. People begin to arrive in waves. There were two college students from the US, and two from Holland. Then an American couple from New Hampshire arrived, along with three more male students from Holland. Finally Tonio, who had been my contact for the project all along, arrived. I was eager to meet him to find out more about the program since I had spoken to him so many times.

A few of the students and I wandered into town (I needed socks and flip-flops which I had completely forgotten to buy in Rome). Jay, a college student from the US,  and I chatted as we meandered to the supermarket. These kids were just too cool. I have to remind myself that I’m older than they are, and that I’m not a college student anymore. It is so easy to feel younger than one’s age in Europe for so many reasons. Jay and I finally wandered back to Cappuccini- we had succeeded in getting lost during my search for socks and his search for shampoo. We had dinner as a group, and I was the ringleader for laughs and jokes about traveling along with some serious discussions about America. The couple from New Hampshire were like-minded souls, and we got along famously with Venci and the three of the Dutch students. Again, these kids are too cool for words. One of the Dutch students, Bart, with whom I would form a good friendship, is only twenty-two years old. He seems so much older. He speaks like four languages, is incredibly intelligent, loves to travel, and seems like a kind-hearted person. Sigh. Why don’t they make American men like that? Maybe they do, but I don’t ever find them.

As the evening wore on, the party tapered off as people eventually went up to their rooms catch some sleep. Tonio had his acoustic guitar out and was singing a mixture of Italian and English songs in his deep, grovely, accented voice. When he sang a slow version of “With Or Without You” I thought I might actually melt into the floor under the bright Italian moon and stars. Why don’t we have nights like this in the U.S.? We drank Peroni and laughed and listened to him sing. I was not near being ready to sleep, despite the exhausting day I had. In the end, as would happen almost every night in Altamura, I was the last person awake. I took the time to pull out my laptop, drink more beer, and spend some time with my thoughts.

Even in the beautiful surroundings, under the cover of the southern Italian sky, I could not help but feel melancholy and loneliness creep into my soul. Even with the group, I am alone here, as in so many other instances in my life. I am the oddball. I am not a student, and not a member of the company that runs the work camp. I am not part of a married couple, and I am not in my early twenties. I did not arrive with a relative or friend. I am the only one awake at this hour, and I am the only one having these crazy thoughts. The next two weeks would be a challenge for me on many levels—it had already started off as a physical and mental challenge. Tonight, I realized that it would also be an emotional challenge. This would be a time of self-discovery. I knew immediately that there would be no romantic connections, and no single person to attach myself to. This would be a time to learn how to be alone, how to not fit in with the group, and how to fit in perfectly at the same time. This would be a time for me to figure out that being alone and being lonely are two totally different things. I didn’t know this at the time, of course, because all I felt was loneliness. I only hoped that I would find a permanent way to adjust my attitude- that I would find a way to block out the feeling of loneliness and embrace the idea of being alone- during this work camp and beyond.