I remembered continental European train stations as busy, and sometimes confusing, from my Europass days during my junior year of college, now 45 years ago — ahem.) At the time I was 20 years old, active, and had much less bulk and arthritis to carry around than I do today. As Carol wrote, the train to Pisa was built on two levels, three stairs up or three stairs down. We chose DOWN, and stuffed two big suitcases, several smaller ones, the walker and my cane into two seats, and headed out to Pisa. The countryside did offer lovely views: hills in the distance often topped by romanesque churches, either still in use or in ruins, surrounded by clusters of houses all plastered with the same dusty mustard color you see throughout Tuscany. Rows of low fruit trees or grape vines sped by, punctuated by cypress trees that could have been painted by Van Gogh. I chuckled at the banks of solar panels that alternated with agriculture. My, it has been 45 years!
Hoisted up and spilled out onto the platform at Pisa, we looked for the exit to the station, only to find a long steep flight of stairs down into a tunnel. Of course, the only way to avoid the tracks of the other platforms was to burrow beneath them. Nice and easy if you are lithe and loose of limb! Not so for us, with our caravanserai of baggage and our limited mobility. We slumped on the bench in the middle of the platform. Thank goodness for the bench, or I might have thrown myself in front of the next train. After a bit, I volunteered to venture the stairs, if Carol would stay with all the bags. Down the stairs (me and Dante and Virgil, I thought, huffing our way to Inferno), then across the long, tiled corridor and up the corresponding stairs into the station. I found an information office and had an interesting dual-language discussion with the man in charge there, who insisted that there was a lift at the end of the platform for us to lug our luggage into.
Back down the stairs, through the corridor, and up the stairs. I had no more energy to run around to the ends of the platform, looking for a ‘lift.” We consulted, we took account of our travel weary bones and injuries, and gave it up. No Pisa. We decided to get on the train back to Florence and find ourselves a hotel there.
Train in reverse. No conductor had come to take our tickets on the way to Pisa, and no conductor came to sell us any on the way back to Florence. Free ride! We chose Hotel Pendini somewhat at random from the guidebook and caught a taxi there.