I recently found myself on a long train from Florence to Rome, as I travelled I met someone who had a profound effect on my mentality. This is that story.

My train from Florence to Rome through the beatiful Italian countryside was estimated at about 4 hours. I was so exhausted from my adventures over the past couple days however that I spent the first hour only about half conscious as I desperately seeked rest.

I was awoken when the train reached Arezzo, a small city in the east of Tuscany, by a woman tapping me on my leg. Coming back to reality, it took a few seconds for me to realise what was happening before the woman asked, in an American accent, “Would you mind if I sat here?”

I quickly moved my legs off of the seat, I must have brought them up in an effort to better rest, before replying “Yes, of course, let me move my bags out of the way.”

I spent the next few minutes waking myself up, the afternoon sun was streaming through the window of the train causing the inside of the carriage to have an uncomfortable heat. I pulled my hat lower over my face to protect it from the glare, but the sunlight persisted through the holes in the material.

As I adjusted back to the mortal realm, I listened in on the conversation occuring next to me. After over a month of hearing mostly Italian I was used to hearing the natural rhyme schemes of the é and o that are so common in the language. What I was hearing though wasn’t that, it was English, not just that either, American English!

Those who now me, know of my distaste for Americans. It’s bad to have prejudices I know, but something about them grinds my gears in a way I can’t describe to the point that just hearing their accents is enough to irritate me. “Enough” I thought, finding my resolve. “I strive to be accepting and kind to all those I meet throughout the world, the place of someones birth decides nothing of their character. I must build bridges where I can!”

For a few minutes I built my strength, not just because of my anxiety around talking to strangers, but because of the continuing heat that filled the area around me.

“Excuse me…” I started shortly. The woman turned to me and apologised, going to stand up. “They must think I need to get out” I realised, and reassured them that they were fine where they sat. “That accent,” I continued once they had sat back down, “are you American?”.

A sudden look of recognition swept across their face, perhaps they were in a similar spot having not heard English for a while. “I am yes!” she replied excitedly, “and that accent of yours, are you British?”

For the past few months whilst being here in Italy, I’ve found it quite insulting when people took a look at me and guessed I was British, or if after I tried to speak Italian to them they quickly switched to English instead. This time though, it didn’t feel insulting, it was almost nice to be recognised.

“I am yes! My name’s Cassiopeia.” I offered, trying to prove the British characteristic of politeness. “Johanna” the woman replied, shaking my hand tightly.

Johanna and I spent the remainder of the trip chatting. From dictators, to poetry; Rome to the Lake District. They were truly a delightful conversationalist. They told me of their life, before retiring recently they had been an English teacher in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. She told me about how, once they gained more control over the curriculum, she was desperate to teach her students about classic British poetry; and she was even more ecstatic to hear that I had visited the house and grave of William Wordsworth (one of her favourites).

Her stories were accompanied by a soothing southern U.S. accent. The drawl of syllables that once irritated me upon hearing, became almost melodic. I knew my prejudices had been wrong, but to be so pleasently proven wrong by this delightful person who just happened to sit next to me, it was brilliant.

After hearing about her life, I told her about mine. I told her of my studies in astrophysics and rocket science. About my current project in Rome and how I had used it as an excuse to shamelessly travel around Europe. She was fascinated by the subject even if, by her words, “it wouldn’t make a lick of sense” to her. The time flied by as quickly as the train did through the countryside, and before I knew it our train was pulling in to Rome.

I couldn’t help but feel a twinge sad at my departure from my new friend. In total we must have only talked for about an hour, but it felt like I had known Johanna for my entire life. I helped her get her back from the overhead locker, and wished her and her friends good luck on their travels as they wished me good luck with my studies. I stayed behind breifly on the train, waiting for it to clear enough so that my impossibly heavy suitcase wouldn’t damage anyone.

Once I got down to the platform, I quickly looked around to see if my new friend was still around, but she was gone. I continued my search as I headed towards the Metro, but to no avail. We had passed like ships in the night, and within the week we would be on opposite sides of the planet, likely never to see eachother again.

That is, unfortunately, the way it is sometimes. People come and people go, what remains is what you build your life with. What remains from Johanna is a change of my perspective. We are all human on this Earth, our experiences are never too different from one another. Whilst Americans may be many things, there’s only one thing this American was to me…

…a friend!