A Train Ride from Hell
Bologna to Milan
By: Charles Giuliano - Jan 04, 2009
Winding down three weeks of visiting several cities in Northern Italy our last leg included three days in Bologna. By then we were well adapted to the routine of negotiating train schedules and the constant packing and unpacking. We scoped out the nearest bus connection to avoid an expensive and often adventurous cab drive.
The plan was to return to Milan for a final day, another look at the Duomo, the last Italian meal at the very nice neighborhood restaurant. The inexpensive hotel we booked was described as a short distance from the train station. Also, as it turned out, the bus to the airport. We were catching an early flight and would be up before daylight.
It seemed well thought out and just a matter of execution. But there was the all too familiar agita of making all those connections. The last night in Bologna went well with yet another magnificent meal. We had arrived early, with no reservations, at a recommended restaurant. They were just opening for the evening. It took some persuasion to be seated, and then, another negotiation for a better table. All of which was worth the effort. A professor seated next to us congratulated us on having selected one of the best family style restaurants (trattoria) in the city noted for superb cuisine. This was confirmed when we left finding a line winding down the street. We strolled about the center of the city before retiring for the evening.
Arriving at the train station on a Sunday morning we were surprised to find it so busy. At the window the agent was trying to sell us a first class ticket, assigned seating, at well more than the usual price. It hardly seemed necessary, or so we thought, having found unreserved seating quite adequate for the past three weeks.
It seems we had a couple of hours to kill and there was no adequate seating in the vast waiting room. We wandered out to the platform looking for a bench but none was available. Spotting a small church we opted to visit; less for prayer than a place to sit. I was reading a thick biography of de Kooning. Now and then someone came in for a moment of prayer.
Eventually we returned to the platform which was now quite crowded as the train pulled in. It was already packed. Astrid managed to board while I was still on the platform. There was no more room. Frantically I indicated that my wife was on the train and insisted that I squeeze on. It felt like rush hour as we struggled to find room when the doors closed and we departed for a voyage of several hours, standing room only, to Milan.
After a few stops, as passengers came and went, we made our way to the center of the car. It seems that it was a holiday, a Memorial Day, for the martyrs including those who had fallen to the Mafia. For the occasion there had been a huge bust in Sicily which was all over the news. For the long weekend everyone was traveling.
With a spirit of adventure we made the most of it. But were surprised by the woman, occupying a seat, who never stopped complaining in a very loud manner, about how uncomfortable she was. We befriended a young Korean woman who was traveling with her sister. They were seated but told us regarding the complaining woman than "It has been like this all the way from Rome." We chatted with her about travel and plans for Milan.
Standing for several hours in a densely packed train we tried every possible combination of posture and position. At one point I even tried to sit on the floor. Or put my butt now and then on the arm rest of a seat. Occasionally, somebody would leave a seat to find the rest room which was quite a challenge. By an unwritten rule they returned to reclaim their seat. The complaining woman also got up and moved about stating how much it inconvenienced her. I studied her and tried to understand an unpleasant persona in a purple sweater with cheap plastic beads around her neck. How I longed to tell her to F-off.
Under such circumstance there is an odd bond that unites passengers even the seated, the haves, and the standing, the have nots. Eventually it boiled over. In very eloquent Italian a man addressed the complaining woman and said what needed to be said. When he had finished I applauded and cheered. After a moment there was a booming chorus of applause and cheers. The woman was shocked and humiliated. Fortunately for her ego and pride she departed a couple of stops later with another chorus of good riddance.
During the last hour or so we found seats. Talking with the Korean woman I said it had been a mistake not to buy those reserved first class seats. Not really, it would make no difference, she explained. First they were oversold and there was no way we would ever get to them. So it really doesn't make any difference.
The point, I guess, it to avoid taking a train on an Italian Holiday. But, hey, who knew.