Train Tracks

Katherine was trailing behind because I was cheating and pushing my heavy sack rested on the bar of my rental bike. Before turning off the main street to return it I waited so she could see my departure. As you can guess while I jumped through hoops with the bike mechanic who insisted I'd had a flat tire my primary concern was that Kate hadn't made her way the two hundred metres to the shop. Rushing the rental return it still seemed to take half an hour, leaving only that much time again until our train departure. So where is Katherine? We'd briefly discussed her carrying on to the station since she was anxious about being late for the train, so I headed towards it too under that assumption but worrying the entire ten minute walk that it wasn't. Imagine my relief as I spotted her red MEC duffle bag across the busy hall where she was peering up at the departure board.

Coolly I slid up and asked "Which platform do we leave from?" She said she wasn't sure as none said 'Bologna' and I explained it was likely a wayward point, not the destination, but that I knew it left at 10:03am. We both studied the board again but didn't see any at that time. Figuring I was looking at the arrivals as I've done many times before I verified that it was the departure board, and indeed there was no 10:03am.

"It is this station, right?" she confirmed and I whipped out the tickets. Shit, shit, shit.

Checking the time it was 9:40am - "We have to get a taxi!" - and we bumped into each other as we broke toward the taxi stand as if it were the Amazing Race.

"Do we even have any money?" Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. I'd spent down to my last couple Euro coins on the bike rental and hadn't replenished. I started scrambling around looking for an ATM, then ran back to Kate to give her the ticket so she could ask a train attendant what we could do, then shouted over my shoulder for her not to go far as I rushed off to find a bankomat.

Eventually I found it and cursed its double automatic door that, like an air lock, slowly allows you in, waits to close, then slowly opens the inner door. Like a sailor on this morning I swore again under my breath at the blank screen of the first terminal and the massive conglomerate of people around the other two. Checking my watch with a sinking feeling I explained to the young guy in front of me that my train was about to leave, hoping to jump the queue.

"Mine too. I just boarded the bus, the driver had no change to sell me a ticket and waved me on. Sure enough at the next stop the ticket checkers boarded and now they're standing outside with my passport."

"OK, you first," I gestured graciously.

With a mittful of bills I impatiently depressurized through the bank's double doors and ran back to Katherine.

She reported that the bus would take half an hour and indicated a 40-person strong lineup for the taxi. Even if we hailed one immediately the 13 minutes remaining until departure would hardly be enough to get there.

"So what do we do now?" I distinctly remember asking, feeling defeated. We went toward the info desk where there looked like there was a minimum 13 minute lineup so we accosted a uniformed train employee in the hall asking if there was anything to do. He made a call to see if perhaps our train was delayed but sadly informed us "Your train is on time. Funny with this strike going on and nearly everything else delayed or cancelled." Huh? He advised us to join the info line and see if there was anything to do.

It moved surprisingly quickly but was 10:03 when we reached the Italian speaking old man. As soon as I pushed the ticket toward him he looked at it, saw our destination and pointed at a departure on his screen. He didn't get it. I pointed at the different departure station on our ticket and he pointed at the same departure train on his screen, seeming quite apologetic due to the strike. I tried pointing at the train number - same result.

Katherine and I never would have boarded a train without a ticket ordinarily but emboldened with his direction, albeit still supremely hesitant we headed toward that platform. Everyone has heard stories of cranky train conductors extorting money from woeful foreigners or tossing them out at deserted stations yet we were about to try and do this anyhow.

En route we checked for other departures for which we could legitimately buy a ticket (four times the cost, plus the money we'd be burning on the unused ticket) and this departure came up as sold out. Yet we managed to find a pair of seats before it pulled out of the station, only for the rightful owner to show up a minute later. So there we were standing with our properly validated ticket for a rickety old (but scenic) train that had left from an entirely different station while we had ascertained that this was a fancy high speed train whizzing through Italian tunnels. The announcement came on and said the first stop would actually be our stop, meaning we had 37 minutes.

Thirty seven excruciating minutes of waiting for the sickle to fall, of glancing each way for the ticket checker, of holding our breath when anyone looking even remotely authoritative (like wearing a suit) walked down the aisle. With less than five minutes till arrival Katherine thought she might be sick from stress, or maybe just wanted to leave me to do the explaining, and ducked into the bathroom. Nervously I urged the train into the station as I gathered our bags. Just before it came to a stop Kate emerged, grabbed her sack and not until we were both safely on the platform of our destination did either of us breath a sigh of relief.

"As always everything works out in the end," I told her with mock bravado and she just glared at me for having put her through that.