Not For The Faint Of Heart
There are only 60 seats per train car, but that in no way discourages over 100 optimists from crowding in - just in case one seat remains unoccupied.
There is no such thing as maximum capacity on an inter-city Italian train. There may be only 60 seats per car, but that in no way discourages over 100 optimists from crowding on – just to see if maybe one more second-class seat remains unoccupied. And once you are on, you are on; there is no turning back through all the hopeful souls who have pushed and crowded on behind you.
One minute before departure of the train out of Venice, all the seats are taken, the aisles are jammed full of people, and I resign myself to the reality that six of us are destined for a two-hour journey standing in the vestibule between two cars, our bags on the floor, wedged between our feet. What I could not have imagined, is that at the sound of the whistle, four more hopeful, and need I say, agile travelers leap on board with four more bags. As the train pulls out of Venice’s S. Lucia station, we total ten, packed in the tiny space like so many tinned anchovies, all bound for Florence come hell or high tide.
For fifteen minutes not a word is spoken in this embarrassing, uncomfortable proximity, except maybe “ooops” and “sorry”. We are all trying to ignore the fact that here we are, nose to nose, thigh to thigh, breathing on total strangers and will be for quite some time. Some stare at the ceiling, some at the floor. A young Japanese man just un-focuses his eyes to give himself the illusion of personal space. With pained expressions on our faces, we are jostled about trying to find something to hold onto other than the sleeve of the stranger standing next to us, Then, with a sinking heart, I notice that the windows are sealed shut, you know, just in case the Ferrovie dello Stato Italiane decides to install air conditioning some day, I imagine. Great foresight.
Shifting my weight from left foot to right, I recall Bronte’s Jayne Eyre. Feeling she was becoming incapable of appreciating her life of security and ease at Thornfield, she says, “What good it would do me to be tossed in the storm of an uncertain and struggling life and to be taught by bitter experience to long for the calm in which I now repine.”
I remind myself that I took this solo journey in the first place, on the firm belief that I, like Ms Eyre, had been “sitting too long in a too easy chair”, and I resolve to appreciate this present situation for what it is. I blurt out, a little too loudly no doubt, “Man! This is the best train ride I have ever had! Isn’t this fun!” Two women groan, a little boy giggles, then all ten of us burst into hysterical laughter. Before long, we allow ourselves to perspire freely, to shake hands, and introduce ourselves. We pass the time swapping stories in four different languages, and passing around a bag of Perugina Caramelle candies.
In Bologna, four people get off and I swear the car seems a little empty.
Ah, there are often pleasures to be found in shared experience, however uncomfortable!
I loved this: "In Bologna, four people get off and I swear the car seems a little empty."
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When you blurted out, "Man, this is the best train ride I have ever had! Isn't this fun!" ....you had me!
Such a simple decision made such a difference.