:: Italian (mis)Adventure, the Finale ::

:: finally, an hour and fifteen minutes late, the train arrives. i settle in on an 8” by 8” flip-out seat with a severe lean in the hallway huddled over my bags (i paid extra for this ‘first-class’ seat). 30 minutes later we enter a tunnel. the main lights go out and the train rolls to a stop. to my right is an italian gramma (who has not yet started chattering at me to my suprise), and look to her for support. in the dim light i can see she’s unaffected by the events, having long since grown accustomed to this sort of pandemonium. i work to convince myself that we are just paused while another train passes, but none come. eventually we’re moving again, and i chuckle at my near-panic. a short time later; another tunnel, another power failure, another near panic (which is repeated numerous time over the next two hours), but finally arriving to genoa. this time the delay is just over two hours, so i simply head to the ticket office and get in line to exchange my ticket: 25 minutes in line to find out that it’s the wrong one; the correct one being 30 minutes more. even getting a pack of my beloved ringos takes 15 minutes… i decide to make a pit-stop. not wanting to leave my bags unattended, they accompany me to the water-closet. with one hand holding my suit-case and the other holding garment bag above the flood, i am left unable to perform required duties typically associated with a trip to the wc. at last i am to the new track with the new train, number 666… figures. over the announcements i hear in Italian “something something something, train 666, something delayed 90 minutes, something something”. great. i can make out the youngsters on the platform giggling and saying “something something tren del diavolo,” loosely translating to ‘devil train’. fantastic. despite being late, my ride on the ‘devil train’ was unspectacular. i arrive to milano, take the aeroporto bus, and finally the shuttle to my hotel (still raining). at check-in i ask if there is anywhere close to get food at this hour (quarter past 11pm). ‘alore, sir, there is nothing open… un momento, let me phone a friend. ... yes sir, my friend will meet you outside in 10 minutes, take you to a pizzeria, and bring you back.’ ‘really?’ ‘yes sir, please check into your room to refresh and be back in 10 minutes.’ super! i hurry to my room, and open the door to a well-lit luxurous room. i wheel my bags inside and close the door. the lights go out. i open the door, lights on. close the door, lights off. (repeat several times before noticing the card reader on the wall inside the room). swipe hotel key card in reader, lights come on (with door closed) and ‘welcome shojo’ appears on the tv. wow! i head to the water-closet this time with hands free of luggage to finally perform the much required duties. lights off. ‘what the ___?!?’ ::

:: i mumble to myself, fumbling to maintain decency while opening the hallway door again to reactivate the lights, and reinsert the keycard into the slot this time leaving it there. lights on. at this point, i am convinced i have stored up enough good karma for the remainder of the trip, and thankfully i am correct. pizza driver shows up and i am wisked away to a lovely, and quite classy, pizzeria for a delicious calzone bigger than my head. pizza driver takes me back to the hotel, and i settle in for the night. the next morning i have breakfast, and head for the hotel shuttle i reserved the night before. 20 minutes after departure, a gaggle of female oriental travelers begin dragging hordes of luggage out of the hotel towards the still waiting shuttle. with a clearly annoyed groan, the driver gets out and begins loading. finally underway, the hotel driver passes the exit for the domestic flights and takes the international flight exit. the gaggle leader barks at the driver who does not respond. i understand her to say something about him being required to stop at the domestic flight first, and they are late for a flight, possibly to miss it. we arrive at the international flight terminal, and the gaggle leader is now furious at the driver, who stops the van and with very stern italian orders/cursing, instructs them to move so i can get out of the van. he then points out they were late, and i have priority since i was on time. at the back of the van, i thank the driver who winks and whispers ‘niente’ or no-problem. check in for the flight goes smoothly, and i pick up a few souvenirs (several italian silk ties for myself and some christmas presents for loved ones back home). when the plane doors close, there is no-one in front, behind, or beside me as i settle in for a much-needed relaxing flight home. apparently travel karma does exist… [fin] ::