Advertisement
Published: August 5th 2007
Me and Dante...
cold kickin' it like a couple of smart-ass dudes.The searing heat finally let up yesterday and as we sat late in the afternoon in the center of town watching a thunderstorm roll over the Dolomites, we smiled at the good fortune that was blowing in. The next day we'd travel to Verona.
Wake at 7 A.M. by a man and his gas-powered weed-wacker in the large empty field outside the window. Try to sleep in 'til 7:45 when the alarm will go off. Starting to feel like we should never leave the house, shutter it all up and keep to ourselves. But we're adults, we don't need that much sleep. Make it to the train station by 9:05 for the nine-forty-something to Venezia-Mestre and catch another train to Verona. Make it to Verona by noon and ride the #11 bus into town. See the Arena (similar to, but smaller than, Rome's Colosseum), walk around, have lunch, say "what up" to Dante, see some other old stuff: a church here, Juliet's balcony there. Watch the people looking at Juliet's balcony, watch other people pose with the statue of Juliet and touch her two bulbous privates (for what, good luck in love? Good fortune in death?). See a duomo (not
The Arena
Used during the summer for opera shows "the" Duomo, but "a" duomo, Verona's duomo which is still pretty impressive), have a cocktail in the palazzo and a caffè at the train station. Get on the six-forty-something train back to Mestre. Great day, good sights, nice people, we're going home. So far, so...
We're seated in two seats in the front of the train. A woman walks up and glares at us. Amanda says, in italian, I'm sorry I must be in your seat, and tries to get up (on some trains you're assigned a seat, like an airplane). The lady says nothing to us, reaches right over our heads for her purse on the rack, her hairy armpit in Amanda's face. We can't move. Uh-oh, what if that thing starts to stink? Amanda tries again but the lady has blocked our way out of the seats. Her purse on her hip she's rummaging through quite swiftly and pulls out her folded ticket, opens it up, and pushes it in my face. I have her seat, probably. I don't take one look at the ticket, just pull my bag from the floor, say
mi dispiace as rudely as I can and then try to move out for
Shakespeare this ain't.
I don't recall this scene at all. Smoochy boochy! her. Still, she won't budge and it's getting hot and I can't remember the word for "Move!" and she's blocking the aisle and I don't want to push through so I climb over the seat. Like children, now.
Find a 6-seat couchette occupied by one italian gentleman.
Possiamo sedere? (May we sit?)
Si, prego. (Yes, welcome). The train is cool and quiet and before I turn two pages of the book I'm reading I doze off. Wake up. The conductor wants our tickets.
Buona sera, signore. Certo, prendi (of course, here you go). He turns to english. Wrong train. Whoops. Pay the supplement €9, OK. Pay the penalty: €8. Double whoops. We are now living examples of the reverse evolution of man: adults, children, animals.
We'd never had a problem with a ticket until now, nor have we ever been asked to present our tickets to anyone. Ciao, thank you, have a good night. We de-train in Mestre to catch one more home.
Other conductor on the platform says, yes, with this ticket you can take the 8:40 home, no problem, it is all set, track 5. I call his bluff, go to the ticket window. Again, wrong ticket, pay the supplement. Now we're home, have no food in the house*, can't go out to eat because we spent all our money on supplements and penalties, and don't want to go to bed because we'll be woken up by who knows what--probably a man collecting stones off the street into a steel wheelbarrow at 5 A.M. I think I'll drink some tap water, close all the shutters and never come out.
new pics! Amanda's blog Nuove parole:
è cosi: It's like this. Loosely, "it is what it is."
*OK, so we actually grilled up a couple of sausages and had some left-over pasta salad and cut up a garden cetriolo. Cucumber. Not a watermelon.
Advertisement
Tot: 0.108s; Tpl: 0.01s; cc: 10; qc: 50; dbt: 0.0477s; 1; m:domysql w:travelblog (10.17.0.13); sld: 1;
; mem: 1.1mb
Amanda
non-member comment
Her hairy armpit
So you know in old movies that you had to you to watch for French class there was always some crazy horrid looking charecter with crossed eyes and wretched set of teeth. This was her! CREEPSVILLE!!! God she was totally gross with that armpit in my face. She really truly trapped us. And God she was so rude...it was literally out of a movie. Just standing there staring as if this is somehtign that happens to her all the time. People stealing her seat. I mena did she think we were goign to refuse to get up. Still aggrivated about it!