I strongly discourage anyone who follows the directions of the title of this blog. In Italy, residents and tourists alike use public transportation to get from point A to point B. Examples would be buses, trams, and trains. There is no limit to the amount of people riding, so basically, it’s as many people as can squeeze on.
Yesterday a few of us went to a beach pretty close by, but it took us a while to figure out how to get there. We hopped on a bus down the street from our hotel, then took a train to where we thought was the beach. The plans to follow the crowd quickly dissipated when we opted not to take another bus, and instead walk toward the water.
Bad choice. These beaches were not public, and we would have had to pay to put our toes in the sand. So, after walking around in the hot sun for at least 20 minutes, we headed back toward the train station to get on the bus everyone else had taken. We were hesitant because we figured the bus would be packed, but got on anyway and I actually had a little breathing room.
The beach was very similar to those in the states. The sand wasn’t as white as the sand in Destin, but it was still sand. And the water was greenish blue, but not totally clear. We picked a spot on the crowded beach in between two umbrellas. The water felt great, and people watching was the best pass time. Women were topless, in thongs, and sometimes both, while the many of the men were in Speedos. We’re not in Kentucky anymore.
After a short time of laying out, we headed back toward the dreaded bus. This is where it gets interesting. The bus pulls up. It’s packed like a can of sardines. I force my way on at one door, Melanie does the same at another door, but Rico won’t fit. He offers to hang back and catch the next one. The doors attempt to close and I am smushed against the glass behind me and the half naked sandy man in front of me (who is carrying a LARGE duffle bag. Fantastic.). The bus starts moving and I grab for something to hang on to. I am successful on the third try after grabbing several peoples’ hands in the process.
The bus stops again, and a good sized crowd is waiting outside to get on. Yeah right. At least that’s what I was thinking, but some chick decides she will find a spot on this bus, even if it means pushing my face into the duffle bag man and my back into a pole. The doors attempt to shut again. This time I am pushed even farther into the pole that is now in front of me. I am praying at this point that the driver will realize we have reached capacity and not stop again until we reach the train station.
Did I mention these buses don’t have air conditioning? Well, they don’t. And it’s hot here. Very hot. And everyone is sandy and dirty from the beach. No one speaks English, so I’m cussing under my breath while that girl who forced her way on laughs behind me.
It doesn’t end here. The driver man clearly is blind because he stops again. Thank goodness a few people got off, so I made my way up into the main part of the bus, rather than the exit lane. I thought I had finally found a good spot to breathe more freely when a group of 4 decide it’s their turn to squeeze on to the bus. Once again, I am squished, squashed, and pushed into a spot smaller than I should be able to fit into. My feet are side by side, one of my arms is up, the other is down. You literally have to manipulate your body to successfully stand. One of the four in the forceful group is standing with her back to me directly in front of me. Her hair is pulled up in a messy bun. She’s talking to her friends and every 30 seconds starts throwing her head back laughing, placing her hair directly in the region of my mouth. I am ticked. Actually, livid might be the term at this point.
I stand on my tip toes to try to grab a breath of the less B.O. infested air above me. The ride is finally over, and I jump off. I find Melanie and tell her we have to wait because Rico couldn’t fit on this bus. We walk toward the train station, but less than 2 minutes later, we are face to face with Rico. First thing out of his mouth: “I got a seat.”
Basically, had we all waited for the next bus, we would have had breathing room, seats (there are only about 12 on a bus, mostly just poles and bars to hang on to while you stand, so you’re lucky if you get a seat), and probably not be as sweaty.
On the train ride home, we’re packed again. On my left, a girl has literally passed out due to the heat. On my right, a couple is pretty much fornicating. Loudly.
Oh how I miss my little Saturn.
