Mediterranean Mayhem, Part 3

Some mornings there just isn't enough coffee. I sipped the last of my Lavazza and inquired my way to the information desk.

A small line had formed at the desk by this point, and everyone in it had the same story: I need to get back home. How do I do that? The response by the professional but friendly attendant was also the same: Not by EasyJet.

The previous night I had formulated a rough plan in my mind. If I can get to Paris, I thought, I can get to London. I hopped the train from Fiumicino airport to Termini, Rome's central train station. During the train ride there, my efforts to uncover a previously mentioned "very important phone number" paid off. Marinetta, my Italian chaplain at AU, returned my phone call from the night before.

I filled her in on the situation, and she assured me she would do what she could to make sure I had a safe place to stay should I need one. Her reassurances became especially comforting as I walked into Termini and observed just how many people were stranded.

The queue spiraled around and around and spilled beyond the barriers designed to control the flow of traffic. I grabbed lunch, got in line, and ate while I waited. After I finished eating, there was still plenty of waiting left to do.

I got to the front of the line at around 4:00 PM, and by then the soonest available train to Paris was on Monday night; I was on my own finding a ticket to London. I deposited my arm and leg, and they printed my golden ticket. I called Marinetta and let her know I'd be taking her up on that offer for housing.

Fortunately, her family lives in an apartment in Rome. I was able to get on the Metro and travel to where I was to be picked up by Marinetta's niece Laura, whom she described to me as young, Mediterranean, and very beautiful. While she did live up to that description (but was already spoken for), it was she that found me by using the description of myself I had given Marinetta: tired, disheveled, and carrying a blue suitcase.

Marinetta's family extended extremely generous hospitality to me, even though they barely understood a word I said. The children spoke slightly more English than the father, but communication was mainly facilitated through "Si or No" questions, broken English, hand gestures, and the odd bit of French. We got by.

I should also mention that they fed me well. Dinners were served in courses, which typically began with pasta, followed by meat, cheese and bread, then salad, and finally a dessert. For someone who typically subsists on sandwiches with no crisps or some small soup or pasta dish, I had trouble keeping up, both in quantity and in speed. What I did manage to put down, however, lived up to the reputation of home-cooked Italian food.

On Sunday, the father asked me if I wanted to go to church with him. Wanting to get some fresh air and see how other cultures worship, even if I didn't speak the language, I took him up on the offer.

What he neglected to tell me is that there would be a two-hour church meeting prior to the service. Fortunately, there were a few King James copies of the Bible tucked away on the bookshelf at the back of the small Evangelical Baptist Church. I flipped through the pages of Joshua while they went on, but there's only so much KJV you can take before you start yawning. Noticing my plight, one of the women watching the kids while this was going on asked if I would like to join them as they took the kids to the park nearby. I gladly agreed.

The two women played with the younger kids, while I watched an older boy join in a game of soccer--ahem--football that was already in progress among some of the neighborhood kids. I had already heard that soc--football was something of a unifying institution in European countries. Laura's boyfriend had shown me a popular sports newspaper while we drank espresso one afternoon. It was divided into two sections: football, and then two or three pages of "everything else."

I saw this first hand at the park. The kids were playing it together, and when the ball went out of bounds, the adults were able to kick it back in with surprising accuracy. No matter the age, and no matter boy or girl, everyone knew the rules and how to handle the ball. What made this football game a uniquely Italian experience was watching the older kids in the game talk on their mobiles and share a cigarette while still playing the game.

The next day, I packed my things and the father drove me to Termini. I thanked him for the generosity he and his family had shown, and he sent me off with some bread and prosciutto for the train ride to Paris.

One of the things that the volcanic eruption highlighted in the EU was just how out-of-date Europe's train system is. Europe is renowned for its vast rail network which connects virtually all large and medium-sized European cities. In normal times, though, aside from major lines such as France's prestigious TGV, many smaller places are simply making due. When there is pressure on the system, however, the weaknesses really begin to show.

A member of the European Parliament noted that there is still "no civilized way" to travel between northern and southern Europe. I am thoroughly convinced that this MP had recently taken an overnight train from Rome to Paris. My train departed at 6:20 in the evening and was scheduled to arrive in Paris at 9:16 the next morning (It actually arrived at around 10:30 the next morning).

Coach passengers (myself included) rode in cramped cabins shared by six people. When everyone in the cabin agreed it was time to turn out the lights, the seats could be converted into six bunks just long enough to fit the average person and with enough space between each bed to slide in and out as needed. Sitting up was out of the question. In theory, there was running water and functioning toilets. That, or the non-functioning water closets at the ends of each car were put there to maliciously taunt passengers.

At first it seemed I would be lucky enough to only have to ride with three others--two French Canadian girls and a guy from near Sicily. The train stopped in Florence, however, and we were joined by an older man from near Brighton and another Italian. We managed some conversation, but it wasn't long before we unfolded the bunks and settled in to attempt sleep.