When Italian Train Travel Doesn't Go as Planned
Generally, I love taking the train in Italy. It's lovely to not have to worry about following a map or driving in traffic. I can sit back, relax, and let the train take me where I need to go.
Except when it doesn't go anywhere!
Italian Train Travel Isn't Without Its Issues
Last year, Fra and I took the train to Battipaglia. It should have been a quick four-hour train ride, but halfway through the trip, the train slowed to a halt.
We sat there for at least three hours. It's amazing how quickly gossip flies on a stopped train. It wasn't long before we'd discovered the cause for the delay: further up the tracks, someone had jumped in front of another train.
How horrible. I couldn't stop thinking about how desperate someone must feel to end their life. I also thought about how that person hadn't considered how he'd held up dozens of trains.
We made it to Battipaglia late at night, starving. We laughed about the delay, then forgot about it.
Not Far From Home
A few weeks ago, we decided to visit Pompei. We'd booked the hotel and tickets for the archeological park. We'd boarded the train in Soverato, and two changes later, we were leaving Lamezia Terme.
I looked out the window toward the Tyrrhenian Sea.
"Look, Fra, a trombo. I've never seen one!"
We looked at the small water cyclone, which happen sometimes here in Calabria when the weather is bad. This one seemed lazy, like it wasn't interested in wreaking havoc.
Ten seconds later, we hear a large BAM! BAMBAMBAMBAM. I see a large black cable whipping back and forth against the window. It doesn't stop after a few seconds, so I jump out of my seat, away from the window, fearful that the glass is going to break.
A few interminable seconds later, the banging stops, and the train slowly grinds to a halt.
Again, the grapevine fills us in quickly. A pylon had broken across the track. The front of the train hit it, sustaining significant damage. The cable that had hit the window had snapped in the accident.
We spend five hours stuck on the tracks just a short distance from the last station. I read books on my tablet while Fra makes friends with other passengers.
A handful of men in neon yellow trudge along the side of the train, presumably to repair the cable.
Finally, a "rescue train" is located. I imagine us descending from our train and walking along the tracks, but no, TrenItalia is better organized than that. The train lines up one car with another, and half a dozen burly train workers gingerly help us step down from one car and into the other.
Once everyone was loaded up, we started moving, and an audible cheer spread through the new train.
One thing I noted both times: Italians are remarkably calm and cheerful in the face of a stressful situation. Had this happened in America, you can bet everyone would be scowling and yelling at train employees. As it was, only one man lost his cool. Color me impressed.
We were exhausted from the experience, and elected to return home rather than traveling another four hours to get to Pompei. Fortunately for us, Fra's brother and father are always quick to come to the rescue. They drove 1.5 hours to pick us up at the Amantea station. Yes, that's right. We were just 1.5 hours away from home!
It's a good thing they picked us up. The trains going north and south were delayed for an entire day after the accident! We wouldn't have been able to take a train home.
We returned to Davoli a little cranky, tired, and hungry. Pompei we'll save for another day.
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