Planes, Trains and Automobiles

It was pouring rain when I arrived at JFK for my flight to Italy. There was a long line to check in at Alitalia, but the efficient staff moved us along. The line to go through security filled an arena sized room. I inched my way through the zigzag maze of dividers observing other travelers, taking in the institutional surroundings and watching birds that had somehow gotten into the building try to escape through the high windows that flooded the floor with light.

In the next to last row of the maze, I saw a beautiful young man in an Alitalia uniform standing outside the ropes with a German short hair pointer on a leash. I was impressed with the discipline of both man and dog to remain still but alert as people walked by.  I wish I’d taken a photo of them.

Going through security was not the ordeal I thought it would be, and I made it to the boarding area with time to spare before boarding.

After all the passengers were boarded, the doors closed, and we pushed away from the gate, we sat on the tarmac for over an hour. There were no communications about the delay. Having flown in and out of JFK many times, I knew that the rain and heavy air traffic at five o’clock in the evening were the causes. Fifteen minutes before take off the captain announced, “We are fourth in line for departure.”  Slowly, we moved forward until we were at the end of the runway. The engines revved and the plane thrust forward to lift us up and away from Long Island, over the Atlantic Ocean and southeast toward Rome.

I shared the row with a lovely couple named Ann and Todd who were on their way to Santorini to get married. They’d been together for twelve years and realized that there are important reasons to get married when you are older. We had a nice conversation during dinner, after which they both went to sleep. I was so excited, I couldn’t wind down. I wrote. I read. I watched a movie. Soon enough we were preparing to land.

Our delay taking off and a slight head wind trimmed the time to catch connecting flights. I had twenty minutes to make my connection. Ann said, “There will be a bus to take us to the terminal. When you get there, run to your gate.”

Three buses waited on the tarmac, the terminal in the distance. I got on one, and when not another person could squeeze in, the bus drove to the gate.  I looked for gate area E and, following Ann’s instruction, ran.

I was glad that I’d heeded the advice I’d gotten from friends who travel to pack lightly and have only one carry-on bag and a backpack. I moved as quickly as I could with the surge of the crowd, and then came upon what seemed to be Las Vegas and Disneyland rolled into one: the Duty Free Mall. I ran past Gucci and Dolce and Gabbana, shoes and hand bags a blur; Hermes, Prada, Burberry, and Armani with clothing I can only dream of wearing making a vague impression as I kept the pace, pulling my carry on behind me. The corridor narrowed and funneled into an area with boxes of chocolate and other sweets.

Suddenly I realized I was going around in a circle. I saw faces I’d passed moments ago. We all looked for a way to the E gates; there were no signs, no less a way out of candy land. I entered the Bulgari store and asked the sales person, “Dov’e gate E?” He pointed to a narrow hallway with an arrow pointing to the letter E. I waved to my fellow travelers milling about and we dashed down a ramp to security. I showed my passport and ran to the gate of the departed flight.  

Now I was in line at the Accommodations desk waiting to be ticketed for a new flight to Lamezia Terme in Calabria. As I looked around, Italian men stood out. Long or short haired, bearded or shaven, they are well groomed. In uniform, business attire, or casual clothing, they dress with flair and elegance. For Italians “bella figura” is important. It is the way you present yourself to the world, not only the way one dresses and looks, but also in the way one lives.  

As I waited for my flight, I had a conversation with two couples from the Netherlands on their way to Sicily. I found Europeans to be friendly, interesting and interested, and everyone I spoke with was multi-lingual.

I took this photo as the flight headed out from Rome over the blue Tyrrhenian Sea, and then fell sound asleep.                                                                                                                    

The short nap, and the joy of finally arriving in Calabria, revived me for the next leg of my trip. The shuttle bus to the train station waited outside the terminal. According to Rome2Rio I’d arrive with fifteen minutes to spare to catch the train to Crotone. It seems the time on that schedule was not the same as the actual departure time.  When I paid for the ticket, the agent said, “Go! Now!” The train was on platform six and I saw no way to cross the tracks. A nice woman showed me to the stairway and I began my next marathon of the day. Down a long, steep staircase I dragged my carry-on bag. I ran the width of the station, blessing the person who thought of putting wheels on suitcases, to # 6 and then lugged it up another long, steep staircase. I stepped onto the platform to see the train pull out of the station…

I knew before I left home that my carrier didn’t have phone coverage in Italy, but I could use the internet. What I learned at this moment is that wifi is not available everywhere in Calabria. As if not enough sleep and two athletic feats were not enough, I was unable to use my phone.  I had no way to communicate with anyone. I could feel tears trickling down my cheeks when a tall man appeared before me, white shirt and blue eyes shining in the bright Italian sun. He asked if I was okay. I told him my predicament and he assured me that everything would be okay.

He said his name was Michael, and together we looked at the sign on the platform with destinations and departures. A direct train to Crotone would leave in two hours, but a train that would depart soon stopped at Catanzaro Lido. I could change there and wait fifteen minutes for a train to Crotone. It was the train Michael was taking to Locri.  

Michael asked if I’d validated my ticket. I thought it was done when the ticket was purchased, but not in Italy. One must get a time and date stamp on the ticket by inserting it in a machine in the station. No validation on a ticket means a fine of 250 Euros. I looked across the six platforms to the depot. My heart sank when I thought of dragging my suitcase down and up the staircase and back again. Michael gallantly offered to do it for me while I stood watch over our suitcases.

During the forty-five minute train ride, Michael texted my new arrival time to Daniele Tricoli at La Corte del Geco B&B, my destination. He said he was from Dublin, Ireland. We talked about our vacation plans and interests, and when we arrived at Catanzaro Lido, Michael carried my suitcase to the platform and gave me a hug good bye. I don’t know what I would have done without his help that day. I think of him as Michael the Archangel, come to help me in my moment of need.

Having only ten days to spend in Calabria, I took the train between the cities I visited so that I could see as much of the countryside as possible. I found other passengers to be helpful, friendly, and wanting to engage in conversation.

Waiting in Crotone for the train to Reggio Calabria, a young man named Andrea asked if he may carry my suitcase for me. During the ride he told me school was out and he was going home for the summer. He plays soccer and hopes to be on a professional team. If that doesn’t happen, he will become an architect like his father. I hope his dream comes true.

 A couple from Australia told me about their travels around the world, and three women from Argentina and I helped a woman from Georgia (the country) who could speak only her native language find her way. It is amazing how far a willingness to understand each other goes in communicating.

• 

• 

• 

Padre Salvatore Corrado drove me to Crucoli and Casabona, my grandparents’ birthplaces. He was my translator and guide, and I was able to enjoy the scenery without the worry of getting lost. Other than some of the more populated communities along the Ionian Sea, traffic was light.

The only time I found the traffic to be disconcerting was going through a roundabout when Daniele drove me to the train station. He said, “In Calabria the signs are only a suggestion.” Traffic was unusually heavy that day because many visitors were there for the Festa della Madonna di Capo Colonna that weekend.

I saw no stop lights. Traffic flowed well in the roundabouts and on the streets. I wonder how much energy we could save in the United States if there were roundabouts instead of traffic lights.  I think a lot of the rage in traffic comes when drivers stop often for two or three minutes at a time. I think they’d feel less impatient if they were always in motion, even if they were moving slower.

Parking in Calabria is interesting. I saw a lot of double parked cars and wondered how the person curbside got out. Perhaps there are rules for this that I am unaware of. There are no parking meters and it seems if you can’t find a parking place, make one.

• 

• 

• 

It wouldn’t be Italy without motorcycles. Even the Postal service uses them.

• 

• 

• 

RECOMMENDATIONS

When I was researching this trip to Calabria I found a lot of useful information on mybellavita.com. Cherrye Moore writes a newsletter about the food, festivals, and cities of Calabria. If you are interested in visiting Calabria and prefer a tour rather than traveling alone, she offers heritage group tours.

If Crotone is on your list of places to visit, I highly recommend La Corte del Geco B&B, run by Daniele Tricoli. It is centrally located near the historic center and is walking distance to the seafront.