Italian Train Station at Night = SKETCHY

England was amazing and went pretty smoothly! The voyage home, on the other hand, came with a few extra hiccups. Tom had class in the morning, so I headed to the train station to catch a train to the airport pretty early—I walked there with a nice English bloke I met on the way and ran into an old woman, who looked at me—utterly confused—and asked if I was going to the beach. I think I forgot to mention in the last post that I actually thought I was going to Spain that weekend and had packed accordingly. Hence, my skirts and sandals didn’t quite fit the rainy England dress code. I got to the airport in PLENTY of time, and caught up on some homework. I tried to text Gaia to coordinate, but my phone didn’t have service in England and the internet wasn’t working. Ay ay ay.

The train left at 4:50, took about 2 hours and 10 minutes, and arrived—with the time change—in Bari, Italy at 8pm.  Emma, who is my constant wing man—whether we’re together or if it’s over phone—was looking up train times for me. I caught a shuttle to the nearest bus/train station (which wasn’t all that close), and got there only to find that the next train wasn’t leaving until 11pm, which would put me in Taranto (where Gaia lives) at 1am. I thought, “It could be worse.” Then it got worse (what you think about you bring about?) when I called Gaia and found out that she couldn’t pick me up until the next morning.  I tried to weigh my options, but one way or the other it looked like I would be spending the night at a train station—which, by the way, are pretty sketchy places in Italy, especially southern Italy. I found a longer bus ride from Bari to Taranto from 12:40-2:20 and then saw that there were more in the morning—bright and early. I sat inside, near some construction workers and figured it might be a better option to stay in Bari because there were at least some workers there. At train stations, there are usually men, fairly low down on the mafia totem pole, who help people purchase tickets and  get on the right train or bus. It seems like a nice gesture, except they expect you to pay them for their “service.” One such man came to help me, which I didn’t completely mind, except for the fact that I was already was low on Euros. And he was less creepy than the forty-something year old man who had previously invited me to come stay with him at his house for the week…

The helpful mafia guy ended up being quite pushy, and another guy who had been standing nearby stepped towards us and asked if he could help—he offered to translate, but the mafia man pointed out that I spoke Italian and dismissed him. Honestly, I think the other guy was just trying to help diffuse the tension and calm the mafia man down. Once the helpful guy left, I was standing, waiting for a bus and decided to ask the guy, who spoke English, for his advice. Although he was dressed in huge baggy jeans shorts, with a ripped sleeve tank top and a shaved head, I had a good feeling about him—and really—what other option did I have? I tried to explain my situation to him and ask him his opinion on which train station would be safer for me to stay the night at. It took awhile for me to get my point across to him (we were speaking half English/half Italian), but once I did, he seemed absolutely appalled! He told me that I could NOT stay the night at a train station; that he was a man and felt unsafe there! He told me a little about the crime history and gypsies in the Bari train station and about the similar scene in Taranto, which was outside and in the middle of nowhere. I shrugged, not like I had options here... He told me to wait a minute while he talked to his driver, and that it might be my lucky day.

I was confused—this baggy jeaned, gangster looking guy had a driver?? Was he offering me a ride? Well, he was trying to, but it turned out that he wouldn’t be passing through Taranto like he’d originally thought. Honestly, I wasn’t too disappointed, I mean, who gets into a car with a stranger? Right…? Then, he offered that I stay with him and his friends for the night. He said that they lived near a train station and that I could bus into Taranto the next morning, because then, at least, “you will be safe.” He mentioned that they would have to wait for his girlfriend first, which made me feel slightly better about the possibility (it felt less sketch than going with only guys), but I still turned him down, saying that I appreciated it, but that I didn’t know him and didn’t feel comfortable.

Then, the helpful guy came over and started pushing me to get on the bus that had just arrived. At that moment, I just went with my gut (which means I was trying to follow the Spirit) and made a quick decision. I felt like I was choosing between two potentially dangerous options, but—honestly—felt at peace. While I understood the seriousness of my situation, I was never scared—not even for a moment. I told the guy I had been talking to, whose name I eventually found out was Mike, that I’d like to stay with him and his girlfriend that night. He called his boss, told him that he’d met the most beautiful American girl and his boss offered to take me to the train station in Taranto the next morning. Mike told me that I should go over and wait for him at a nearby McDonalds because the mafia man would be angry if I didn’t get board the bus, which I still don’t understand…He told me to walk behind the bus so the mafia man couldn’t see me and that he would follow in five minutes. Mafia man saw us talking and didn’t look happy about it, so Mike ended up walking to McDonalds with me. We sat there and talked for thirty or forty minutes before we left. That conversation made me feel a million times better about my decision! While I felt good about it, the logical part of me was still rerunning some of the scenes from Taken in my mind. Apparently Mike had been a runner on Italy’s national team until he got hurt a couple years ago. Now he runs some sort of sports association with camps for Rome’s soccer team and has traveled all over the world doing it! I must have thanked him three dozen times for his willingness to help me, and he told me it was Italian heart; he said, ‘I’m Christian, but I like Buddhist teachings about Karma. If you give love, you’ll receive love.”

Mike’s girlfriend arrived and his driver came to pick us up in this huge, really nice, 9 passenger business shuttle (which seemed legitimate). His girlfriend was nice, but after asking me my name and a couple basic questions about myself, her tone and question-type changed. It threw me off. “Do you want to sleep with us?” She asked. I let out what was probably an uncomfortable laugh and told her, “No thanks.” “Do you like my boyfriend? On a scale of one to ten, what would he be?” Our conversation was about half English/half Italian and I basically just tried to avoid answering. I would laugh and say something like, “he’s your boyfriend, so it doesn’t matter.” I wasn’t sure if she would be more offended if I liked or didn’t like him. A no win situation. She asked me, ‘Do you want to kiss my boyfriend? He wants a kiss from you.’ I laughed and told her, ‘Just on the cheek’ (which you do with everyone in Italy).  After that, I think I passed the test I didn’t even realize I was taking. She told me that all men were bulls and had me assure her that I wouldn’t kiss Mike. Then, she got me a drink, shared her food with me and chatted about random things.

We arrived at their place around 3am. I didn’t realize that ‘their place’ would be a resort! They were overseeing some sports camps, so I got to stay in a nice room and take a good, long, and much needed shower.  Seven other employees had stayed up to welcome us and made me a big sign! It said “Benvenuto Americana!” Aka: Welcome American Girl!  I stayed up and talked with them for quite awhile. I seriously don’t know how I lucked out. I’m sure anyone reading this is thinking that I’m crazy and lucky to be alive and safe after agreeing to go stay the night with a total stranger that I met in a sketchy Italian train station at midnight. It sounds pretty bad when I say it like that, huh…? Either way, Mike and the rest of the crew ended up being some of the nicest and most generous people that I have had the opportunity to cross paths with since I’ve been in Italy. In the morning, they got me breakfast, and Francesco (the boss of bosses) drove me to the train station. He actually apologized for not being able to drive me all the way to Taranto, as if he should have—I have never experienced such generosity and kindness! We all exchanged names and numbers; they told m to give them a call if I ever needed anything, and that I was more than welcome to stay longer or come back before I headed home.

I ended up catching a bus instead of a train, and was the only person on the entire bus for the first hour. A man got on at a later stop and chose to sit in the seat where I had set my bag. He asked if it was mine, I nodded. He then picked it up and handed it to me. Really? Because there weren’t 50 other seats he could have sat in... We did ended up having a fun conversation though. He legitimately started clapping when he found out I was American; since I wasn’t in a touristy area, he was surprised, and apparently excited. I tried to explain to him that I was from Washington State, and not Washington DC; I have this whole explanation memorized because it comes up a lot, but I usually give up after five or ten minutes and just let people think I live next to Obama… I truly love Italian culture, and especially the people. I really can't get over how much kindness I have been shown in the last three months. It will be sad to say goodbye...