Travelling alongside Lake Como by train. Photo / 123RF
Travelling alongside Lake Como by train. Photo / 123RF
Why hire a car in Italy when you can travel like the locals? asks Venetia Sherson.
We could always hitchhike," I say. My travelling companion looks at me. It is more than 45 years since either of us held out a thumb by the side of the road.
We have missed our bus by seconds and the next is not for two hours. The nearest town is 8km down a steep and winding road with no footpath. Pacentro, the tiny mountain town where we are based, is populated mainly by octogenarians who have no need of taxis.
But a stout man in a Juventus T-shirt has been moved by our plight. "I have a car," he says. The vehicle has more dings than a Raglan surfboard and Vittorio himself looks as though he has done several rounds in the ring with a stronger opponent. "Are you married?" he asks, pointing at his wedding ring. A photo of his wife swings back and forth above the dashboard, eyebrows joined in a fierce glare to warn off those who might seduce her man. Vittorio smiles a two-tooth grin and refuses petrol money.
Choosing to travel by local transport in Italy is not without its challenges. Buses are sometimes late or simply don't turn up; strikes disrupt trains; and platform changes - always announced at the last possible minute and at the end of sentences that include the entire lineage of the approaching locomotive - can push the blood pressure to dangerous levels.
There is also the possibility you will end up at a destination entirely different to that where you intended to alight. On the way to the pretty commune of Pescocostanzo, our bus made a brief stop in a piazza where another bus was parked. One or two passengers got off and several got on. An hour later, the bus fetched up in a grim industrial town, miles from my intended destination. "You should have changed buses back at the piazza," said the driver. Who knew?
But there are benefits.
Buses are always packed with women laden with baskets and gossip, men with flowers visiting the graves of their mamas, and inevitably a short-skirted woman who stands chatting to the driver under the sign that says, "Non parlare al conducente, mentre l'autobus e in movimento".
On the buses in Milan. Photo / Getty Images
When you board an Italian train or bus, you automatically sign an agreement to talk. New passengers inevitably take the seat beside you, even on an empty bus. They will ask where you are from and why you are in Italy. Then they will talk about themselves.
On a bus to earthquake-shattered L'Aquila, I sat beside a woman who worked in a SkySport call centre. Over the 90-minute journey she told me her life story. She travelled more than 100km each day to and from work. On a good day she earned €50 ($76), but her shifts could be altered without notice. Some weeks she didn't earn enough to pay the grocery bill. The company had made cutbacks, but she hoped she would survive. "I love my job."
On another trip, a young woman said she was going to the hairdresser. She disclosed what hair colour she was choosing, what colour her mother chose and what colour she might choose the following week. She invited me home for coffee.
Why a tourist would forgo such encounters for the company of a Sat Nav is baffling.
Buses and trains are also cheap in Italy. Since the 1950s, rail has struggled to compete with roads, and freight and passenger numbers have dwindled. Trenitalia's debt is now €6 billion ($9.1 billion). Ticket prices have been reduced to try to stem the tide - more than 100,000 jobs depend on it. But with little effect. Italians would still prefer to pack themselves into pint-sized Fiats, pay road tolls and risk their lives on the roads. Yet the small trains that connect villages across Italy offer up vistas never sighted by road travellers: backyards where families dine under leafy canopies, carefully tended fruit and vegetables that cover every inch of ground and even a donkey tethered to the porch.
Less bucolic, but just as riveting is the graffiti which alone is worth the price of a rail ticket. In one journey, you can learn which politicians are corrupt (most), which football player should be dropped (Balotelli) and who loves Chiara (everyone, it's a popular name). "Tourists worse than an occupation army," is scrawled on the platform of a popular Adriatic beach resort.
Travel by tram in Opicina. Photo / Supplied
There is one drawback to using public transport in Italy: the wretched system of validation. On buses, it is largely straightforward; you stamp your ticket as you board. But on trains the stamping system is trickier. Validation machines - little yellow boxes - are often hard to spot. This could be a cunning plan by the Italians to boost revenue, because an unvalidated ticket incurs a €50 instant fine. I once saw an inspector fine a mother and three teenage daughters €50 each on the Leonardo da Vinci express to Rome's Fiumicino Airport - a system far more lucrative than a departure tax.
The capotreni (inspectors) are remorseless and unbending. Railway jobs are seen as jobs for life and are well paid. Inspectors take their duties seriously. If you can't pay the fine, you must get off at the next station. Tough if there is an international flight at the end of your trip.
I had a close encounter with a capotreno on my way from Rome to Florence some years ago. I had completed a 30-hour flight from Auckland and was exhausted. Plus I had a tomato stain on my T-shirt from falling asleep in my pasta on the flight. When the capotreno asked for my ticket, I passed him my unvalidated stub and put on my pensioner face. I said "Mi dispiace" several times. I may have reminded him of his nonna. He frowned, took the ticket and clipped it twice for good measure. Then he walked on by.
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Getting there: Cathay Pacific offer daily flights to Rome from Auckland.
