To Puglia we go

I've experienced some hair-raising travel days, namely the 24 hour attempt to get home from Fiji. However, Friday night's trip to Puglia went Murphy's Law almost from the beginning.

Apparently 6am is prime operating time for the garbage and recycling workers of Bra. For those of you living in less enlightened climes, there are five different recycling bins outside of every building, each requiring a rather noisy truck to take care of it. If each one takes ten minutes to empty all of their bins in our tightly packed apartment block . . . well, you can do the math. NOT the best of starts to a long day of class in a very stuffy room.

Fortunately, our bags were packed, and armed with our current addiction grissini al nocciole, we waded through the swampy air to catch the 17h54 train to Torino. Our spirits rising with each clatter of the railroad tracks, we jumped off to make our first transfer.

The train was delayed. Having given ourselves an hour's cushion to have pizza and wine in Torino, we just shrugged and started in on our grissini. Then the train was cancelled. The next one rolled in ten minutes late packed to the brim with two trains worth of weary commuters. When one man tried to forcibly stop us from all entering a car, I sprinted to another and dived in just as the doors closed. Then ensued a long, sweaty hour standing with my body pressed up against the door as our train stopped at every station on the way to Torino.

No chance of dinner now. Reunited, we caught the fragrant airport bus - fragrant, that is, with B.O. Checking in for our flight to Bari went through without a hitch. Then came the discovery that there was only one small cafe left open, serving only paninis of dubious provenance. Oh well, another bread-based meal it had to be.

And then the plane was delayed. After 3o minutes, there was suddenly a mad dash to line up at the desk. And thus began one of the more perplexing displays of Italian culture I've yet witnessed. These people stood patiently for 3o minutes in an orderly fashion. We went relatively calmly through boarding check, and were hustled onto two buses. These buses then shuttled us, packed tightly, about 30 seconds across the tarmac to the plane. It was now after 11pm.

Suddenly, all hell broke loose. People leaped off the buses, brandishing their suitcases like weapons. They charged the plane at both entrances, elbows extended painfully to keep fellow passengers at bay. Stunned, we were jostled and bumped to the back of the queue. To our peril, we had forgotten that Ryanair has no assigned seating - creating this free-for-all. Surprisingly, there were three seats left. Go figure.

30 minutes into the 80 minute flight, a woman six rows up from me sprang from her seat, calling "dottore!" frantically. Within seconds, the entire plane was on its feet, craning necks for the best view and stepping into the aisle, hindering the flight attendants and the doctor, from reaching the man. The man was laid carefully on the ground and treated for shock. Of course, the three of us could understand little of what was happening, but the man was conscious. The doctor was joking with his unexpected patient when another cry arose - a man in the seat directly ahead of the first patient collapsed and had to be laid out in the aisle as well. Again, everyone stood and stared.

It was shocking to witness such avid curiousity, that to my eyes was disrespectful to the men's dignity, not to mention detrimental to their treatment. And the staring was so blatant! But it made me wonder, is my North American culture less honest in its reluctance to get involved in a situation like this? Is what we call respect for someone's dignity more that we don't want to be drawn in - or to acknowledge our curiousity? It was a highly disturbing incident all around, made only better that both men appeared to have recovered by the end of the flight.

We stumbled blearily out of our taxi sometime after 1am at our hotel in Giovinazzi and fell into bed, I think all three of us questioning the wisdom of the trip.

Finding ourselves joyfully splashing around in our hotel pool the next morning, refreshed by cappuccini and buffet breakfast, the southern sun already baking our shoulders - all doubts vanished.