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Trials and Comforts of the Old Country
by Angela Hamilton
Excerpts:
Eight weeks into our summer journey through Europe, Rachel and I found ourselves amid the chaos of Rome in July, sharing a tiny room with five other travelers. After a week of guided walking tours in 100-degree heat, we decided to move on to Rachel’s old country of Sicily.
The trip would take 12 hours by train, which meant one thing to us whose days were so precious — a night train.
We went to Phil, the Australian-born manager of our youth hostel, and told him that we would be leaving Rome the next day but needed to store our luggage until early evening.
“Night train?” He asked.
“Yeah, to Palermo.”
“You two?” He gestured toward Rachel, who was reading a street map of Rome.
“Yeah, me and Rachel.”
“No,” he said.
“I’m sorry?”
“No, not at night. Rome to Palermo is only for Sicilians. Two American women, you’ll be mugged before the train gets out of the yard.”
I shrugged him off.
By morning, other hostelers had found out about our next destination. A woman sat down across from me at the worn breakfast table and told me about the smoke bombs. “They spot your coach, open the door and roll a smoke bomb in, then shut you in and hold the door. When you wake up your money belt is gone. In worse cases the women have been raped.”
The smoke bombs, or at least the legend of them, grew in popularity when travelers started wearing money belts, which are flat and skin colored. They buckle under your pants. Under most circumstances, the money belt cannot be removed without the owner feeling it.
We watched our train pull into the monstrous open mouth of the station. As soon as it stopped, we picked out a car: second class, no smoking, unreserved.
We started to take off our packs, and had company already.
“Let me help,” the man said in a thick southern Italian accent. He was dressed in dingy civilian clothes.
“No, it’s O.K.,” Rachel said, pushing his arm away as he reached for her bag.
“Is this seat occupied?” he asked
I stepped up to meet him eye to eye. “Get out of here.”
He disappeared down the dark aisle.
We had locks on the zippers of our bags and a bicycle lock to chain the bags to the luggage rack. When Rachel shut the coach door, she wrapped the cord around the door handle then to the luggage rack.
Sweat prickled my pores. I was wearing pants to ward off an easy rape and tennis shoes to run. I suffered with cloaked legs, but thought the discomfort well worth it. All I could think about were the warnings . . .
