{"id":1059,"date":"2011-09-13T18:47:05","date_gmt":"2011-09-13T16:47:05","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.katebailward.com\/drivinglikeamaniac\/?p=1059"},"modified":"2012-04-28T15:32:12","modified_gmt":"2012-04-28T13:32:12","slug":"got-tickets","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.katebailward.com\/drivinglikeamaniac\/2011\/09\/got-tickets\/","title":{"rendered":"Got tickets …?"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"\"<\/a>The distance from Calabria to Sicily is so small that you can see one from the other. The Messina Straits<\/a> are, at their narrowest point, less than 2 miles wide. Unfortunately, to cross them you must jump over various fiendish hurdles. From my small Calabrian town to the port of Villa San Giovanni, where one can catch the ferry to Messina, is less than 30 minutes by coach. However, the coaches only run once an hour, stop for lunch in the middle of the day and – potentially most disastrously – run along the A3<\/a>. Anything can happen between here and there.<\/p>\n

Today the coach runs smoothly and we pull into the drop-off area outside the train station (which is, conveniently, slap bang next to the ferry port) right on time. I’m feeling nervous. By the Law of Italian Travel, something has to go wrong somewhere along the way. There are three stages to the journey from Calabria to Catania. The coach is part one. The next bit is the ferry across the Messina Straits. This is my favourite part of the journey. Were it up to me, I\u2019d happily spend my days getting the boat back and forth across this choppy little stretch of water, feeling the wind in my face, tasting salt on my lips, and dreaming of Greek legends<\/a>. An early childhood by the sea has left its mark on me for life.<\/p>\n

Before I can get on the boat, however, I need to buy a ferry ticket. These are bought from a newsagent\u2019s on the train station platform, and cost \u20ac2.20. When I paid for the coach earlier, I realised that I wouldn\u2019t have enough money to pay for the ferry as well. No matter – there\u2019s a cash machine across the road from the bus stop in Villa. I lug my bags across and insert my card. The machine chunters a little, then spits my card back at me, telling me that there is no cash in the machine. I swear softly, and haul my bags back across the road to the newsagents, to ask if they\u2019ll take a card. The young man behind the desk smiles sadly and shakes his head. There\u2019s a cash machine over the road, though \u2026<\/em> I explain that it\u2019s not working. His face falls and then brightens again. Don\u2019t worry! There\u2019s one in the next square, too! Go straight on, then it\u2019s on the left. You can\u2019t miss it.<\/em> At this point I become aware of his grandfather nodding behind him. He\u2019s not convinced that his grandson\u2019s directions were clear enough. He jumps in to the rescue, guiding me by the elbow to the shop entrance, where he points the direction I need to go. It\u2019s just there, look. Can you see the big banner? Yes? OK, go along that street and you\u2019ll see the bank on the left. Good luck!<\/em> He waves me off with a smile as I heft my bags back onto my shoulders and start walking.<\/p>\n

5 minutes later, as I arrive at the bank, I\u2019m sweating like a pig and cursing my decision to do away with my wheeled suitcase in favour of a cheap rucksack. Thankfully this cash machine has money in it. I reshoulder my rucksack, which is getting heavier by the second, and trudge back to where I started.<\/p>\n

On my return to the newsagent\u2019s Grandpa greets me like an old friend. A ticket for the ferry, was it? Just one way? Certainly! What\u2019s that? You want to top up your phone as well? But of course! What\u2019s the number?<\/em> He pulls his glasses to the end of his nose and smiles at me expectantly, stubby finger poised in readiness over the top-up keypad. In some shops the keypad is passed over for you to type the number yourself. In others you dictate the number to the shopkeeper. It would appear that this is one of the second. This is always a fraught time for me. Firstly, I have to remember my number. Secondly, I have to remember how to say it in Italian. Today, there\u2019s the added interest of Grandpa\u2019s deafness. I start to dictate the number and he stops me mid-flow. What\u2019s that? Did you say five-SIX-three?<\/em> My number is therefore bellowed for the edification of every customer. For good measure, Grandpa then repeats it at full volume to check that he\u2019s typed it in correctly. You know, just in case any passers-by hadn\u2019t heard.<\/p>\n

As my phone beeps to let me know that the top-up has been successfully received, he points at it triumphantly. There you go. All done! What\u2019s that? What, you want a ticket for the ferry as well \u2026?<\/em><\/p>\n

\u2026 to be continued \u2026<\/strong><\/p>\n

Image by\u00a0Express Monorail<\/a><\/p>\n

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