Nutsmuggling

There are a number of things one should know about bus trips. I am going to mention just three of them. First of all, don’t be fooled by the apparent absence of toilets. Even though all the odds look against it, they’re there, very often. So, believe me, don’t be fooled by the apparent absence of toilets. Your bladder will thank you. As mine did. As soon as I finished the previous post, a girl from a back row, nonchalantly, started walking downstairs, towards what had previously been looking just like a closed bus door. Now it looked as if there where two doors, one of them leading to a toilet. Grand.
Second, do not suppose you’re going to find someplace to eat, somewhere. For the bus might happen to stop nowhere, or in the very middle of it. In the very specific bus trip I am referring to, this very specific Eurolines bus stopped at Lampugnano station, Milan. Massive hub. Sandwich, here I come, I thought. Except there was going to be no sandwich, and no sandwich place whatsoever. But then, how come a place filled with people travelling to the four corners of Europe is not blessed with a sandwich bar? Is it that difficult to imagine that people travelling might happen to find themselves hungry? Once upon a time these hubs where called Posta, here in Italy, and had inns and pubs attached to them. The lost wisdom of the Ancients. My piece of wisdom, or so it seemed, was to take the tube and travel to a place where a mall was supposed to be, and I was there in 15 minutes, just in time for closing time. Hey, I’ve seen it at least. And I cannot complain, for I had a lovely dinnesr at Chez vending machine: 3 bags of chips, one twix bar and two bottles of water, 4€, all inclusive.
Third, expanding second. Remember that you are marginal. That is why you’re on the bus, in the first place. The train was too expensive, not to mention a flight. You’ve chosen the cheap option, and that’s what you’re getting.¹ That is why you stop at Lampugnagno instead of Milano centrale. The station, the road the bus is taking, most of them are marginal. You’re not exactly thrown in a pool of shite, but you aren’t either dining with the king. Marginality is everywhere in the Eurolines bus. The place is decent and clean, the people seem nice, and probably are, but there’s a feeling of discomfort, because no one is comfortable. The seats are ok, but comfy’s another thing. People tries and pretend to sleep; the most skilled in sleeping, which I am not) succeed in deceiving themselves end up believing they are comfortable and fall asleep. You can’t blame them.
Yet, amidst this coughing restlessness of bodies, among the lights of cars passing and the noise of the driver’s radio, there’s poetry to be found. We are travelling. We’re thrown into the night, 70 Km/h, bound for France. Everyone will be meeting someone, or going back home, or seeing a new place. The air is vibrant, and this vibrancy compensates for all the distress and the hardship of seating in 1/2 m square. Put your earplug on, play mellow music, close your eyes and let the light and shadows project over your eyelid. You might end up asleep. And even if you don’t, you’ll be lulled by the bus vibrations and the soothing noise of the engine. There’s worst places to be.

Notes

1. Talking about cheap options, this is one of those times in which the Macbook Pro backlit keyboard would come in handy [↩]