blog – The seat of my pants

It’s a total myth that Mussolini made the trains run on time. Pure propaganda. Just something he told people to prop up his image—a kind of early “Make Italy Great Again” move.

Unlike me, insomnia doesn’t take holidays. I woke at 2:30 a.m. and never made it back to sleep. My alarm was set for 6:30 to get me to the airport, but that was irrelevant—insomnia had other plans. I arrived at Roma Termini well before schedule, early for my 8:00 a.m. train. I didn’t mind. It gave me time for a coffee, a pastry, and a bit of people-watching—while being elbowed aside by a few Italian women who clearly needed their caffeine fix more urgently than I did.

One woman strolled past me with a tiny black poodle on a leash. Behind her trailed a boy, maybe twelve, dragging a cat carrier in one hand and a backpack in the other. Inside the carrier was a small black cat who, despite being repeatedly knocked against the boy’s leg with each step, looked oddly calm. Stoic, even.

Boarding the train with time to spare, I found my seat and tried to store my luggage. It didn’t fit in the overhead. It didn’t fit behind any seats. I checked both ends of the carriage—no luggage rack. I asked the train guard for help. He shrugged, turned away, and offered that uniquely Italian solution: “no problem.” Several others seemed just as lost.

Meanwhile, the black poodle escaped, the boy now juggling the dog and the cat carrier. I stepped on the leash just in time, stopping the poodle from trotting off into chaos. The boy gave me a grateful nod. The woman seated next to me gave me a sharp glance. She didn’t appreciate my oversized bag—frankly, neither did I by that point. I finally found a single empty spot in the next carriage’s storage area. My suitcase hung halfway out into the corridor, wheels and all, but I decided to let the train gods deal with it.

Later, on a walk through the carriages to find food, I had to step over other bags just abandoned in the aisle. I shrugged and looked away. Not my problem. I was adapting.

The sandwich I bought tasted like cardboard. Its best-before date was still nearly two weeks off—June 19, 2025—but I took one bite and buried it back in the bag like a bad memory.

Despite being a high-speed train moving at over 160 km/h, it still managed to arrive in Bari late. Eleven minutes behind schedule. Just enough for me to miss my connecting local train to Monopoli. I had planned everything to arrive in Monopoli with plenty of time to drop my bags, grab my swimsuit, and head out on a sailing and snorkeling tour. A dip in the sea would’ve been bliss—for both my mind and my osteoarthritic joints. But thanks to that delay, I missed it. No tour, no swim. Just a tired, hungry, thoroughly annoyed version of myself on a platform in Bari.

The coastal scenery, with glimpses of olive groves and the occasional trullo—those traditional conical-roofed houses—should’ve lifted my spirits. But fatigue dulled the beauty. I barely registered them.

Monopoli, however, saved the day.

The moment I arrived, the weight of the journey began to lift. My hotel was charming, the staff warm and welcoming. From my room window, I could see the marina—where my boat tour should have departed. I rolled my eyes and sighed, then headed out for a walk.

A short stroll brought me to a sun-drenched piazza. I sat down, ordered a glass of local wine and a platter of meats and cheeses. With each sip and bite, the irritation faded. Mussolini didn’t make the trains run on time. As I looked around the town, I thought, it doesn’t matter. No matter how bad the journey, Monopoli seemed worth it at first glance.

I didn’t expect this. I never thought I would say these three words. I love cruising. All of my favourite things in one place. Waterslides, swimming pools, spas, bars, dancing, karaoke … I could have got exhausted in thinking about what to do next. China was behind us, Japan in front of us and nothing to do but kick back and relax for three days … with the other 396 Trip A Deal cruisers and 4,500 other tourists, mainly Chinese. The food was plentiful and good. The seas were calm. The weather balmy and the margaritas icy cold.

Cruising was fun. Until the last night. Earlier that day everyone on board had received instructions on disembarking early the next morning. We were allocated numbers, stickers, disembarkation times and meeting points. We were given 18. We had a round sticker with the number 18 on it to wear on our chest. We had name and address tags for our bags with 18 boldly stated, and stickers for our cruise card to make sure we were paid up. No one could leave the cruise without paying for their margaritas. We were to dock at 5:30am and our allocation departure time was 10:00am.

It started at the dinner line. A fact that someone had heard from another bus that they had been told by someone. Rumour spread through the Trip A Deal buddies like a fast moving virus. We were to ignore the departure times given by the ship. We were not to put our bags outside our cabins to be collected as instructed. Instead, we should take our bags down to level five reception at 7:00am. All the Trip A Deal people would be let off first as we needed to be on our buses by 8:30. Some of us caught the rumour virus, others fought it, and others escaped it altogether. Someone else had heard a Trip A Deal representative was boarding the ship that night to give us all a letter. Others pointed to the travel information received by the company in our travel documents which said “You will be required to disembark your cruise in Tokyo at 8:30am. Early disembarkation will result in long waiting times at the port with limited capacity, and this will ensure your travel group stays together”. Everyone had different interpretations of this instruction.

I called the front desk and was told we “could do either”. We hedged out bets. We put our bags out for collection the night before. Decided to be down at 7:00am to see what happened. If everyone disembarked, we would go too. If not, we would have breakfast and leave at our allocated time. Not long after I fell asleep, I woke up in a panic and decided to pull all four bags into our small cabin. Rushing out into the corridor, I realised I was too late and our bags had already been taken. Trying my best, not to worry about things, I tried to fall asleep by telling myself, we had made the right decision in the first place and all would be all right in the morning.

At 7:00am, I went down to see what was happening no level five. Many of our group, the purple monkeys, were there. Lots of others from the nine other buses were there too. All with their bags. The main topic of conversation was still whether or not getting off at 7:00am with your bags was a rumour. All of a sudden, some doors opened and people started leaving. I called the sisters and told them we were moving. Jostling each other, hitting others with wayward day packs, and running over toes with large heavy bags, the Trip A Dealers swarmed towards the exit doors. My sister arrived and we joined the throng without our luggage. At the exit, my sister, Margaret, was turned back. She had linked a debit card, rather than a credit card to her account. She owed $2.50 and was sent back in to pay. Rather than leave her alone, I went back in to find her telling Louise and Ellen, we would meet them at the tour bus – wherever that was. We fixed Margaret’s account easily and went back downstairs to join the long queue. A staff member noticed we had no luggage and advised us to go upstairs to level six and leave that way. We did as said. There was no queue whatsoever and we were out faster than we could blink.

Downstairs all of our luggage was lined up under a sign that said 18. We picked up our bags and quickly caught up to the others at passport control. In no time we were on a comfortable shuttle bus to take us to our tour bus in a nearby car park. Lots of the Trip A Deal buses were already there. In fact, all of them were except for the Purple Monkey bus. We waiting in the shade of a truck as the temperature quickly soared to its 34 degree high. Breathing in the fumes of the truck that was running to keep the aircon inside going, members of the group began to get more and more cranky. We were tired – well, those of us that were there were tired,some of our group still had not turned up. We arrived at about 9:00, a small group had been there in the shade of the truck since 8:00. It was then, that Margaret realised the bag she had, was not hers.

Our guide finally turned up, but no bus. That didn’t arrive for another 20 minutes or so. The guide did a head count. Six of us were missing. We told him the names of the six. I told him about the bag. He wasn’t able to focus on the bag as by now, the group were tired, cranky and hot. The ones that had been waiting there needed a toilet and some of us were hungry. Others hung over. We waiting until 10:00am. Two more of the group had turned up. Four were missing. All up – apparently there were 20 of the 400 people that still had not disembarked. One bus was to wait for the missing, the rest of the buses would go. As our bus left, many of our group clapped and cheered. This led to the man who had popped his shoulder, Justin, to stand and declare “Some of you will not like what I am about to say, but I’m disappointed we are leaving without members of our group. You don’t leave people behind”. An uncomfortable silence fell over the group that followed for the rest of the day. Little groups formed, whispers and accusations followed, even after the missing four had rejoined us. The tour took us to a couple of sites before arriving at the hotel. We are the only bus at this hotel which is nice. What wasn’t nice was the camaraderie of the group had gone. As had Margaret’s bag.