A man in his forties, immediately across from me, was in our other reserved seat. He wore a neatly starched blue shirt, his hair brown with grey flecks combed back, tanned skin, moisture on his temple. The man sat rigid. I showed him my ticket and reserved seat number. He said, in understandable choppy English that he too had a ticket for Venice and had boarded the train in Milan.
Others in the compartment ignored our exchange with the exception of a woman seated next to the man in our seat. She spoke to him in rapid Italian, glancing at Alexandra and I as she spoke, occasionally looking at Gabriela standing just outside the compartment. The woman had dark hair shoulder length, medium build. She wore a women’s business suit, dark colors. She was in her thirties and I imagined someone’s mother. After speaking to the man she then spoke to me in very clear English, her words spoken slowly. She told me that I had thirty minutes to find a conductor who would award my seat to me and require the man to vacate the compartment.
We switched trains in Verona on the way to Venice. It was a warm humid day. Shorts, a tee-shirt and sandals was all I wore and even that seemed too much. The train was a few minutes late, late enough that I had time on the platform to notice the train composition chart on the kiosk. Our reserved seat tickets listed both a train car number and a seat number in a particular compartment on the train to Venice. I found the train car number on the train we were awaiting to take us to Venice.
We had reserved the seats, we already had the tickets for the train, while we were staying in Garmisch for the trip through Innsbrook and Verona. We changed trains in both cities. I was surprised how cheap the seat reservations were for the whole trip to Venice, about $6 extra dollars. Seat reservations were not required but the travel agent in Portland had advised we reserve them for this stretch of our trip since we were traveling at the height of the tourist season.
When the train pulled into Verona we found the train car number quickly, lifted the bags quickly from the platform to the train car and then ran into a wall of people either trying to get off or trying to maneuver large backpacks through the narrow isle of the train car. Carrying my bag and rolling a bag I forged ahead, trying to find the seat numbers on our reserved seats. “scusee, scusee” the word that came back most easily from my previous trips to Italy, my only words, my mantra as I tried to maneuver my way down the isle.
I got to the seats and found the entire compartment full of people, our seats occupied by others. Alexandra and Gabriela were following not too far behind maneuvering down in the isle following me. I waved the seat reservation tickets and two people slowly rose and left the compartment. I tried to check the numbers on the seats in the compartment, looking several times to see which seat had not been vacated. The number on the seats were not visible if someone was seated. I placed my two carry on bags overhead and forged into one of the vacant seats and invited Alexandra to sit beside me. Gabriela stood just outside the compartment along with our two oversized bags with handles and wheels.