L'autobus e la mi'amica

L'avventura!

As one who rides the bus infrequently, the Italian system takes some understanding, especially if you can't even be understood when saying "Erice, the name of the famous (well, I think it would be famous in the region) medeival village on a mountaintop near the city of Trapani.

I really wanted to go to Erice. It seemed simple. The hotel clerk printed out a bus schedule, gave me a Palermo city map with directions drawn on the streets, but I lacked the detail of where, exactly where the place was where I should stand and wait. I was able to find out where from a friendly polizia who asked if I were French or English and I forgot to say American.

I got to Trapani Stazione Centrale after a 2 hour ride through verdant farmland of grapes, orchards and cacti and palm trees, along pastures with sleek horses, past brilliant azure water and little boats nodding in the sea. I want to go there, and be one a boat in that water. Better yet, be in the water, nodding and floating myself.

Once in Trapani the panini seller/ticket seller told me that it would be an hour and a half until the next bus to Erice. But I could take the "cable way" bus which comes every twenty minutes. I'd heard of the gondola that took people up the mountain, which sounded fun. So again I got directions to a bus stop, the details very fuzzy in the two languages. I set off with a positive mindset. I won't bore you with my quest to find the 21/ 23 ATM bus, but I did find it and hour later by some dumb luck and watching for buses with ATM on the side.

"Erice," I said, and the driver seemed to understand.

After a few stops the man in the seat in front of me was shouting. I was reading up on what to do in Erice. I looked at his red face and he was shouting at the people behind me. The seats are very close together and he was in my face. I looked away. He was still shouting , now joined by a chorus: the bus driver and others on the bus. "ERICE," he was screaming at me like I was a deaf woman. "ERICE!" They were all pointing to the right.

"Oh. Erice," I said. "Grazie." I got off, wishing I could shrink into the pavement and looked up the hill beyond the fake red crenellated building on the corner and saw the Funierice.