We cycled out of Slovenia along some fantastic cycle paths, like small roads, into the Italian city of Treiste.
I am sure Trieste has some nice features, unfortunately we didn't have time to find them.
It impressed upon us as a stony grimy hectic and chaotic place, built on a hillside with the main road running in convoluted directions around it. During one of our many unsuccessful forays to find the center of the city, repeatedly leaving the main thoroughfare to follow illusory signs to the "Center". (One of which ended us up on the on-ramp for the motorway until a lady in a car frantically waved us down. Then we had to descend back to the main road against the oncoming traffic - now THAT was an experience) we were getting increasingly frazzled.
We stopped at a traffic light and a shop assistant from a wine store rushed out and gave Beate a bottle of wine. To say we were surprised was an understatement, it took frantic minutes of communication to find that it was free because she saw that we had a New Zealand flag on the bike. That was the first indication of the Italian love of all things Kiwi. Finally we found the train station and booked tickets to Chaisso in the Italian Alps.
The trip required us changing trains 3 times and used the cheapest slow trains that stopped at each station. Train stations in Italy are not really equipped for cycles requiring them to be carried up and down the stairs between platforms. This lack in the facilities was going to haunt us later on.
We had an uneventful trip for about 2 hours to a regional station in the Venice region, and off loaded the bikes carrying them through the underpass and up to the next platform for the next train. There the fun began. While we had been the only passengers with cycles on the first train we found that we were only 2 of 12 cyclists waiting for the second one.
There was a group of 6 unsociable mountain bikers, a very sociable family of 4 from Germany, and ourselves. Far too many for the small bike compartment that probably only took 5 bikes at a pinch. The initial strategic manoeuvring came about on the platform trying to find which end of the yet absent train the bike carriage was located. We joined forces with the family and positioned ourselves where we thought the bike carriage would stop.
When the train finally arrived we were the closest to the carriage, that didn't prevent the mountain bikers quickly mounting their cycles and push past us to reach the carriage before ourselves. However the German family came to our rescue having already loaded their bikes hoisted ours up in front of the impatient mountain bikers. This kerfuffle at the carriage was overseen by an increasingly irate elderly Italian conductor upset that his train was being delayed by the jostling cyclists. He tried to order us around and position the bikes in certain places while the owners of the cycles (predominantly the mountain bikers) were just desperate not to be left off the train and shoved them on anywhere. Eventually we left the station having delayed the train some minutes.
The conductor did his usual "tickets please" routine until he reached us. Beate handed over our brand new tickets, purchased mere hours earlier, and the conductors eyes took on a gleam of revenge. The tickets had not been validated. To validate your tickets you have to stick them in a small yellow unobtrusive box randomly located on the platform to have them date stamped. The ticket is valid for 1 week, so stamping them meant that they were going to be used on that date and time. Using an unstamped ticket is illegal, as you could possibly use it the next day on exactly the same trip again.
No one had told us about this, it was never an issue on the last ride and as the signs are in Italian we had no idea about the importance of these yellow boxes. So our ticket was technically illegal, although the last conductor just used his punch to mark it as used this conductor demanded 25 euro per person from us for using an invalid ticket.
We refused, Beate emphasising this by protectively folding her arms over the bag with the money. The conductor became irate, loudly demanding money and gesticulating wildly. We argued back about the foolishness of his position which only seemed to incense him more. All he had to do was validate it with his hand punch, it was obvious this was the first day the ticket had been used as its purchase date was stamped on it.
He stormed off with our tickets leaving us confused, other passengers around us cheered us up and I commented about power crazed short people with limited positions of authority being the worst kind. He was obviously bent on revenge at us (collectively as cyclists that is) delaying his train. We expected to be thrown off at the next stop. However after a while he returned our tickets and tried again demanding money, again we refused, after all the 50 euro fine (NZ $100) was the price of the entire trip for us, and this time he went off in an Italian rant about "passport control" possibly wishing he had more power than his lowly status afforded him.
After he departed a second time another passenger came up having made the same error as ourselves and we commiserated together. Nothing came of the conductors threats however and he left before the end of the section giving us dirty looks as we passed through the train. We reached the end of the second stage and departed the train at Milan.
Here we had to change stations to board the next train. Since our train was delayed we had about 30 minutes to get off this train, cycle to another station somewhere in Milan, and get on the next train, otherwise we would have to wait an extra hour for the next service to Chiasso.
We coordinated our departure from the train to be as fast as possible quickly removing the two bikes and the trailer from the bike carriage, attaching the panniers and bags to one bike and the trailer to the other. However once on the platform and moving through the crowds we came across the problem of getting cycles around Italian stations. Exiting the building required descending the escalator, and with no other option we took the bikes with us, I bet no one else has taken a bike and trailer down the escalator in Milan and survived before!
Out in the street we encountered a typical inner city car jam, vehicles all pointing in different directions and going nowhere. Running out of time and with scanty directions we raced down sidewalks, and through red lights to reach the next station. it was like a scene from bad movie. Getting to the next station was only the first part solved, we had to find the platform the train was leaving on. Looking at a list of train departures we concluded it was platform 3. Typically with our luck at the time it too required descending the escalator, pushing through a maze of tunnels and then dismantling the bike from the trailer and carrying them both individually up to the platform.
That bike trailer is HEAVY, easily 20kg and is a bulky object difficult to move and hold. Thankfully it was not a rush hour and the station was nearly empty. Smugly we sat on our empty platform until Beate checked another board as we were wondering where everyone was. This board showed the train leaving from platform 5!
Frantically we dismantled the bikes again literally the final minutes to departure ticking away, and carried them down the stairs, reassembled them, rode them to the next platform stairs, dismantled them and carried them up to the next platform. By now I was totally exhausted, we had been running for about 30 minutes straight and I collapsed on a bench to await the train. No sign of one or any other passengers either.
Just as Beate was asking a person for help it came over the speakers that our train was departing in 5 minutes from platform 9. Would you believe it. Beate had to beg me to move as I was so tired of the situation I initially refused.So we went through the above routine this time having to take the bikes back UP the escalator as well (fully laden with trailer) with me complaining loudly about the incompetent Italian train system and no wonder Italy was the sick man of Europe if they can't even run a train station, loudly to anyone within earshot.
Boy was I angry. We made it literally at the last minute. Just after the doors closed behind us another poor passenger arrived pleading to be be allowed on, we pointed to her and asked the conductor, but the conductor refused to open the door and the person with despair on her face was left behind on the platform.
We were at last on the train to Chiassa.