The torture of the midnight bus ride

After a week of making stupid miniature windmill pen-holders, by Friday I was beginning to feel I genuinely deserved a break. My cold was retreating, after the doctor had so kindly informed me there was nothing wrong with me, and my assignments were put on hold for the next week. My fridge was empty, after I had pressed all my leftover food upon Erik. My room was moderately tidy and I had said the Last Rites over all my pot-plants.

I trundled my luggage to the bus stop, and upon its arrival somehow managed to wedge myself into the Connexion bus. Who would have thought it would be packed at nine on a Friday evening, I thought everyone had bicycles in Delft? The trip was short but full of adventure, as I fell lavishly onto other commuters each time we turned a corner, and then managed to rip the grip-pole out of its socket (sometimes I don’t know my own strength…). A flock of three earnest teenage boys showing off their muscles couldn’t put it back in either.

It turned out I was one of the first at the station, even before the ID committee. Which was just fine, because at the train station the adventures were continuing. A mini pulled up with smoke pouring out of the bonnet, and the driver got out to blast it with a fire hydrant. This was shortly followed by a fire engine that screeched to a halt in front of us. Unsatisfied by the fire hydrant blasting, they blasted it some more with a giant hose. Then the police arrived as well for some reason, and talked intently to the young couple who owned the mini.
“Is this your mini?”,
“Yes.”
“We have reports that its on fire, is this true?”
Then a young man who’d come to watch the spectacle pranged the car that was in the parking space in front of him. Lucky for him, the large surly-looking driver of the hotted-up vehicle was inside buying a coke and didn’t notice. Lucky for me too, I don’t really like watching people having their arms ripped off. Especially not just after dinner.

Soon the rest of the Torinissimo trippers arrived and to our dismay the first drops of rain began to fall. The forecast for Torino was a week of rain and 9 degree temperatures. So much for a little break from the cold weather. But maybe it was still possible to leave the sogginess behind in Delft. We packed into the bus, and somehow me and Veronie managed to get the best seats in the whole place, with the most leg room and the biggest reclining angle.

After watching Pulp Fiction with Dutch subtitles (which introduced me to all sorts of words in Dutch that I probably shouldn’t know), it was 2 in the morning so we tried to sleep. This was of course, torture. Just as you are getting to sleep it time for the driver to stop and take a break, and your only opportunity to go to the bathroom for the next two hours. So off you stumble. The ritual consists of tumbling out of the bus door as you try to pull your coat onto one arm, with your scarf wrapped around your head. Once on the ground and vertical, you try to discover which country you are in, and what language you are speaking. You approach the cashier in the petrol station with a sentence something like the following: “Enschuldigung, welke stad is dit? Je suis tres fatigue. Gratsie.” Once you know what country it is, you can then figure out whether you should be buying chocolate, cheese, or miniature Swiss army knives.

This is not always a reliable approach however. Such as when I was overjoyed to discover that the cashier was speaking French, and thus we were in France and almost halfway through our trip. Alas, it was only lower Belgium. Although there are also other telltale signs; the next stop I still wasn’t sure if it was France until I noticed they had ashtrays in the bathroom. At last morning dawned, on a beautiful alp-strewn day in Switzerland.

I had plenty of company on the journey, every few hours my phone would beep with a cheerful little message.
“Welcome to Belgium, for dialing assistance please call XXXX”
“Welcome to Luxembourg, for dialing assistance please call XXXX”
“Welcome to France, for dialing assistance please call XXXX”
“Welcome to Switzerland, for dialing assistance please call XXXX”
“Welcome to Italy, for dialing assistance please call XXXX”

I had no idea I had friends in so many countries!