(Feb. 14 is the start to this tale)
We made that corner stop at the top of the street in the middle of downtown Torino our home for over three hours. If the occasional bus did happen to roll along it was never destined for Candiolo. We were told time and time again that the next bus would be for Candiolo. It never was and the bus trip actually never happened. It was now almost 11:00 pm and we had had enough. Maddie hailed the next available taxi and we piled in. We had assumed that a taxi would be to expensive, that is why we had not taken action sooner. However, at this point I think we would have paid anything. The alternative was sleeping on the streets. Out of town indeed, our taxi carried us past the cities limits, down winding country roads whose only population was fields and abandoned factories. Approximately twenty minutes had elapsed when my eyes beheld a site I genuinely had not believed they ever would: a blaring neon sign for the Hotel Del Parco. The taxi man asked for thirty Euro which was actually not that bad especially split four ways and then dropped us off. We had finally made it. There were no Nigerian prostitutes in site.
The inside of the hotel was actually very clean and welcoming. There was a quant bar and restaurant staffed by the nicest of people. I think it was a family run establishment. However, this was the extent of my observations because once we received our rooms keys and I found my bed, there was nothing else my body would stand for other than a good nights sleep.
My spirits were high as I awoke early the next morning. I had a clean shower, a very delicious complementary breakfast, and the horrors of the day before seemed like nothing more than a distant memory. The receptionist told us that we could actually catch a bus right outside the hotel that would carry us the two hour trek into the mountains to Sestriere, which happens to be the site of the 2006 winter Olympics as well as some of the most renowned skiing destinations in the world. I was beside myself. Nothing could go wrong and our plan looked like a cinch. Our merry band skipped out to the stop and waited there for our 7:45 am bus to paradise. The conversation was giddy as we discussed how epic the rest of the day was to be. The anticipation and optimism continued to build right up until 7:50 when a bus bound for the stop right before Sestriere come barreling down the rode. Yet, it never stopped. Actually, my mind likes to tell me the driver accelerated past our stop. I don’t know why. Every soul in our merry band was crushed. There were no other buses scheduled to come until very late in the morning and by that time it would be too late. We were stranded in the middle of nowhere; starring off into the distant mountains with no means to get there. I think our moral plummeted to an all-trip low at that point and if you remember the events of the day before, that is saying something. I dragged my dejected body back into the hotel and pulled my head of my chest just long enough to ask the receptionist if there was any chance there was another bus coming. She said she did not know but she could try and check. I had zero hope but mumbled a thank you non-the less. A few clicks on the keyboard and a couple minutes later she triumphantly announced that she believed there would be another bus at 8:15. As much as I wanted to I could not allow myself to believe her so I just courteously smiled and thanked her as I shuffled back to the bus stop. The dejected band took the news with a grain of salt and the consensuses was to wait till 8:15 not because we actually thought a bus would come, but because we had nothing better to do than kick stones around the parking lot.
I was silently planning a way to get home that day and end the misery once and for all when out of nowhere a large blue bus sporting a sign reading ‘Sestriere’ came chugging down the street. It was 8:15 on the button. I was astounded and for half a second could muster neither motion nor sound from my body. Then I victoriously shook off the chains of despair and jumped around waving my arms like the freed prisoner that I was. The others acted in a similar fashion such that this time our flagging would not be ignored. Simultaneously, the doors swung open and the tires stopped moving. Still a bit dazed, I asked the bus driver if he was indeed bound for the ski slopes of Sestriere. You know what he said? He said he yes and we better get on because he had a schedule to keep. I leapt for joy, at least my inner self did. I was vindicated. We victoriously claimed our seats as if we were conquering heroes taking our thrones. In all my days to come, I don’t think I will ever see a merrier band of vagabonds.
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