Travelogue to the South

For some tasks, I had to go to the company, which isn't close at all. In fact, it isn't Milan at all. I threw my gear into the old CAT backpack that has been with me from Sari to the dirt roads of Shahroud, from north to south, from east to west of Iran to various places in Europe. Although it's gradually losing its strength. Right before coming, we had to sew one of its seams so that water or something wouldn't get in and soak our whole life. Even with this condition, I still don't have the heart to go get another one. This backpack grew up with me. It stretched with me. It's hard to part with and find something as heavy-duty. Anyway, I threw my life on my back and headed towards the airport, and as always, the Milan sky tore open and started raining.

An hour and a half flight to Brindisi; when I closed my eyes and opened them, I saw the pilot saying we would be landing in Brindisi in a few minutes. Like all the times I board any vehicle, I slept through the whole thing on cue. From a cart to an airplane. For any duration. Makes no difference. Like the sleep pods in Interstellar where they could sleep for years and not notice the passage of time, biologically I can will myself to sleep the entire journey and be free from time. This is one of those blessings you can go and be jealous of.

When I got out of the airport, the weather was cloudy, dark, and stormy. There was no sign of a bus, and I didn't know how to take a bus from there to go to San Vito. You might be wondering why San Vito? The answer is that the company is there. A town near Brindisi that is as much a city as Esfarayen is a city.

Just as nothing in this story matches anything else, this company didn't match the place either. A lot of people are working in it, it has a lot of users, and half of its developers live in the north, and this half are all Iranian, and I am one of them.

Since it wasn't clear when the bus would arrive and I had to get there sooner, out of desperation and helplessness, I poured my hard-earned, innocent money down the drain of a private taxi to take me to San Vito. A 20-minute route that looked as if it was drawn with a ruler between these two roads; the unfair guy quoted such a high price at first that even when he gave a discount at the end, it was still too much. It hurt a lot, even now as I am returning to our city, it hurts. May God not forgive them.

Sunday night, meaning 20 minutes later, I arrived, and it was so deserted you wouldn't find a dog in the street. Empty. Quiet. Dimly lit and damp. Out of the pain of the taxi money, I wanted to go buy from a store to make my own dinner and lunch for these two or three days, but except for a store that was a 25-minute walk from the house, nothing was open to get to. It was out of town. Yes. Exactly. You could leave the urban area with a quarter of an hour walk. I arrived, and what a store it was. A large silo where not even one item's brand was familiar. A bunch of random items, and for me, who is very conservative in shopping, this was a nightmare. I wandered around for half an hour and at the end, I bought milk and cake and returned (and of course kiwis and apples). Milk and cake have never disappointed anyone.

Our dinner became milk and cake, and later kiwis. And what a combination. A job that a Bisacodyl suppository is incapable of doing, milk and kiwi do it in an instant. Keep this as a souvenir from me. It will come in handy when the time comes.

The company office was near that same store. A bit further back. The next morning, like a good employee, I clocked in before everyone else, and then I was introduced one by one to everyone who arrived, and it was an opportunity to show off the deep and vast knowledge of Italian I have acquired in these two and a half years: buongiorno! Good to see you. The first day they treated me well, and it wasn't bad. They also gave me a welcome pack, but unfortunately, as always, I get the things I want when I no longer have enthusiasm for them. I was like, how am I going to drag this laptop and all this gear back to our city now.

The first day passed, and it was time to shop. That good store opened, but the knot of my shopping was still a blind knot. I was supposed to be there for another day, and I didn't know what to get so it wouldn't be a useless expense or go to waste. I also didn't have the energy to cook. I just got home at 8 with a lot of work left, who had the energy to make food. Anyway, in the midst of this, I spent 40 minutes pacing between the pasta shelf and ready meals. I kept putting the pasta down and picking that up, and vice versa. What misery, really. In the end, I got a bunch of ready-made junk and made it easy for myself.

The second day came, and the story started all over again, but they were used to me now, and there was no special treatment. Everyone switched to the original language, and this made the situation worse. The thing about working in person, exchanging a few words and joking with someone in between, is really a headache. If anyone ever turns around and tells you to go to Europe (anywhere) and your English will get you by, punch them in the mouth with four fingers on my behalf so they spit out their teeth. They probably will never understand why they got hit because if they understood, they would never have made such suggestions in the first place.

The workday was ending when the HR came over to me and said Ali, you have to go to Brindisi to get a medical certificate. I wish I could teleport by opening and closing my eyes, but I still don't have the strength for these things. I absolutely did not want the nightmare of two days ago to repeat itself. Private ride, taxi, money money money... I was deep in these thoughts when suddenly they turned around and said so-and-so will take you there with his car. He's a Brindisi kid himself. When they said this, half the weight of the disaster lifted. I was really happy. Before leaving, I went to say goodbye to the CTO and pay the usual respects, and then we set off for Brindisi. Our friend called Amore the whole way, talking the entire route. Amore's voice was playing on the speaker. That's why I reassured him to say whatever they wanted and be comfortable. I don't understand much besides catzo and greetings. When the boy told the girl [jokingly] that now we can dirty talk, the poor girl got embarrassed. I think she told him wow Javad what kind of talk is this, it's ugly. Of course, even if they wanted to, they couldn't, I think. The girl was talking in the middle of a crowd. I wish I knew Italian. Enduring 20 continuous minutes of my own snooping and worries about how to return was really hard.

The trouble really began when my business at the doctor's office was finished. I had to figure out how to return to the village without pain and bleeding. Nothing came out of Google Maps and other apps. From other guys who had traveled this route before, I asked for the address of the bus station that went to San Vito and walked there from the doctor's office. It was a good experience. Again that same drizzle and wet streets, but a lively and beautiful city.

I arrived at the station. Well, station—it was a sign where they had written the bus times and destinations with e-ink. I kept worrying that what if this isn't it. What if it's wrong. Every bus that passed, I asked, sir, San Vito? and they shook their heads no. There was a fruit shop right next to it, and the shop owner knew a couple of English words. I said bus San Vito, he said yes, this is it. Wait, it's coming. One of the bus drivers I asked told me that the intercity buses are those big ones. A few minutes later, when I saw S. Vito-S.Michele on the sign saying it would come at 8:30, my mind was put at ease, and I calmed down. Of course, it lied. It came about 20 minutes late. But finally, after 2 hours of standing on my feet, it was sweet news. Of course, the troubles weren't just one or two. I still didn't know if I could get on without a ticket or not, and if this ticket I bought was correct or not. On the other hand, my flimsy iPhone is constantly on its last legs. I have to charge the old man 10 times a day so it doesn't die. And constantly worrying that what if it turns off in the middle of nowhere. Without a phone, I was no different from someone who can't see.

The bus finally came, and at 9:20 I finally reached the Esfarayen of Italy. I went somewhere to eat dinner. The restaurant didn't look like it belonged in a village either. Its waiters all knew English. Its atmosphere was better than those dumps we went to in Milan. It was a really weird place. Nothing matched anything, truly. I ordered potatoes with bacon and, as always, a bacon burger. I told myself tonight, after all this disaster, just joy and pleasure. From joy and pleasure, I only know how to stuff my face, and this is the only thing I've ordered for 20 years. They brought the potatoes, and I waited for them to bring the main course. Time passed, and I ate a little potato, and it didn't come. I ate again, and it didn't come, and I had eaten almost 80 percent of it when mademoiselle graced me with the burger. I saw that this itself had potatoes next to it, and again like an idiot, I forgot that now in every village you go to, they put potatoes next to the hamburger. I said it doesn't matter. I cut the burger in half and saw, well I'll be! This is vegetarian! What the hell is a grass burger. Is it Kuku Sabzi?!!! Yes. They brought the wrong order, and I told her to change it. Until she took this away, I got angry and ate that remaining 20 percent of potatoes and got full. As soon as I got full, they brought our burger, and faced with the dilemma of not eating and cutting my losses, I chose cutting my losses and forced myself to eat the burger so at least I would be burning the money I'm paying myself.

With a full stomach and a heart full of pain, I finally got home at ten-thirty and had to pack my backpack. Heh. I wanted to study for the exam when I got back at night. Heh. In that miserable state, I fell onto the bed and while my stomach was pressing on my diaphragm from fullness, I got busy packing and thinking about how to go.

The result of the investigations was that I had to wake up at 5. Because one of the timetables said that a bus leaves for Brindisi at 6. From which station was unknown. But there wasn't much room for worry either. It generally had one main street that all intercity buses had to pass through. I was so tired that I didn't have the energy to investigate further. I passed out at 12 and opened my eyes at five-thirty. As soon as I packed, I gave whatever timetable I had found to ChatGPT to check for me with this new deep research feature, and in short, I found out that no, there is a later bus again.

At 6:50 I left the house and saw a bunch of people standing somewhere. It looked like a bus stop. Relying on the principle that wherever a bunch of people have gathered there must be something going on, I stood next to them and won. The bus came. I didn't have a ticket either and got on. Like the night before. No one bothered me. Not that I didn't want to get a ticket. I didn't know where to get it from. Honestly, it didn't really matter either. It was 1 euro.

Anyway, after much thinking about which stop I should get off, we reached Brindisi and near that same stop where I had come from the night before, I got off at San Vito. Completely by chance. It turned out very well because I knew that place. I knew a lot of buses go to the airport from there. I stood for about half an hour until the bus came and I got on, and now I'm sitting in front of the gate typing these. I am sitting and waiting for the gate to open.