Rush Hour

Growing up, repeatedly remember my parents lecturing me about always bracing for the worst possible circumstance in regards to travel. If I had a dentist appointment at two in the afternoon, my dad would insist that I leave fifteen minutes early because of rush hour raffic. If I had a basketball game nine in the evening, I was told to be weary of the dreaded late-night rush hour. To my parents, suburban Philadelphia was perpetually gridlock with cars all hours of the night.

Before leaving for Venice early Thursday morning, I wish I heeded my parents’ advice. As we walked toward the bus stop on Trastevere, we missed the first bus that leads to Termini train station. I was unnerved, because we still had ninety minutes before departure. However, by the time the next bus came, the Roman morning rush hour was in full force. The streets were jam-packed with cars and Vespas trying to maneuver through the crowded streets. Our gigantic bus was no match for these conditions, as it was unable to weave around the traffic because of its size. We had no option but to get off and hail a cab. Luckily, the cab driver was extremely skilled in these rough driving conditions, and in no time he had us at the station. I learned a valuable lesson that day: always expect the worst when traveling. I just wished this lesson resonated in my head from the countless times my parents told me the same thing because then I would not have had this misadventure.