Music and terror

It's a bit strange that I would be thinking of music and terrorism at the same time.

That's what happens when a music festival opens near the anniversary of the Sept. 11, 2001, attacks.

Not that there's any connection between our music festival and terrorists. None whatsoever.

It just so happens, however, that six years ago my wife and I had a wonderful musical experience shortly after 9-11. So in our minds there is a music/mayhem link that will never go away.

We were on one of the first flights to leave the St. Louis airport after air travel had been shut down across the nation in the wake of 9-11. We had booked our travel plans weeks in advance, and many friends and family members suggested we should stay home. They asked: Why risk becoming a target?

Our destination was Italy, and our flight to Rome was without incident. We saw the sights and explored some off-the-path places that will, for us, always be as memorable as the Vatican or the Coliseum.

Next came a trip to Naples, Pompeii and the Amalfi Coast. Our travel plan also included taking a train from Rome to Venice. The day before we were to leave, our hotel concierge informed us of a railroad strike, which meant we might or might not be going to Venice as planned. We took a taxi to the railroad terminal the day before to check the layout and see where we would have to be if our train left on time.

When we came back the next day, the strike was still in progress, but there was a stir around the platform where our train was supposed to be. There were also dozens of uniformed men, police and military, armed with assault rifles. When about a thousand student-age backpackers rushed for the train, we deduced that it was going somewhere, and even if the train didn't go to Venice it would be an adventure to see where it wound up. After it took off, it occurred to me that everyone on board except us had possibly just been drafted, and we might be headed for a military boot camp. What an interesting vacation this might turn out to be.

My fears were not entirely alleviated when, after stopping in Florence, the train seemed to head back from whence we had come. A young woman and her father from Naples, who had been stranded in Florence by the train strike, were on their way to Trieste in the far north of Italy to meet her boyfriend after attending a conference in Rome where the young woman had just won a national poetry prize, which her father polished over and over with his coat sleeve and showed us with enormous pride. The young woman, who spoke some English, assured us that we were, indeed, on our way to Venice.

Our first night in the city of canals found us strolling in Piazza San Marco. Around the square there were small tents set up to protect musicians from the weather, but it was a soft late-summer night, perfect for an outdoor concert. We picked a tent where a small orchestra was playing and sat down at one of the tiny sidewalk tables covered with a starched white linen tablecloth. A waiter quickly appeared, took our order for drinks and just as quickly reappeared with our refreshments on a silver tray along with a bowl of chips.

An hour or so later, after a relaxing and refreshing musical interlude, we were ready to leave. The waiter brought the check. On it were charges for the two drinks, for the chips we did not request and 10,000 lira (about $10) for "Musica."

Ah. The cover charge. We should have known.

On that evening around the world, heads of state were listening to advisers regarding the potential for more terrorism. Down the street from Piazza San Marco two Arab brothers were making the best pizza we had in all of Italy -- and laughing as they read a newspaper, in Arabic, full of news and photos of the twin towers in New York City.

We, on the other hand, were strolling through Venice, thinking what a bargain the 10,000-lira musica had been.

R. Joe Sullivan is the editor of the Southeast Missourian.