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As a result of changing agreements with regard to the use of the car at our house-sit in Italy, we had to begin walking everywhere. There is a town two kilometers from the house named Pierantonio, which has a grocery and a few of the other things we needed, but getting there was a challenge. There are no walking paths like we had in Denmark. Scandinavia is a dream for both walkers and bikers, Italy is a nightmare.

We saw from the train that there was a road that went most of the way from our house to Pierantonio. So we decided to find out if we could forge through the bush and get to the road without having to walk on the very dangerous highway. If you can at all avoid it, you do not want to walk anywhere there are Italian drivers. I came close to being hit several times walking alongside the road.

We set out from the house and soon came to thick brush. We decided to keep going and fought our way through, acquiring several scratches on the way. When we emerged from the jungle we were at the train tracks and could see the road down a ways and on the other side. We had almost made it, but to get there, we were going to have to walk across a small train bridge. Not a great prospect. We jumped down the wall and walked across the tracks with no mishaps and carried on walking down a nice road the rest of the way to Pierantonio. It wasn't until we were on our way back that we ended up playing chicken with the train.

We had just gotten onto the tracks and were walking across the small bridge, feeling quite confident as the local train had just passed and we knew it wasn't coming our way again for at least 45 minutes. Or so we thought. Apparently the train sometimes goes to Pierantonio and comes right back. Halfway across the bridge we heard the unmistakable sound of a train coming. The tracks started to hum and we heard a rumble in the distance. I remember feeling confusion and then, "No way! This only happens in movies!"

"Run!" Jonas shouted at me. I started running at him. In my opinion the logical thing to do. Run away from the scary thing. "No, the other way!" he yelled in my face.

Apparently he saw right away that we were less than halfway across and there was a safe spot on the other side of the bridge. If we kept running away from the train, we'd be stuck huddling against the wall. My husband is a quick thinker.

So, I turned and ran as fast as I could straight at the train, which by now had seen us and was laying on the horn. This of course only served to raise my panic to death-inducing levels. I hit the end of the bridge and swung toward the safety of the trees, except it was a hill and I nearly didn't stop. Jonas was right on my heels and now he was yelling, "Stop!", as he thought I was going to run straight down the hill and break something valuable. He reached out and grabbed the back of my tank top, nearly ripping it off me.

Realising I was safe, I stopped running, and huddled against him as the train flew past us. We could see a terrified conductor looking out the window at us. He was scared? He should have tried being the very squashable people on the track.

Once the train went by, we ran for the bridge again. You know, the whole philosophy about getting back on the horse? We had to climb up the wall and now that we were in panic mode, we weren't as graceful as we'd have liked to be and sported several scrapes. It took Jonas a few tries to get up the wall, as he didn't have the benefit of me boosting him as I had. All the while I'm yelling, Hurry up! Another train might be coming!" I'm such a supportive wife.

We finally got up the wall and made our way home with our hearts beginning to slow their crazy thumping. We made a nice dinner and sat out in the pergola sipping wine and feeling exhuberant that we were still alive. As we laughed together, going over the crazy scenario, I reached down to brush something off my leg only to get stung by a wasp. I yelled for Jonas to bring me a cut onion as I winced in pain - pressing a cut onion to a sting for at least 15 minutes takes away most of the pain and keeps it from swelling.

So, in the end, the train didn't get me, but a tiny little wasp did. The moral of the story? An onion works great for a bee sting.