After yet another rape on a train which will be followed by a just punishment for the rapist, because the cameras are useless anyway, I leave here my travel tips for those girls and women traveling alone by subway or train.
1) Do not wear headphones with loud music, if someone approaches from behind you would not hear it.
2) Move to a carriage in which there are other women.
3) If they get off or the train is already semi-deserted, get into the carriage immediately preceding that of the conductor.
4) Do not hesitate to tell the conductor that you are alone and that you put yourself there to feel safer (I did and they were always very kind, they remained standing in the exit compartment).
5) When you get off, queue up to the largest group of passengers.
6) The worst moment is to cross a deserted underpass, there I can only tell you hold the unlocked phone in your hand and walk as fast as you can, better if a friend keeps you company on the phone.
7) Never take the elevator.
8) If you wait for the train, always put yourself under the light.
9) If you feel safe because you know the treats well but you see a woman alone, approach and travel in her compartment: you will not say anything but she will be grateful to you.
10) Keep a heavy stone in your bag, if you hit it you can at least stun it.
11) If something bad happens to you, do yourself justice because there is no adequate justice for those who violate.
I understand when you say you have items ready to use as weapons (sprays, keys) but the attacker also expects violent reactions and knows how to handle them, you don't. Run away if you see groups of kids all together, run hard, shout "A FIRE, FIRE !!!" otherwise no one will ever rush to see what happens.
I add one more thing:
Don't be afraid to look 'heavy' or out of place calling a friend on the phone on the way or having someone pick you up if you notice that doesn't reassure you. These little things often make a difference, even if you don't even get there to make certain speeches.
But unfortunately there are bad men in the world and no one gives them just punishment.
I had had to get up early that morning, a little earlier than when I went to school. I had taken the subway direction Jonio and I had gotten off more or less at the level of the tram station.
I had stopped on the sidewalk so that it divided the street in two halves and while I waited for the tram to arrive I had started to think, to elaborate and to compose, in my mind, the poem that could best describe that moment.
It was seven o'clock and the sun had not yet fully risen; its rays touched the skin of my face and arms, brushed me like a caress, like petals of pink, yellow, and orange flowers; the morning breeze made itself felt, gave a lonely breeze, fresh and soft at the same time.
I was, therefore, in the middle of the road, but perhaps it is more correct to say that I was at the center of an antithesis operated by time.
The feet were a little cold, while the hands, kept in the pockets of the jacket, were too warm and I felt that if, at any moment I took them out, I might find that they were melted like candles in the fire.
After a few moments, perhaps a few minutes, perhaps half an hour, it seemed to me that I could hear the sound of the mechanisms that are located above the trams that run on the great wires that are placed for the operation of the trolleybuses; and at the same time the perpetual and fast and repetitive sound of the contact between the rails and the noises of the tram.
I looked around, it seemed that I was the only one listening to it, maybe the others just heard it, they just didn't care, everyone cared for himself alone: who was on the phone, who listened to music and who chatted animatedly with the person that stood beside him.
Nobody seemed to notice the wonder that was happening.
he sound was getting louder, until I could see the tram: it was making the curve.
Then, for a moment, a gust of wind produced by the cutting of the air of the vehicle, and then a light whistle.
He had stopped: the doors had opened in front of me and practically immediately I moved and placed, first one, then the other, my feet on the plastic that covered the floor of the wagon, a little loose and a little sticky. Then I looked for a free seat on the tram, and as soon as I found one on the back I sat down.
I put my arm on the window and with my hand I moved the hair that the wind had blown up in front of my eyes. Here it is, the wonder.
From the window I could make out the buildings opposite, of that color between cold beige and yellow, but which were warmed by the warm rays of the sun, which gave those ancient buildings an orange hue.
They were like satellites that glow with reflected light.
From where I was observing that scene, I could also see below the tracks on which he was traveling, the electric wires above; around pines and other magnificent buildings of the same color as those described above.
It looked like one of those perfect landscapes for an analog.
There I found peace.
A man sat down in a subway station in Washington D.C. and began to play the violin. It was a cold January morning. He played six Bach pieces for about forty-five minutes.
During this time, as it was rush hour, it was calculated that thousands of people would pass through the station, many of them on their way to work.
Three minutes passed and a middle-aged man noticed that there was a musician playing. He slowed his pace and paused for a few seconds, then hurried to avoid being late on schedule.
A few minutes later, the violinist received the first dollar tip: a woman threw the money into the box and continued walking without stopping.
A few minutes later, someone leaned against the wall to listen to him, but the man looked at his watch and started walking again. The one who paid the most attention was a three-year-old boy.
His mother pulled him, but the boy stopped to look at the violinist.
Finally the mother yanked him firmly and the child continued to walk, turning his head the whole time. This behavior was repeated by several other children.
All parents, without exception, forced them to move.
In the forty-five minutes that the musician played, only six people stopped and stayed a moment.
About twenty gave him some money, but they continued walking normally. He raised $ 32. When he finished playing and silence returned, no one noticed. No one applauded, nor was there any recognition.
Nobody knew but the violinist was Joshua Bell, one of the greatest musicians in the world.
He played one of the most complex pieces ever written, on a violin worth $ 3.5 million.
Two days before he played on the subway, Joshua Bell sold out at Boston's Symphony Hall and seats in the stalls cost an average of $ 100.
This is a true story.
The execution of Joshua Bell in disguise in the subway station was organized by the Washington Post newspaper as part of a social experiment on people's perception, taste and priorities. The question was: in a common environment, at an inappropriate time, do we perceive beauty? Do we stop to appreciate it? Do we recognize talent in an unexpected context ?.
But the real question to ponder is: if we don't have a moment to stop and listen to one of the best musicians in the world play the best music ever written, how many other things are we missing out on?
THE PRODIGY OF IDEAS 