It turns out I've actually had a lot of fun, in a weird, backpacker sort of way, on this cramped, ho

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As I was scrawling out a rough draft of this blog on the penultimate train ride of my route a four-hour Sicilian coastal jaunt from Palermo to Taormina the topic changed. Originally, I was going to go for a snarky little column about the dirth of snack bars and the lackluster air conditioning on these things. Just FYI, it's only really "conditioning" in the sense that if you were to go to tropical rainforest, you'd be better "conditioned" to withstand the heat and humidity after spending some time with Trenitalia . But like I said, the topic changed.
It turns out I've actually had a lot of fun, in a weird, backpacker sort of way, on this cramped, hot, smelly rail system. Every leg of my southward march has a little story attached to it often less glamorous than the stuff I find outside the station, but no less memorable.
Perugia to Cortona: had something like a conversation with an elderly Italian man who was very pleased with his own ability to announce the names of all the big cities he knew in the United States. "Yup, I've heard of New York, too."
Spoleto to Pescara: played Uno with a pair of backpackers from Finland and discussed why hockey was the greatest sport of all time, why I wish I had time to stop over in Rome, and why people eat such strange things in Finland.
Amalfi to Palermo cosmetic travel bag : a 9-hour charmer that got loaded on to a barge to get floated across the water from the mainland to Sicily. We got to climb up on deck and enjoy the view while we crossed over to the island. Plus, the boat had a breeze cosmetic travel bag and a snack bar.
Okay so maybe my swelling sentimentality about this whole route is making these cliches sound less like cliches, but part of me knows that there's truth to the notion that traveling really is part of what makes travel so special. Part of me also knows that I'll probably be eating my words a week from now when I've lost all contact with my lower extremities, cosmetic travel bag all hope for a meal service, and all desire to read SkyMall again midway through my 12-hour flight back home to Los Angeles. Oh well.
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