Training

When it came time to leave Venice the following morning, I was ready to go. The canaled streets were lovely, but the emotional and mental stimulation of this city left a ton to be desired. After another cup of American coffee I was headed to the train station on Vaporetto #2.

From my days in Spain, I had come to love taking trains. There was something about leaving one station bound for another that mesmerized me and made me think in different ways than when I was sitting still. I was looking forward to the same thing in Italy.

Wrong. Try again.

Italy really needs some ‘training’ on trains. Here they are filthy, and disgusting. Instead of gliding onto them, I have to heave my bags up three steps and then try and lift it over my head to put in the luggage compartment and THEN pray to God that the seat I have been assigned is not covered with stains. It was simply awful.

THEN, you could potentially be crammed into a 4-person seat while the whole two rows infront of you are empty. The logic behind the train system is, well, simply illogical. And I had no choice but to get used to it, I had many trains before me as I explored this countryside.