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Goodbye Italy. I already miss the golden sheen of your ever flowing olive oil and the seductive swirl your red wine makes in my glass. What will I do without your markets and men who truly believe they are irresistible when they utter the word “Bella”? Absence shall only make me grow fonder of your every curve and crazy cabby that drives upon it. Ciao my darling country.
The long journey to Germany has begun. I have not slept for over 24 hours now. Going to the Opera In Verona made for a late night. Too late to catch the last train so I had to wait for the first train of the new day. This meant again “sleeping” in the station at Verona. Fortunately, this time I was nearly a seasoned train station dozer and almost literally rested with one eye open. When I did almost fall asleep, I had the pleasant surprise of loud Italian cursing. Pulling an all-nighter here was cake!
I thought that there was a train that went straight to Munich from Venice. The truth is that the train to Munich leaves from Verona. Wouldn’t that have been nice to know before this whole fiasco. I would have willingly slept in a bed instead of cuddling up on that dirty bench.
Despite my sleepless night, things seem to have a way of working out. Serendipitously, I am now seated next to a fine Australian man, whom I met at my hostel in Venice, and is now enduring this 7-hour train ride with me.
The sun has been relentless today and being without air conditioning in this metal box is a bit challenging for us. Luckily, I have packed refreshments. Within my never ending bag-lady-like backpack is a picnic filled with my last bits of Italy. One perfectly ripe nectarine, a crisp pink apple, two strange but delicious oblong yellow plums, an apricot, soft camembert cheese, slices of salami, the end of a baguette, and half a plastic bottle of pinot gris that is quickly turning sour in this heat.
I have to say, this train ride picnics could be the best I’ve ever had. I shared my food with Mr. Australia and in return, he bought us coffees to keep us awake.
I love to eat soft cheeses like Camembert with apples and salami is perfect with stone fruits. I told this to my friend and he gave me a kind of are-you-serious look mixed with a dash of try-not-to-look-alarmed-or-you-will-insult-her grin. He braved my advice and found my combinations of fruit, cheese, and meat to be a good match. His eyebrows raised as he swallowed, “Wow! I would have never thought to put those things together. I figured I wouldn’t like it when you told me to eat that together, but I do.”
As we munched and crunched our way through our simple dinner, the scenery changed from terra cotta to gingerbread. Signs no longer read of Italian words with too many L’s and O’s, but rather with very long foreign German words with far too many S’s. Intensely green mountains have appeared where flat pastures had once been adding a mystic feeling to the already surreal change. The sun has now dulled just but and the breeze seems to be getting cooler with every kilometer forward.
I can’t help but shiver with goosebumps from the chill and excitement. What new exotic adventures will you provide Munich? I can hardly wait know.
