Tardy Italian trains

Tardy Italian trains

Well what a pleasure it is to be drafting this on board a supremely clean, comfortable and so far punctual TGV train from Nice bound for Avignon, with the Med to my right on a beautifully sunny blue-skied evening. As some of you may have seen from my FB post this morning (sorry, sometimes I get bored) I was held up big time in Genoa and managed to eventually reach Nice via Ventimiglia 2 hours late. I had to miss connections sometime, and it could’ve been worse as it was easy to change my seat reservation as I got to Nice in plenty of time for the next train.

I had some very nice company for part of the way with a charming French businessman who spoke great English (don’t get excited girlfriends, I didn’t fancy him so it ain’t goin’ nowhere) and best of all helped me with Nellie, despite the fact that I think I may have been bigger than him (and that’s one of the reasons, girlfriends). The hotel manager knows I’m going to be late, so, so far so good and all being well I’ll still get dinner somewhere as I’m pretty central.

Having left Italy behind, I was considering some of my observations about that beautiful country and its citizens. There’s a marked difference between the places I’ve stayed that isn’t just about geography - I’m sure that comes as no news to most of you who’ve travelled there - and Billy the friendly Frenchman is a bit of a globetrotter on business, and he concurred. Apparently the Mafia is alive and well in Rome, where business is done under the table though the mayor gets sacked when it’s discovered he spend 20,000 euros on a meal using the company credit card.

I found Sicilians quite relaxed and laid back but I also have to remember that Taormina is a really tiny part and very tourist-oriented. Similar in Positano, with the exception of the nasty bitch in the T-shirt shop, and very keen to please.

I’m fairly sure that whilst Rome has to thrive on its tourism, I think that just like Londoners many Romans resent it too because the infrastructure is pretty inadequate - plus some of the tourist groups are so massive, especially from the Far East, and it can make it really difficult for Romans to go about their business. As a solo traveller moving around at my own pace, I would cross the road or take a detour rather than get stuck behind one of the slow-moving herds. And in Rome, I’ve already whinged about the challenges of being a pedestrian - it was definitely the worst, with the exception of trying to cross the road in Naples from the bus terminal to a licensed taxi rank, the only time I’ve felt really vulnerable with Nellie in tow.

I saw many more white  licensed taxi cabs sitting idle in Rome than I think I’ve ever seen black cabs in London, but I can’t begin to imagine how congested it must be in the height of the tourist season; when I go back, which I will, I’m sure as hell going in March or April. With the exception of EXPO, Milan seemed better able to handle tourists, but admittedly it was much much quieter. The Milanese seem to me to be less emotional and calmer than Romans, and there is a smartness and elegance about the placer, though I still found them pretty friendly.

I can only speak for the old town in Genoa as I only saw the new from the upper deck of that open top bus I mentioned yesterday. It’s definitley grungier, and bustles with a very cosmopolitan population all doing their bit to get by with lots and lots of tiny businesses. They’re much more decent about stopping at “zebra” crossings than anywhere else, and I found them friendly. But I don’t understand why so many sets of steps I walked up and down in Genoa, including the ones at the B&B, were so worn and uneven, far more so that any where else!

But Genoa’s melting pot also brought home to me the desperation of the lives led by the immigrant African and Asian “traders” on every street corner, trying to sell you an umbrella or (less so in Genoa) a selfie stick, or a handbag or a rose or some jewellery. Last night I sat outside under a canopy to eat (making the most of feeling wam enough to do so) and was approached by an African woman carrying all her wares in a massive bundle on her head. I’m sorry that I didn’t want anything she was trying to sell me - that’s one hell of a way to make a living, and I bet she could teach me a thing or two about posture.

And of course every time I said no I had a glimpse of the haunted look of someone whose existence is probably miserable, or maybe not as miserable as if they’d stayed where they came from, but nonetheless offering nothing but the necessity to walk the streets every day trying to sell comparatively rich people trinkets they don’t need or want, and more than likely to return when all those rich people have gone home to rest, eat and bathe in conditions you and I would consider beneath our dignity.

Everywhere too, of course, beggars - hands held out in supplication, even by people whose standards of dress wouldn’t mark them out  immediately as destitute; in some places, people walking towards you in the street as though just another passer by, and (I hope my limited Italian understood correctly) asking you for some change as if on the off chance, just as they might ask the time or for a light or directions. And of course I’m a bleeding heart liberal, and almost every time, when I could see the crippled spines and the lost limbs, I wanted to give in - but of course I never did. I don’t know if that makes me normal or a heartless bitch.

I’ve said before in this blog how lucky I consider myself to be (with just the one big exception of a special person to share my life with), and this trip just underlines that every single day, no matter how many missed train connections I have to endure. And I’m going to do my damnedest to be grateful for the quality of my current existence every single day, even when this trip is over, because when I recall the desperate people I’ve seen and ignored,  I have no business to feel any other way.

Now completing this online, cream crackered having arrived in Avignon 2 hours late and to temps of 7 degrees, which is at least half of that I've been experiencing up to now. So the jumper made its first outing - but as long as it's not raining, all will be well tomorrow though I fear Nellie may have done for my back in an awkward manoeuvre at Avignon TGV station. Had a nice supper round the corner with Picpoul, probably my favourite white wine. Slightly perturbed that the first sight to greet me in my little attic room was a can of insect repellant. And the toilet next door is only fractionally short of nasty, but my bed is wider than a single (yay!) and I think I will sleep like a person who's just spent 10+ hours travelling should sleep.