I'm thinking about
how people often use trains as a metaphor for a journey - mostly some sort of
symbolic, life-shaping voyage, a 'journey of discovery'. The literal train I am
currently sat on taking me from Geneva to Milan, one adventure to another, is therefore
somewhat underwhelming with its dirty windows, garish red seats and the
persistent snore of the sleeping middle-aged frenchman slumped across from me.
Yet as far as journeys go, this one is quite significant for my twenty year old
self, as I travel towards what will be my new home for the next six months:
Italy.
Today is all about
getting there. I began the day in Morzine, France, where I have been on holiday
with my family for the last week. Having been at uni for two years already with
quite irregular trips home I wasn't expecting saying goodbye to be difficult,
but I think the fact that I left at the same time as my sister - who is
embarking on a round-the-world trip today - made it easy to forget that, unlike
her, I would be home again in two and a half months. 'No one said it was going
to be easy' said my mum. But fortunately I couldn't dwell on the tears long as
I soon found myself alone in Geneva with four hours to get through before the
next stage of my journey.
The first thing I
noted about Geneva was how expensive it was. I naively (or rationally) thought
that 20 francs would be enough to get me through four hours, but after spending
4 francs on a 4 minute journey from the airport to the centre, 9 francs to
leave my suitcase in storage and 1 franc to go to the toilet, I
barely had anything for the next 3 and a half hours. And no map. That was my
next problem. Alone with no map and no money and next to no French skills, I
decided to follow anyone who looked vaguely like a tourist to guide me into the
centre of town. After wandering aimlessly for a while in some unknown
direction, I found a cafe and wifi and was pleased to discover that my common
sense had proved me right and I was right on the edge of the centre of town.
The rest of the morning was spent wandering up and down streets, photographing
unknown buildings, accidentally venturing 'off the beaten track' (ahem lost)
and then retracing my steps back to the train station. Geneva is a lovely city
though, full of well-dressed Swiss folk lunching al fresco, tall buildings with
wrought-iron balconies and those very European window-shutters towering over
cobbled alleyways, and then the beautiful blue waters of Lake Geneva making the
city seem so much more open and calm.
Then I sat on a train
for four hours watching the landscape change from mountains, fields and French
chalets to the lakes and terracotta roofs of Italy. And the new Italian train
guard greeted us all with a 'Buona Sera'.
I spent the evening in Milan; admiring the spectacular duomo, eating gelato and making friends with a little, old Italian woman who helped me when I was lost and then proceeded to ask me all about my life.
