Treno di Notte

So my final day in Rome was long. The minutes picked away the hours at an agonizing pace. I woke early to find creepy old man packing to leave. Figures. So, I climb out of the hateful coffin like bunk bed and stumbled through the thick, humid air. I slowly got myself ready for the day, packed my bags, and headed down to breakfast. After eating yet another chocolate filled Brioche (wonderful the first couple of morning, but the sickeningly sweet filling got old) and about 4 cups of espresso, I dropped off my clothes at the laundry center and wandered through the markets. They suck in Rome! Especially compared to Florence. Oh well. I headed to the store to buy those coconut cookies I love and grabbed lunch while I was at it. I visited my New J ersey friend at his family store and stocked up on cigs. After picking up my finished laundry, I found my way back to the hostel and repacked my bags in preparation for the big departure. The rest of the afternoon was spent catching up with other travelers, researching which shows I wanted to see in London, and so orth. I was terribly bored and ready to go! Impatience got the best of me, and I decided to head out to the train statin early. Burdened with my pack and bag, I found a quiet place to grab a bite to eat and headed out to the platform.

Carriage after carriage, the run down Treno di Notte stretched on for a mile. I walked or what seemed like an eternity, attempting to find my carriage. It was the last one. As I approached the train, the conductor spied me. He checked my ticket and introduced himslef. His name was Roberto and he was wearing large diamonte studs - one in each ear. I immediately thought of the Adam Sandler film Waterboy and had to swallow a giggle. His english was broken, but he managed to inform me (well, my breasts really) that the cabin was towards the back. As he turned to assist an elderly french woman, I checked my watch. I had just enough time to smoke. So, I set down my bags and lit a ciggie. As I smoked, looked around the platform. The sun was setting and it was casting a soft light that caught the dust in a sort of ethereal glow. The busy shadowy figures created an appealing contrast and I enjoyed the moment. The train whistle shattered my thought. I snuffed out the cig and boarded the train.

I had bought an upgraded seat in a "Confort Cabin." Obiously, Italians have a very different idea of what constitutes comfort. The cabin was small and confining. There was a woman already sitting there. She barely acknowledged me as I settled into the seat across from her. Lovely. 14 hours with a bitch. As the train pulled away, we were still alone and I hoped that it would be just the 2 of us. I couldn't imagine 4 people in this cramped cage. The train gained speed and Rome dropped away, giving the countryside priority. The sun hung low casting shadows through the dim cabin. I leaned my head against the thick plastic window and watched Lazio melt into Tuscany. The soft rolling hills, sunburned and ablaze in a fiery palate, lulled me. I closed my eyes and let the Italian countryside slip away.

As we pulled into Firenze, we were nformed that 2 more passangers would be boarding. Damn. As the young couple entered the cabin, their eyes were locked on me. They nodded, knowing that this chubby girl before them was an American, and said "Bon jour." As it turns out, the woman who I'd been sittng with was also French. They were all from Paris and returning home. I was the odd man out and they made no real attempts to incorporate me into their French club. As they closed the cabin door, the smell hit me hard. I hung my head and willed myelf to ignore it. Did I have any Oust spray left, I wondered as we pulled the bunks out. As ew all climbed to our perches, they argued about whether or not to lock the door. They opted not to. The women were concerned about having to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night. Whatever. I read or a bit, but the rocking of the train was hypnotic and before I knew it, I was alseep.

Finding it difficult to breathe, I awoke in a sweat some time later. The train was still and eerily quiet. The cabin was stiffling hot - the A/C turns of when the train is not running. We were at the border and the French guards were taking their time. The heat was unbearable and I wanted a smoke, so I went in search of Roberto. He directed me to the bathroom. As he informed me to blow the smoke out the window, he winked and studied my body in a way that made my skin crawl. I smiled and thanked him, then shut and locked the door. I felt like I was back in high school. Smokin' in the girls room. I got out of school suspension one time because I was caught smoking in the girls room. Briefly, I wondered what the French military might do to an American caught in the act of violating their train rules. I shrugged the thought away, and as I finished my cigarette, the train began to roll. I made my way back to the cabin and carefully climbed onto my bunk. Sleep came readily, and I fitfully rested through the night.

I woke early, the first in my cabin. I quietly gathered my toiletries and tiptoed out into the passageway. I went to the bathroom. It reeked of piss and BO. I brushed my teeth and hair, frowning at my haggard face in the sheet mirror. I was tired. And I was ready for a morning smoke. I passed Roberto and he ushered me to the side and allowed me to light up. We started chatting, lightly, in a manner reserved for people who really don't share a language. He asked if I had a boyfried. Uh oh. Slightly panicked, I smoked faster and lied. Yes, I do have a boyfriend. In fact, we are meeting up in London. An elaborate version of my standard, but I hoped he understood. And he did... he simply did not care. He grabbed my face and before I knew what was happening, he planted his full lips on mine. I pulled away, feeling trapped and looking for the exits as he set about convincng me that my boyfriend didn't matter. I should stay with him and have sex. A brief flashback to the mexican in the laundry room hit me like a ton of bricks and images of all the men before him flipped through my brain like flash cards. As Roger's face smashed into my conscience thought, I chucked the cigarette and made a very diplomatic exit, the breath catching in my throat, threatening to choke me. To gag me. Like before. I scurried back to the cabin, shut the door, and did not leave until we pulled into Gare du Bercy in Paris. I rabbed my passport without looking and hurried out the door.

The Paris air was cool, but not cold. It felt nice on my flushed face. After a quick glance over my shoulder, I rushed to the Metro station. I had to get away. Run. I hate Italian men. I made it to Gare du Nord without too much difficuly. And for the next couple of hours, I pouted and dodged the Gypsies with a new found alacrity. I ha lunch at a place just outside the terminal and ended up having quite a conversation with 2 American boys. Polotics, the state of the Union, civil liberties and the rights of women, where is America headed? The discussion perked me up and I headed to the Eurostar terminal with a lighter step. After all, I was headed back to London - my favorite city!

As the train hurtled itself under the english chanel, a sadness swept through me. I would be leaving soon. This was my last train ride. As I stared out into the pitch blackness, my thoughts drifted to all that I had seen and expereinced. All that I ad learned and unlearned. And how some things will never, ever go away.