6/11
Take the train to Venice via Bologna. A hot Italian broad in the seat next to me, tossing and turning and talking to herself, vaguely agitated. Another guy reading a book and talking to himself, teaching himself Chinese. A Chinese girl gets on and he is delighted, they babble at each other. Four American punks sit guffawing California-style, the tough conductor comes over to them: “Follow me. I want to talk to you.” Get off, take the bus to the campsite, settle in. A nice little place, I have a cabin instead of a tent this time, but they have no towels for rent. I will have to air-dry. I get some pizza and watch a couple of World Cup games. More style and frat boy people creep out from under rocks at night, and I duck out of there. But in the bathroom on the way back, who do I see but Luis, who arrived a day before I did. It is a small world, especially along the eurail trail. That night, the cabin is cool and dark and I am anticipating a good night’s sleep, but a trio of French (one guy, two girls) show up in the cabin next door and coo and moan at each other at loud volumes for hours. I also find out that since the damn cabin is actually on wheels, it feels like I am at sea every time the frogs move.
Tags: europe, italy, Travel, venice
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