To dream of Tuscany: And on I go...

I think I did become topic of many conversations while I stood there waiting as the world spun without me, for I realized that it was extremely difficult to go anywhere with my load of goods, quickly becoming apparent that it would be best if I left the cart and its contents in one location, unfortunately there wasn’t a secure area where I could abandon my life and be sure of its security. Therefore I wound up being sentinel to it and paced around the cart like a moon forced into a mandatory service unwillingly and unwittingly around its planet. I received many a sideways glance and saw the odd upturn of the lips as passengers rolled their eyes at each other in passing, while I willed my thinly clad body not to shake itself to pieces from the cold. I would rotate for a while in the frigid air, blowing on numb fingers, then stand and gaze around waiting for time to pass, for wouldn’t you know it but I had four hours to kill before my train was scheduled to leave. Four hours isn’t so long when you are occupying your time and having fun, four hours is a lifetime when you are guarding your stuff in the freezing mid October air of Zurich’s massive train station, all the while cursing yourself for allowing someone in a toasty office to organize your trip for you. I couldn’t really fault her though, she put together a trip that she probably would have enjoyed and maybe I might have as well if I hadn’t been carrying a house on my back. I don’t recall much of those four hours beyond the stares and the cold, what is there to look at in a train station beyond people? Most folks, unlike me, were dressed for the season with long coats, hats and gloves, therefore not exactly pleasing to look at, no dancing girls here! I honestly have no idea what I was thinking, yea let’s head into the Alps wearing just a leather jacket in mid fall! Good idea!

I watched the train schedule board like it was an incredibly engrossing movie, willing it to advance quicker and bring my train to me, to no avail. It must have been days later that I saw a shimmering, glimmering ray of hope! The word Milano stitched across the giant board, I almost wept with relief. I felt as though I had been stranded in the frozen tundra of Lapland, my fingers stiff, my legs stiffer from standing, rarely orbiting, in one place for so long. Squaring my shoulders I dug in my heals heaving against my load, headed for the track as indicated, not sure if it were my bones or the wheels of the cart that were squeaking so loud. The effort warmed me and as I pulled alongside the train I only felt the slightest bit of nausea at the sight of the stairs leading up into the interior of the Pullman.

The battle with my gear lasted for some time as I had to pick up large, heavy, bulky items, mount several steps and traverse a narrow corridor to what I presumed was my spot within the train. The transfer of items into the train was quite a feat by myself and as time spun out I noticed a conductor pacing nearer and nearer as my pile dwindled. He finally approached me with his hands raised shouting something intelligible at me. I only say that because I couldn’t understand him, I presume he was quite intelligible in his own right, just not to me. I looked into his stern face and saw real anger there, wasn’t much I could do other than tell him I was moving as fast as I could, which I am sure he didn’t understand or didn’t want to. As I grabbed my last article from the cart and headed aboard I saw him wave frantically down the length of the train, turn and enter behind me, yelling the entire time. He followed me down the narrow hall and stood in the door of the compartment I had chosen, making odd gestures with his hands as he admonished me, presumably, about my slothfulness in loading all my stuff and how I had single handedly managed to delay the great Swiss watch of a railway system. I apologized profusely but he seemed bent on not accepting, continuing to yell and shake his hands at me until I realized that he was saying “Papers!” I smiled and handed him my passport as I looked around the cabin trying to find a spot to sit amongst all my junk. As I shifted a speaker cabinet from bench seat to the floor, I heard my friend flapping my passport at me, turning to see what was wrong I noticed that several people had gathered to listen to the conductors sermon, I gather it must have been quite good, I did like his gestures and the thing he was doing with my “Papers!” was intriguing although I sensed by now he was ready to throw me off the train, I am sure that would probably be too much work in all honesty for someone as important as he, verified by the lack of help handed me as I loaded gear earlier. At that moment an angel spoke through the fire that was expanding from my conductor friend, “He is asking to see your ticket, he says he doesn’t need your passport.” Ahhhhhh, light dawns on Marblehead! Such a simple request made so difficult by the barrier of language! I retrieved said document from my briefcase and handed it over, there was a scattering of applause in the hall as the conductor said something else unintelligible to me. Loudly and with a flourish, obviously playing to the crowd, he tore a portion of the ticket and handed the rest back to me. Turning on a tide of laughter he strode down the corridor, evidently leaving me in the dust, one more moronic stranger passing through his land.