Traveling hopefully
Dec. 29th, 2010 05:06 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shewhomustThis is a meeting ourselves coming back post: composed while in Italy, uploaded now we're back on wifi in a hotel in Paris:
The Milan train was very full, but we managed to rearange our seats so that J could sit with me and![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
durham_rambler; thank you, helpful fellow traveller #1.
At first we travelled through the darkness, through the Paris suburbs, but dawn broke on rolling fields, and thereafter there was always something to see from the windows, though it all whizzed past too fast to catch more than a glimpse. I wished I had brought a map (memo: next time, download maps in advance) because we didn't stop until Chambéry, I had only a rough idea of where that is, and none at all of the route we were taking to get there, so it all felt slightly unreal.
After the snowy landscapes of England and northern France, and the traces of ice in the streets of Paris, it was a surprise not to see snow lying across the country, but as we approached Chambéry, climbing into the Alps, we began to see snow again, and streams rushing with jade green meltwater. Gradually we advanced into a clasic winter wonderland of bright sunshine, gleaming snow, bare trees and mountains. We all tried to take photographs out of the train window, with mixed success.
Here's one of durham_rambler's: you won't see many photographs of me in this journal, but I rather like this one.
We paused at the station at Modane for the police to check our passports, then down into Italy, and gradually out of the snow and sunshine, and into grey skies which later turned to rain. And I will say now, and hope not to dwell on it, that we haven't seen sunshine since, that it rained steadily for two days (parts of Italy are having a much worse time than we are, including Vicenza where we stayed in the summer and where there are floods), paused briefly and is now (Boxing Day) snowing half-heartedly.
All this time we were texting each other (because we are living in the future) and knew that J and her party had, after a couple of hours delay, taken off from Birmingham, and thatvalydiarosada and D. had taken five and a half hours to get through Ashford and onto the car train, had then taken an hour and a half to cross the Channel (scheduled time 20 minutes) but were now on the snowy roads of Belgium and heading for their hotel. So we felt like an intrepid band of travellers.
Milan station is huge and impressive: ":fascist architecture", J and I agreed, but this wasn't the time for photography (maybe on the way back). Instead we found a taxi who steered a winding route through the city, so we had a brief impressive view of the Sforza Palace, like a walled town within the town, and avoided the worst effects of the demonstration which was going on, and dropped us at Cadorna station for the commuter train*.
For the next hour we were heading north again, back the way we had come, though more slowly. We alighted at Erba, six kilometres from our destination. J had told us which bus to take, but we had had good experiences with taxis so far, and thought this would be worth the price - except that there was no sign of a taxi, so there was nothing for it but to brave the ticketing system and take the bus. We'd been told that you can't buy tickets on the bus, you have to buy them in advance, from shops and cafés, and sure enough the man at the station ticket office, though he was helpful about showing us the timetable and pointing out where we should wait, directed us to the bar on the corner. Inside was brightly lit and garlanded with tinsel, and an adult man sat at a central table colouring in a Christmas tree in a child's colouring book. The lady at the counter didn't seem surprised to be asked in broken Italian for bus tickets; the teenages waiting at the bus stop were enthusiastic about confirming which bus we wanted, and when it arrived leaped on board ahead of us to tell the driver where we were going; a fellow traveller was going there too, made sure we got off at the right stop and pointed us towards our destination - in fact the whole trip has been a sequence of people being unexpectedly kind to idiot travellers who don't speak the language, and positively enthusiastic about making sure we find what we're looking for.
The last couple of hundred yards weren't agreeable; trundling our luggage in the dark and the rain along the main road with only intermittent pavement (later we found the shortcut through the back streets). But we reached the big gates which we had seen on Google streetview, and we rang the bell and Anna came down and let us in. (We were surprised to be the first to arrive, since J had texted us that they'd landed at Milan airport about the time our train got in, but they turned up within 20 minutes).
*Note added on return journey: in fact this was entirely unnecessary, and there is a much neater way to manage this end of the journey, but we didn't find that out until yesterday, when we talked to Anna about how best to get ourselves into Milan today.
The Milan train was very full, but we managed to rearange our seats so that J could sit with me and
durham_rambler; thank you, helpful fellow traveller #1. At first we travelled through the darkness, through the Paris suburbs, but dawn broke on rolling fields, and thereafter there was always something to see from the windows, though it all whizzed past too fast to catch more than a glimpse. I wished I had brought a map (memo: next time, download maps in advance) because we didn't stop until Chambéry, I had only a rough idea of where that is, and none at all of the route we were taking to get there, so it all felt slightly unreal.
After the snowy landscapes of England and northern France, and the traces of ice in the streets of Paris, it was a surprise not to see snow lying across the country, but as we approached Chambéry, climbing into the Alps, we began to see snow again, and streams rushing with jade green meltwater. Gradually we advanced into a clasic winter wonderland of bright sunshine, gleaming snow, bare trees and mountains. We all tried to take photographs out of the train window, with mixed success.
Here's one of durham_rambler's: you won't see many photographs of me in this journal, but I rather like this one.We paused at the station at Modane for the police to check our passports, then down into Italy, and gradually out of the snow and sunshine, and into grey skies which later turned to rain. And I will say now, and hope not to dwell on it, that we haven't seen sunshine since, that it rained steadily for two days (parts of Italy are having a much worse time than we are, including Vicenza where we stayed in the summer and where there are floods), paused briefly and is now (Boxing Day) snowing half-heartedly.
All this time we were texting each other (because we are living in the future) and knew that J and her party had, after a couple of hours delay, taken off from Birmingham, and that
valydiarosada and D. had taken five and a half hours to get through Ashford and onto the car train, had then taken an hour and a half to cross the Channel (scheduled time 20 minutes) but were now on the snowy roads of Belgium and heading for their hotel. So we felt like an intrepid band of travellers.Milan station is huge and impressive: ":fascist architecture", J and I agreed, but this wasn't the time for photography (maybe on the way back). Instead we found a taxi who steered a winding route through the city, so we had a brief impressive view of the Sforza Palace, like a walled town within the town, and avoided the worst effects of the demonstration which was going on, and dropped us at Cadorna station for the commuter train*.
For the next hour we were heading north again, back the way we had come, though more slowly. We alighted at Erba, six kilometres from our destination. J had told us which bus to take, but we had had good experiences with taxis so far, and thought this would be worth the price - except that there was no sign of a taxi, so there was nothing for it but to brave the ticketing system and take the bus. We'd been told that you can't buy tickets on the bus, you have to buy them in advance, from shops and cafés, and sure enough the man at the station ticket office, though he was helpful about showing us the timetable and pointing out where we should wait, directed us to the bar on the corner. Inside was brightly lit and garlanded with tinsel, and an adult man sat at a central table colouring in a Christmas tree in a child's colouring book. The lady at the counter didn't seem surprised to be asked in broken Italian for bus tickets; the teenages waiting at the bus stop were enthusiastic about confirming which bus we wanted, and when it arrived leaped on board ahead of us to tell the driver where we were going; a fellow traveller was going there too, made sure we got off at the right stop and pointed us towards our destination - in fact the whole trip has been a sequence of people being unexpectedly kind to idiot travellers who don't speak the language, and positively enthusiastic about making sure we find what we're looking for.
The last couple of hundred yards weren't agreeable; trundling our luggage in the dark and the rain along the main road with only intermittent pavement (later we found the shortcut through the back streets). But we reached the big gates which we had seen on Google streetview, and we rang the bell and Anna came down and let us in. (We were surprised to be the first to arrive, since J had texted us that they'd landed at Milan airport about the time our train got in, but they turned up within 20 minutes).
*Note added on return journey: in fact this was entirely unnecessary, and there is a much neater way to manage this end of the journey, but we didn't find that out until yesterday, when we talked to Anna about how best to get ourselves into Milan today.
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no subject
Date: 2010-12-29 07:47 pm (UTC)Have heard from too many how french people would be snotty and whatnot and have hardly experienced this here myself; au contraire. Sometimes I even wonder if it just might have anything to do with the attitude one brings along oneself as their guest? I cannot imagine a Berlin teenager greeting me with a friendly "Guten Tag, meine Dame" (Bonjour, Madame) at helping me along, though I hope it happens and it´s only me being prejudiced toward my left-behind Fazerland...
So nice to see a seldom picture of you, too!
no subject
Date: 2010-12-30 09:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-12-31 05:05 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-12-31 11:54 am (UTC)