Centrale Stazione is very big and the intercity train from Milan to Ventimiglia was very long. It was allocated seating so i was in a cabin with some locals who played cards and ignored everyone else (me) for the few hours we were stuck together. They did get off in Genova which does look like it is worth a visit one day. The train pulled out bang on time and with that I did bid farewell to Milan; city of grand architecture, Juliet balconies, friendly people, angry pizza cooks and dog poo. Milan was just a whistle stop on the way to Barcelona, next time it will be a destination.
I don't know if the views from the train are captivating or just so different to me that despite being relatively ordinary to those familiar with the country. I suspect that it is a bit of both but the spectacular backdrops and views over villages and the Mediteranean made it worth the extra it cost over a budget airline. And, just like in good old Oz, the spectacular views were interupted by the compulsory high voltage power lines and the trains and stations had lots of grafitti.
The towns of Finale Ligure, Albenga and Allassio look definately worth a visit one day. Albenga had a magnificent snow capped backdrop and the tropical feel along the beach with it's Canary Island and Washington palms. Allassio was full of magnificent stone buildings along the beach and houses all the way up the steep backdrop. The problem with travelling from A to B is that you have to make do with fleeting glimpses of A.1, A.2 etc, despite the temptation. The best thing I could do was take note and put them on the things to do before I die list.
I had to swap in Ventimiglia for a train to Nice, The scheduled arrival of the train I was on and the departure of the connecting train left me with only 10 minutes to orientate myself and find my way. This was exacerbated by the fact that the train to Ventimiglia was 10 minutes late. Without ado I rushed off the train and without question followed a bloke who was running and clearly in a rush, i was hoping that he was in the same predicament as me and knew where he was going, I was correct but unfortunately the train we rushed for left 20 minutesl later than schedule so the rush was not necessary and I would miss my connection from Nice to Marseille. He lived in Nice and so was on his way home, I'm not sure how we managed to communicate but we seemed to talk a lot without much understanding. He did however think that I was exotic when he found out I was from Australia. On the train I also spoke to Soaud, a very pregnant and very beautiful young lady who was originally from Algeria, lived in Ventimiglia and was to meet her sister in Marseille for a short holiday; she spoke French and Italian, now she was exotic.
We had a great chat for the long train ride to Nice with lots to laugh about, unfortunaltely the lots was our total innability to communicate anything except our name and where we were from. Soaud's Italian was a help but unfortunately not to the extent needed.(that I) needed.
Because this train was late we had to wait some time in Nice for the next Marseille connection. Soaud was beckoning me to follow her, or at least that's how I read her sign language. The fact that I wasn't arrested for stalking made me think I was correct. Eventually we got to Marseille but I was in excrutiating mental pain at having to ignore the temptation to get off in Canne or Monte Carlo. The list of things to do before I die just got longer.
Marseille greeted me with the most magnificent view from the top of the stairs at St Charles station. Soaud struggled with a phone card as she tried to call her sister, eventually succesful, thanks to a gentleman who allowed her to use his mobile, she then assisted me in finding someone who could help me with directions to Hostel Vertigo Vieux Port at 38 rue Fort Notre Dame, Marseille, a very impressive sounding address. I said thanks and goodbye to Soaud and inducted her into the Royal Order of the Koala, from now on she was Soaud ROK.
Mustafa was from Tanzania, he could speak French and English, I followed him along some dodgy back streets and he seemed to know everyone. We got to Vieux Port where the views of the port (wonder how they got the name) were truly magnificent. Rue Fort Notre Dame was only about 100 metres away so we stopped at a bar and I bought Mustafa and myself an ice cold and very refreshing beer. Mustafa shunned royal honours which did give him something in common with John Lennon, he was very interested though in the Australian 5 dollar note. I'm not sure if he wanted it as a souvenier or if he went straight to a bank and exchanged it for something more useful to himself, I expect the latter.
Vertigo was up a narrow side street and was totally charming. A quick check in I went to the room and got rid of my luggage. In the lounge there were some people from the USA, Ireland and France. Flossy, with whom I was sharing a room got his name when he was working in the Gold Coast, the locals had a bit of trouble with his name so he was given a nickname. I pointed out to him later that when an Australian gives you a nickname that it means acceptance.
Down on the main street I went looking for food but ended up in an Irish bar drinking beer. I was chatting to a young lady from New York who was in France teaching English. Now what an American was doing teaching english I will never know, I would have thought that they should have to learn it first. Kara of course spoke fluent French and loved beer. The bar maid was from Corsica so I pointed out to her that Napoleon was from Corsica via my interpreter and new best friend Kara, apparently it was a claim to fame that she could do without. Then Serge was introduced to me, he liked beer also, he did not speak english and I'm not sure what he did for a living. So here I was in Mareille in conversation with a person from New York who lived locally, a Corsican who lived locally and a Frenchman who lived somewhere and I was exotic? After ensuring that a rather under the weather Kara got safely home I got back to the hostel at about 1.30 am and climbed up onto the top of Mt Bunkbed (yes I was on the top again). The difference on this occasion was that the bed was robust, the mattress comfortable, the room quiet and bathroom facilities were attached to the room.
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