I couldn’t help but let out a nervous laugh.
“I know” I replied “let’s go get a Snickers bar.” That night I had a wonderful dream that the train crashed and Rachel and I ran to Venice in the fresh open air.
Our stay in Venice was brief, yet we made the decision to take a day trip, by train of course, to Verona. I note how much nicer the Venice train station is than the one in Paris. We board the clean and modern train to find quite a different set-up than we were used to; the train car had a main walkway going through the center of the car, while benches, which faced each other and had a table in between, flanked both sides. Rachel and I took a seat on one of the benches and rested our things on the table. As we sat there waiting to embark, an elderly Italian couple sat on the bench adjacent to us. I looked around to find a completely empty train car, but we just nodded and smiled and they returned the sentiment. As Rachel and I chatted, the couple seemed intrigued that we were speaking English. “Are you from America?” the woman asked in very broken English.
We replied in Italian to try to show we weren’t completely ignorant Americans. It should be noted, I only know four words in Italian; si, which is yes; grazie, which is thanks; vino, which is wine; and fromaggio, which is cheese. I should probably know more, but my small Italian vocabulary has gotten me everything I’ve wanted thus far. She begins to strike up a conversation
with us, and we lean our heads in closer, hoping it will help us understand her better. In the midst of it all, we caught her asking if we would like a drink. Rachel and I looked at each other, wondering what our parents would think if they knew we were taking food offers from strangers on trains. We shrugged our shoulders and accepted her offer. I assumed by asking us for a drink, she meant going to the dining car and bringing us back a soda, until she proceeded to remove four Heinekens from her bag, pop them all open and hand them to us. “It’s 10 a.m.” I thought to myself “I love Italy”.
As we pulled in to the Verona train station, our new drinking buddies offered us up some sandwiches as well, but we declined.
Rachel and I kept busy while in Verona, completely forgetting to eat-a rarity for us. As we arrive at the train station to head back to Venice, we are greeted with the marvelous and familiar smells of old grease and ketchup. A McDonalds, which we seemed to have missed on our way out this morning, has appeared, like a vision, in the corner of the station. We had just enough time to order two #1’s and a Coke before running to catch the next train. We sit and open our glorious food and we don’t speak. We just eat. Within minutes we polished off our burgers and fries like a couple of rapid dogs. I suddenly became aware of our surroundings; it was around 5 o’clock, and the train was crowded with commuters on their way home from work. I looked around to find everyone in the immediate vicinity staring with disgust at what they had just witnessed. At that moment 21