We left Rome on an overnight train to Paris at about 9 PM and had expected to be traveling on a sleek, Eurostar high speed train.  After all, we were going all the way to Paris, and the trip was to take only 12 hours.

Much to our dismay, a Trenitalia train came lumbering down the tracks and stopped at bijou #5—our platform.  It looked like something out of an old movie, but we just shrugged our shoulders and climbed aboard.  The inside, other than the bathrooms, was in pretty good shape so we gave ourselves the “let’s make the best of it” look and settled into our couchet (sleeping compartment).  Being light sleepers, neither of us slept and instead enjoyed looking out the window as we passed through small and big towns up through northern Italy.  The train would periodically stop at a station and then quietly move on.

As dawn broke, we could tell we were in the French Alps and still a good distance from Paris.  The conductor averted his eyes when we asked if we would be on time.  Finally he mumbled something about the train being two hours late.  Obviously, Mussolini’s fix has not lasted.  Word spread slowly throughout the train that we would be arriving late.  Not once was there an official announcement of the delay which I thought was un-American.  In the U.S., we are very proud of our delays and announce them regularly and with great fanfare, especially at airports.

Soon came another station stop.  Nothing seemed out of the ordinary until the French police surrounded the train.  Where did all these police come from?  This is a small town in the middle of nowhere, and why were they out there armed to the teeth?  Just as we were thinking “drug bust,” the police began hauling a not particularly dangerous looking man off the train in handcuffs.  Apparently this person was threatening people with a knife.  The train had called ahead for assistance from the police and they responded with gusto.  It was probably the most excitement at this station since the Germans left in 1945.  As we pulled out of the station I could see this man trying to smoke a cigarrette with his handcuffs on.  I think when they give you a cigarrette like that, it means you’re about to be shot.  These French police don’t kid around.  I saw that once in a movie.  Anyway, we got to Paris late, but all in one piece.

I don’t want to pick on Trenitalia, but when you’re going on a long trip, you might want to think about Eurostar.  While we were waiting at the station in Florence, we saw several of them fly by and they looked beautiful, clean and fast.