Lecce to London: a distance of somewhere around 2,300 km.\u00a0 Most people would choose to go by plane, saving both time and money, but I decide to do it by train.\u00a0 It\u2019s a mammoth journey, but a good one.\u00a0 Train travel is both more ecologically sound than flying, and a lot more picturesque.\u00a0 No waiting around in impersonal airport lounges, twiddling your thumbs for 3 hours \u2013 just turn up at the train station and go.\u00a0 Luggage weight limits?\u00a0 None (apart from the issue of having to carry the blinking things, but you\u2019ll all be relieved to hear that my back\u2019s just about recovered now and I no longer hobble about like a pensioner.)\u00a0 Beautiful scenery?\u00a0 This is the Italian Adriatic coast.\u00a0 It couldn\u2019t really be much more gorgeous, as we swish at speed along the coastline, almost within touching distance of the sea.\u00a0 Yes, it\u2019s safe to say that I\u2019ve become a long-distance train travel convert.<\/p>\n
The journey starts with a white-knuckle car ride from my town to Lecce.\u00a0 A friend has offered a lift, but she\u2019s Italian and doesn\u2019t believe in driving slowly.\u00a0 We arrive at the train station in record time and I unpeel myself from the passenger seat, into which I have been welded by the centrifugal force, waving her goodbye and promising a visit next year. Swallowing down a lump in my throat at the thought of leaving a place and people who have become very dear to me, I head for the cafe to while away the time until my train arrives.<\/p>\n
Ordering a panino, I realise that all the other cafe patrons are either American or Canadian.\u00a0 Lecce is a major hub point for the area, and there are all sorts of people bustling about on their way to somewhere else.\u00a0 There\u2019s a tableful of old Italian men next to me, drinking coffee and shooting the breeze.\u00a0 Their conversation is punctuated with loud shouts of laughter and I settle into my seat, feeling the sun hot on my face and letting the Italian words wash over me while tuning out the English.\u00a0 Suddenly, there is a hubbub as a particularly forceful breeze blows most of the plastic cafe tables halfway across the piazza.\u00a0 There are excited shouts from the Italians, as they race after them, grinning and gesticulating.\u00a0 I join them, but chivalry is apparently not dead: they won\u2019t hear of me exerting myself by carrying a table.\u00a0 No, no! Sit down!\u00a0 We will do it!\u00a0 Curiosity, of course, gets the better of them, and one man starts up a conversation.\u00a0 Checking that I speak Italian (to which I can now say yes, un po<\/em> – how things have changed since I arrived 8 months ago) he starts to chat to me.\u00a0 Why am I in Lecce? Am I going far?\u00a0 Do I like the Salento?\u00a0 Aren\u2019t the beaches wonderful? So clean! Che belli!<\/em> His friends, meanwhile, are agog with curiosity on the next table.\u00a0 He returns to report, leaving me to sunbathe a little longer.<\/p>\n It\u2019s nearly time for my train, so I lug my bags across to the platform. If it was ever true that Mussolini made all the trains run on time, then things have changed in the last 60 or 70 years.\u00a0 There is a large crowd of us waiting on the platform, and the train\u2019s running a good 10 minutes late.\u00a0 No matter.\u00a0 It\u2019s a sunny day and I am about to spend nearly 18 hours on trains between here and Paris, so I make the most of the fresh air while I still can.<\/p>\n Finally, the train chugs lazily up to the platform.\u00a0 There are last-minute hugs and kisses as people wave goodbye to their friends and family, and then we are off.\u00a0 I make myself comfortable in the enormous first class seat which will be my home for the next 7 or so hours, and watch out of the window as we leave the south behind.\u00a0 Next stop, Bologna.<\/p>\n