Training It

          We returned yesterday from a three-week round trip to spend time with friends in Catalonia and Tuscany. Choosing not to fly short haul (fortunately, we can afford the time and expense of minimising our carbon emissions) our journey involved one ferry, one bus, thirteen trains, four taxis, and a lift in a friend’s hired car. As for accommodation, there were six hotels, one Airbnb and several nights at each of our friends’ places.

          Knowing we have a campervan, one of my pals asked why we chose not to use it for the journey, a reasonable question but one that has a complex answer. It’s not that I had done a complicated carbon emission calculation; it’s more to do with wanting to engage with foreignness rather than cocoon oneself in a mobile home parked on out-of-town campsites. Plus, there’s the powerful attraction of letting the train take the strain as you sip wine while whizzing through the Camargue and the Alps, or skimming along the Mediterranean coast past Cannes, Nice and Monaco, where the sea is littered with motor yachts of unimaginable cost and questionable utility, their owners apparently heedless of the environmental impact.

          If there is a downside to travelling this way, it’s the inconvenience of luggage. We try to keep it to a minimum, but it does have a tendency to self-bloat – an inexplicable phenomenon – and things are not helped by my Other Half’s predilection for full-blown picnics on trains, which means we carry not only food and drink but also cutlery, plates, beakers, napkins and condiments. Her argument is that a buffet may not be available and, even if it is, it may not offer what you fancy. And what happens when your train gets stuck between stations for four hours (as it once did)? You won’t complain about the luggage then, will you?

           Well, as long as I remain fit enough to haul it around, I suppose not. Besides, cases have wheels now (I remember when they didn’t) and, although ours are old and tatty and have only two wheels, they remain effective. However, I’ve been eyeing up the four-wheel models that everyone but us has these days. They seem to glide along smooth floors and make light work of the rough terrain of medieval city centres. They also stand upright without a prop and come in enormous sizes, possibly with all the clothes inside neatly arrayed on hangers.

           There are travellers (mostly youngsters) who prefer backpacks, though it’s hard to understand why. Some of them are bigger than their owners, some come with a matching frontpack – useful for posture balance – and they are all unsuitable for carrying clothes that have any pretence of being smartly casual – though I don’t suppose that’s an issue, since you would have a permanently sweaty back anyway.

          For one night, in Genoa, we did actually stay in a hostel full of back-and-front-packers, though it was not by design. We booked the Britannia Hotel online, unaware that it has a dual identity and is, in reality, the Bello Osteria, an establishment obviously catering to an impecunious but cool and adventurous younger set. They gave us the key to a suite of rooms that included a kitchen and two more beds than we needed, so I went back to the receptionist to make sure we would not be joined later by a group of partying young people. I was assured that we would not. We had been “upgraded”, she said – and breakfast was included – all for a mere £68! The bar was open 24/7 but we opted for an early night, aware that we were out of our depth.

          So, now that we’re home and our tattered but still-functioning cases are stashed away, the lure of the Continent endures and some of its mysteries remain. Like, why do they have double-decker trains but single-decker buses?