Hello PLan L!
As I said I was in a compartment with the Flemish lovebirds and a Tren Italia chap. After half an hour we were joined by an English guy. It turned out the next carriage along was an open carriage and he was seeking refuge from the Italianate levels of melodrama and volume.
He and his wife had come from Egypt and had been dropped in Rome on Day One of the crisis when their flight was grounded mid-route to London. They had been there over the weekend and like my mate in Milan had been booked onto two other flights only to have them cancelled. He had been told he could expect not to be paid by his employer while he was away and so they had decided to cut their losses and run to Calais. They were already sorted from Nice because “we got two of the last TGV tickets tomorrow afternoon”. My Plan K. The bastards!
I couldn’t be jealous of his success in getting TGV tickets though for two reasons.
Firstly it turned out that they had had to queue for five hours at Roma Termini for their train ticket to Ventimiglia. Despite the lengthy queues of Northern Europeans all looking to get out of Italy there had apparently only been two ticket windows open processing tickets.
Secondly, he was suitably impressed that I had made it from Sydney!
After another half an hour his wife came along. We swapped stories, gossip about routes, gossiped about the Ark Royal (which we all wanted to be taken home on), gossiped about what routes were open, what wasn’t open, what tickets were available, which ones weren’t.
And then she said it… The key to my journey home… “There’s a man in the next carriage who says he wants to drive to Calais. He’s looking to get 5 or 6 people together to hire a car. Mad or what?!”
“I can drive” I exclaimed as I leapt to my feet.
“And I remembered to pack my driving license!” I added with enthusiasm.
“Take me to him please”
And that is how I met Malcolm and Laura.
As I said I was in a compartment with the Flemish lovebirds and a Tren Italia chap. After half an hour we were joined by an English guy. It turned out the next carriage along was an open carriage and he was seeking refuge from the Italianate levels of melodrama and volume.
He and his wife had come from Egypt and had been dropped in Rome on Day One of the crisis when their flight was grounded mid-route to London. They had been there over the weekend and like my mate in Milan had been booked onto two other flights only to have them cancelled. He had been told he could expect not to be paid by his employer while he was away and so they had decided to cut their losses and run to Calais. They were already sorted from Nice because “we got two of the last TGV tickets tomorrow afternoon”. My Plan K. The bastards!
I couldn’t be jealous of his success in getting TGV tickets though for two reasons.
Firstly it turned out that they had had to queue for five hours at Roma Termini for their train ticket to Ventimiglia. Despite the lengthy queues of Northern Europeans all looking to get out of Italy there had apparently only been two ticket windows open processing tickets.
Secondly, he was suitably impressed that I had made it from Sydney!
After another half an hour his wife came along. We swapped stories, gossip about routes, gossiped about the Ark Royal (which we all wanted to be taken home on), gossiped about what routes were open, what wasn’t open, what tickets were available, which ones weren’t.
And then she said it… The key to my journey home… “There’s a man in the next carriage who says he wants to drive to Calais. He’s looking to get 5 or 6 people together to hire a car. Mad or what?!”
“I can drive” I exclaimed as I leapt to my feet.
“And I remembered to pack my driving license!” I added with enthusiasm.
“Take me to him please”
And that is how I met Malcolm and Laura.
Comments
Post a Comment