The Train to Camp Alto

It's time to leave Rome. We had breakfast once more on the roof of Hotel Canova. Then we pulled our bags back to termini, where we entered Rome. I had bought our tickets on the internet before leaving The States. I didn't know what the demand would be and wanted to have tickets in hand, guaranteeing seats.

I wanted to make sure we were good to go without any kind of check in. If this was an airport, I would have expected a much more formal entering and inspection. I found an information booth, showed my tickets and asked what I needed to do. The man in the booth told me to watch the signs which would announce the track my train was on. Most importantly, there are no porters. So don't give your bags to anyone.

Termini is very casual. There are no metal detectors, no highly-visible police forces. It's the anti-airport. It's a bit chaotic, and there aren't enough places to sit, but I liked not having my possessions and body searched just because I wanted to go somewhere.

We found our train, and then our car, which was empty. It turns out my concern about ticket availability was unfounded, at least for this time of year. The car was about half full for the trip. But having the ticket ahead of time removed one more bit of stress, and I recommend buying Italia Rail tickets online ahead of time. The tickets will be shipped over-night to you.

Why are we taking the train? There are many reasons. There's my distaste for commercial aviation. But the real reason was that the few times I've taken a train, I've enjoyed it. Trains are much roomier. There's not that feeling of being a sardine. It's a slower form of transportation, but I figured after you spend extra time to go to the airport early so they can search you, the trip would have been about the same duration. And with the train, we were going to see Italy passing by the window. This was the best reason. Nothing can be seen from an airplane.

The train pulled out of the station exactly on time. We shared our section of the car with four older ladies from New England. I commented that Mussolini would have been proud about the on time departure. I got a smile from one of the ladies. They were a fun bunch. When the conductor announced that the bar had opened, the eyes of the one who had smiled at my joke lit up.

"Oh! We have to go see!"

Off to the bar they went.

The train passed through most of the major cities of northern Italy. But we never left the train, so I wouldn't say I've been to any of them. If we do come back, we'll need to see Florence, and Pisa, and Bologna.

We got off the train one station before Venice. We have reservations at Hotel Mary in the one-signal-light village Camp Alto. We walked to the bus station to buy tickets, and I asked for the bus number. The ticket seller told me the number, and made a motion with his hands which I didn't interpret right. This is where my brilliant plan got all confused.

We went to the bus stop and got on the right numbered bus. It kept going and going. I asked people about Camp Alto. But we were outside the Tourist Zone and fewer people spoke English. Eventually, an old lady motioned to me that this was our stop. We jumped off, the bus drove on, and who knows where we were! It wasn't Camp Alto. I think for the only time on this trip, I lost my cool.

We decided to wait for another bus. If we had gotten on the right bus number, perhaps we just got off too early. In any event, the bus driver would know where we were.

The next bus came and we got on. It drove and drove and drove, and we were back at the bus station, on the other side of the street! That hand motion the ticket seller had made was to tell me to cross the street! We had just taken "the scenic route" as my father used to describe getting lost.

We eventually found another passenger who spoke English and was going to Camp Alto. So we got off the bus when he did, and he even pointed to our hotel. There really are a lot of friendly people out there who will help you.

The night deskman of Hotel Mary explained the ins and outs of getting to Venice from Camp Alto. We would continue to use the bus, and we needed to by bus tickets every day for two Euros each.

Other than getting a little lost and losing my cool, we had a good trek today. The train rails in Europe are welded together, and the ride is very smooth. I'm even more enthusiastic about rail traffic now.