If I had written this a few hours ago, it would have been a more predictable entry for those familiar with my prejudices. I don't have many, but there are two in particular: Liverpool FC and Italy. The Liverpool one is irrelevant right now, but the other.... oh boy. The Bernina Express is not a superfast sewing machine, but a railway journey running from (among other places) St Moritz to Tirano (no, I didn't know where it was either - northern Italy). There was apparently an informative helpful voiceover during the journey, but what with the noisily posturing folk on board, along with loud cildren (who were, at on extended point, being entertained with songs), I never heard a word of it. Taking picture from a train is frustrating and there were more misses than hits, but what I got still suggests something of the majesty of the journey. I almost felt a tear form when I saw the glacier.
Anyway, after this fabulous, but migraine-inducing, I needed to find a PC to get the name of the hotel from my booking email (I know I should have written it down, but...), and I had an hour and a half in Tirano. What could go wrong? Well, nowhere appeared to have internet. Nowhere. So I thought to wait until tourist info opened. When they (eventually) did, they pointed me at the one place in town - the library (also only just opening). However, all there PCs were taken with quite the slowest and most easily distracted users imaginable. I just want to check one email. No joy, and had to head back for the train. Okay, I've got an hour at Milan station. I hate Milan ever since... wibbly-wobbly lines of flashback... I'll tell later. There was no internet point at the station. I'll ask information! No dummy, me. He barely spoke a word of a civilised tongue (i.e. not Italian or German :-P) and said there was nowhere. Grrrr. All my petty jealousies and annoyances continued to simmer. Brainstorm occured and I realised that I could see my internet browsing history without an internet connection. So I could at least see the name of the hotel - hurrah. With renewed hope I boarded the train for Stresa (alongside 'Elbows' the magazine woman and her son the staring freak). Got off the train to find no taxi, no staff, no map, no nothing. Just a couple that spoke no English. I was, as you can possibly imagine, preparing the first draft of this blog even then. However, I then went to a local restaurant to ask if they could call a taxi for me, and they were polite, friendly and eminently helpful, seeing me on my way to a safe arrival at a charming hotel. So good was this end to the day, that I can look back on a day of no missed connections, magnificent scenery, fascinating towns (one place had a circular viaduct - has to be seen to be believed - and in another the railway line ran down the middle of the high street!) and crystal clear lakes. Rather than loud, bullying, obnoxious, lazy and selfish people.
Yes, it worked out really well.
It is also worth mentioning that, down the salt mine, I met a Western Australian (and his wife) who was of Italian descent and a Liverpool and I liked him enormously, so what use are stereotypes anyay?
