Grazie to Merci

Today was a travel day from Riomaggiore, Italy to Nice, France. The long journey of 5 hours began around 9am and finished close to 4pm. Fortunately on my way out of town I ran into Mu and Hannah both of whom I met in Napoli and hiked Mt. Vesuio with. They had arrived yesterday, stayed in the same hostel as me, but in 3 different buildings our paths didn't cross. It was great to catch up with them before taking the train to Genova and then Ventimiglia: the last town before the Italy/France border. From there I would catch a more local train to Nice.

It was a smooth trip to Genova and I was able to get some quality reading done in my Jane Austen book. Pride and Prejudice down, Mansfield Park up next. I met another traveler from Minnesota about my age heading to Lake Como. Having a 45 minute wait for the next part of my journey I snagged a salami sandwich and chowed down on some olive crackers and these tasty wheat cookies I found in Riomaggiore. Made for a good lunch.

The trip to Ventimiglia was slow as this is one of the only trains that passes through many of hte smaller towns on the way toward France. We hit every stop and sometimes sat there for 20 minutes. You could tell when we were close to France. The architecture changed from the straight forward Italian to more embellished paintings around windows and cornices. Windows took a narrower and taller shape. House colors faded out a bit from the Italian brights.

It's strange transitioning from one country to another. Gearing up for a new language by learning new phrases and numbers starts to tax your brain. You gain a new perspective on the country you were just in by encountering a new culture. Italians are passionate and easily spurred to emotional responses from what I've witnessed. Their language flows together, but is easy to distinguish words. People speak relatively slow unless agitated or upset.

Sentences and syllables are drawn out for emphasis. Whenever public transit has arrived they move forward in a mob as if that will somehow help everyone getting on or improve their chance at getting a seat. There's usually one person (often elderly) who will stand right in front of the door to be first. Often there is a conversation with a nearby person about how they are somehow entitled to get in before anyone else.

The usual anxieties of making sure you detrain at the right stop accompanied my travel. All went well and I arrived in Nizza (Italian) or Nice (French). The hostel was literally down the street and around the corner from the train station. I was glad I didn't have to drag my bags around or try to figure out how to use the transit system just yet. With all my gear settled, I went out to find some dinner at a restaurant my guidebook suggested. La Table
Alziari in Old Town is a citrusy colorful place with really good food. I sampled the fried goat cheese salad (slice of goat cheese on a piece of thick bread grilled together) and a stew with carrots and mushrooms over pasta. I think the meat was lamb since the menu didn't mention boeuf (beef--learned this one from Julie and Julia). What a tasty meal! The stew was rich and meaty and the salad was light and pungent. It was a long walk to get here (about a half hour), but definitely worth it!