The Beginning of the End

I woke up around six a.m. on the first and spent an hour and a half chasing the small, yellow signs among the dark, frigid rat maze streets of Venice. This was the very beginning of the first leg of my long journey home. Two and a half hours on a train to Milan, another two hours to Genoa, ninety minutes to Ventigmilia, one hour on a bench, a quick forty-five minute ride to Nice, followed by three hours roaming the streets, then a thirteen hour sleepless overnight train ride to Paris, four hours shivering in a freezing cold train station followed by a final two-hour trip to London and the first leg was over.

I am glad to be back in an English-speaking country. France and Italy were amazing, but I can’t help feeling, I missed out. The true value of travel is in the cultural interaction, much of which you can’t experience without speaking the native language.

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