In Transit

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Today started early at 7. There was thunder and cool humid air in the room. The first thing I did was take pictures from lying down in the strange dream daybed.
We all had breakfast, said goodbye, and left. Just like Iris to keep it brief, efficient, and quasi-emotionless. I took nothing from them and will be happy to return some day to buy the fine good at Casa Lanzoratti or stay as a guest.
Kim and I had the same train from Borgotaro to Bologna, which was nice. Although stuffy and sticky from the humidity, packed car, and non-functioning air conditioning. It caused us to take brief unconscious naps and nod ourselves back to reality. But the ride was silent between us- sad to part, however ready to be on our way.
I heard American clearly on the train and it turned out that our close train connection was one in the same. A nice American-Italian mixed family from LA invited me to share their reserved seats. We rode and chatted until suddenly I arrived in Ancona.
The station was filthy. Littered with loitering tanked panhandlers, and dirty youth with dredlocks. I quickly caught the bus to the port. However, terribly unfamiliar with Ancona I missed the port stop because of m fascination with the McDonald’s and tattoo parlors. A really polite woman from Bolivia was also searching for the port and we joined forces to find it.
Lilliana and I found the port, checked in and stopped for pannini rustico and coca-colas. Chatted, she invited me to visit her when I come back to MIlan and I will. So many wonderful brief encounters today lifted my spirits. She left for Greece and I wandered around looking for various things, but it was just around 2:30 in the afternoon and everything was still closed for at least another two hours. I walked up to the historic area. I watched Lilliana’s boat leave the port as a strong wind wiped the clouds quickly over my head. Suddenly caught in a downpour I shared a meager alleyway cover with a modest Italian woman and watched the roads flood with the strong showers.
Damp as hell I returned to the station to see about the internet. With no such luck, I ended up paying 1 euro for a half hour of chatting with Jackie. She’s moved to Brooklyn and we’re both happy to be free independents doing exactly as we please.
I found an open pharmacy and bought some pain killers for my teeth and anti-motion sickness pills for the sail boat. Ate a quick pannini of prosciutto cotto, cheese, and tomatoes and went to check-in.
The line at the station took an hour and twenty minutes to get through; but was made bearable by a really polite and good looking Genovese named Stefano.
On the boat I found a seat- miraculously, near a family of Italians who have shared food and small talk with me. There are many pretty young groups of friends dressed in summer fashions, all leaning on each other, drinking lots of beer, and making out.
A nice young Italian boy and his sleepy girlfriend are falling asleep across from me. He’s talking softly and I realized he’s telling her some memorized bedtime story. They look at each other with fresh trusting love and seem content to be together, traveling to their vacation spot. The boat is vibrating people to sleep in unnatural sleeping positions and the parlor is filled with old dirty red carpet and the white walls are stained yellow from cigarette smoke and age.

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