Overnight from Spain to Italy

1000am Monday, approaching Milan

It’s been an amazing 24 hours.

The day starts with Senora Floren, my landlady, in danger of slitting her wrists while trying to open the top of some lavatory cleaner with a sharp kitchen knife. She seems rather impressed when I showed her the technique of pressing the top of the Toilet Duck’s cap together.

Sra. Floren was augmenting her pension by letting out two rooms in her house to Expo visitors, there being an acute shortage of accommodation in town.

Footsore from too much walking on Saturday, I adopt the Spanish custom of having an easy Sunday. Actually, I always do try to create a different atmosphere for the Sabbath, so I repair to a nearby café to read the papers and enjoy a leisurely coffee or two. Thence to the local park, where it was just nice to sit in the shade, listen to the fountains and watch the children make their first attempts on two wheels with stabilised assistance.

How bizarre it is to see a family walking with a pram, or youngsters cycling in a group with one of them chattering away on their mobile telephone, totally isolated from their friends and family.

It is stiflingly hot, so I seek refuge in an air conditioned bar, where a delightfully cold beer helps wash down various unmentionable parts of animals, otherwise known as tapas.

First Class I the AVE from Zaragoza to Barcelona is less than half full and it seems that all the other passengers have already had lunch on the sector from Madrid, so I feel rather spoiled as the smartly dressed crew press gin and tonic, wine, brandy and coffee upon me. Oh, and an extremely nice lunch too. With REAL cutlery which, with modern day air travel, I had almost forgotten existed in travel catering.

It seems very odd transiting Barcelona to get from one station to another, the taxi whizzing past the cruise terminal and the bottom of the Ramblas en route between Sants and Franca stations.

There’s quite a wait at Franca station and, with the temperature now 38, I seek sanctuary in the air conditioned comfort of the customer service area.

n hour before departure time, I seek out an official to ascertain the platform from which my train will be leaving. The smartness of the oak/leaved red cap of the station master is somewhat spoiled by his jeans and t shirt, but his information is spot on and I am in prime position to get on board the 29 coach train and enjoy a cool shower.

Yes, a shower. On a train. I am travelling to Milan ‘Gran Clase’ on Elipsos, a collaboration between Spanish and French Railways. My years of understanding of how to stow luggage in warship cabins comes in very useful, the compartment is really very comfortable.

Gran Clase customers have a gourmet dinner as part of the package. The head waiter is brilliant, the food is excellent and my favourite wine, a Ribero del Duero, arrives in the shape of a 2004 Crianza Mayor de Castilla.

I am surprised there are only 14 eating at 2030, but am told that another 27 southern European passengers will be dining in two hours. I discover there are a dozen nationalities on board, including Brazilians, Mexicans and Australians. The train is at 95% capacity. Five Italian teenagers cram into a space designed for four, totally at ease with ordering wine and dinner and clearly out to spend the rest of their holiday money before returning home

By the time I return to my cabin, the two seats have become a bed’ there’s even a chocolate on the pillow.

I can’t claim that sleep came easily, but I did peer out of the window at 0220 to discover we were stopped in Valence Station in France, the overnight route to Italy taking us somewhat more north than I had expected.

ere were periods of smooth travelling, but I suspect the night train uses lines that are rather more uneven than those used by the high speed services.

Then, it was 8am, I have overslept. I peer out of the window, somewhat bleary eyed, to see a couple of teenagers engaged in deep kissing. I am clearly in Italy!

There is just time to have a quick shower and a very nice breakfast before arrival in Milan. In the middle of the second cup of coffee, the guard returns my passport and ticket. Who knows when or where the formalities were completed, but it’s as easy a way to cross a border as I have ever experienced.