We went to Zurich again on Saturday – yes again – and no, we didn’t have to worry about screaming kids or dads. That’s because we didn’t eat lunch anywhere. But what I really wanted to talk about was the train ride home. We have been making a habit of taking one of the Cisalpino trains, as opposed to the other train types. These trains go to Italy. In fact, when we get on one of these trains in Zurich, less than four hours later that same train arrives in Milan. Do you know how much I wanted to just stay on that train on Saturday? Settle in for a nice ride to Italia? Nothing against Zug, but it is so wonderful to sit on a train knowing that it is heading to Italy.

The first time we got on one of these trains, we sat opposite a young Italian woman with a Longchamps bag, flowing dark hair, and a pouting mouth. I feel as though I’ve seen her likeness in Renaissance paintings before, so if I recognize her in one I will update this post. She was talking to someone on a cell phone. Although my Italian is even more rusty than my German, I like to think that she was telling her mother, yeah, yeah, I’m on my way now –  yes, I’ll be careful – I’ll be home in a few hours. I could imagine that after she hung up she did a kind of huffy sigh, as if to say, moms, what are you gonna do about them? Of course, she would have been thinking this with luscious Italian words instead of mangled English.

I haven’t been in Italy since 1986. But I know it is there, it would meet me at the station if I just stayed on for a few more stops.

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