After another breakfast glorious for both the view and the range of food, I set off early for the station. I can walk it in about 25 minutes. I ask the hotel receptionist to confirm that I go uphill, but he says no I must go in the opposite direction. I can’t remember being so poorly oriented for so long. Is it simply the complexity of Rome, or could it be age? The station is teeming, as I expected it to be. There seem to be more places to buy underwear or a suit than coffee, but I find one of these coffee bars where the people serving the coffee and food work frantically while people lean against the bar talking politics, football, or philosophy. The coffee, better than you get in Britain and certainly better than in Starbucks, is still one Euro or two Euros if you want to sit. I’m early, and the train is late, so I have a long wait. I see policeman asking people for their identity cards or passports. Will we come to that in Britain? The police are polite but seem to record what they…
No comments yet. Log in to reply on the Fediverse. Comments will appear here.