My train from Lyon to Turin turned out to be a bus. I found this out about five minutes before it was due to leave, and ran to a car park at the back of the station, making it aboard just in time.
Having stashed my bag, I found my seat, and was less than pleased to discover that I was sitting next to a very strange man. His strangeness was strange in itself, because it was threefold. Firstly, he was strangely small. I have seen smaller men, but something about his titchiness was just plain odd. Secondly, he had distinctly strange fingers - chubby, stubby and with gnarly nails. The most remarkable source of his strangeness though was his smell; powerful, elaborate and all-pervading. The five hours we spent next to each other were not five of my best. Especially when he fell asleep with his head on my shoulder. A good old fashioned elbow to the ribs showed him how a Boyne deals with that.
Caught an earlier train than I had expected from Turin to Milan, and felt immediately uncomfortable when I realised that I don't know a single bloody word of Italian beyond ciao and grazie. This should be fun.
Found my way through a dark and deserted Milan to my hostel, Hotel America, having briefly fretted that I'd be stuck on the streets all night. It's run by Giovanni - a strong contender for the nicest hostel owner I have ever met - who gave me hot chocolate and cake, and watched some cheesy films with me and a couple of American girls also staying that night. The Polish guy I was supposed to be sharing with never materialised, so I had a room to myself - an unexpected luxury after three weeks of dorms.
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