Italy from a Backpack. Mark Pearson
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If we had boarded a day train, we would have been able to see the Italian countryside passing outside our windows, dotted with sunflowers and vineyards—one of the finer treasures in a budget traveler’s trek across Europe. Instead, the bulk of my 10-hour ride would offer occasional glimpses of deserted, dimly lighted village train stations. I decided to pass the first few hours practicing my recently acquired knitting skills. My fellow travelers looked interested, so, using family photos, my dog-eared Italian-English dictionary, and several rounds of charade moves, I finally managed to convey to them that I was knitting a scarf for my young nephew back home. They smiled acknowledgement and continued chatting as they watched me knit row after row.
When a tall, uniformed Trenitalia attendant leaned in the doorway to punch our tickets, he exchanged a few words with the men, and they all laughed heartily. Learn to speak Italian, pronto, I chided myself. The attendant nodded toward me, and then made a motion across the door as if to indicate that the men should close it. This aroused my curiosity. What were these men talking about, and what did the gesture mean?
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