Paul Theroux is my train travel mentor. Tom Zoellner is my train hero. Nevertheless, when I head to Spain, Italy and beyond, I have no intention of attempting to travel in either of their footsteps, or according to their goals. If you chose to vicariously ride along with me, you’re going to be riding First Class. If First Class is full, we’re sticking around town an extra day until there’s a seat. I’ll ride Second Class when that’s all that’s available on a short haul, but that’s as déclassé as I’m getting. If you want to share a low-rent travel experience with me, just wait a bit until I check into the hotel.
With last night’s “steak” still creating gridlock in my digestive system, I realized I’d have to make an effort to work up an appetite for my poulet grande by lunchtime. I might be in the home of the French popes, but Saturday is Saturday, and that’s my wash day. I also hoped doing a load in the common laundromat would provide some measure of exertion toward creating that much desired appetite for lunch.