Rolling with the Parisian Punches I look across the cuboidal sleeper cabin at Miriam who is reading before she goes to sleep. The cabin is, thinking positively, a rather intimate space. We are on a night train. There is an Italian man, Mario, sleeping 3ft beneath me. Beneath him is a French woman, Paulina. She spoke excellent Enlgish. Miriam and I are both on the top bunks, and compared to the other sleepers in our cabin, our headspace which enables us to both sit up, feels luxurious. Beneath Miriam is Italian Antionita, and beneath her is French Hugo. All together there is a total of 6 people sharing this close quartered cabin, which feels both comfortable and cozy yet at the same time barrickish, close and coffin like.

Our two hour Easyjet flight from Paris has unfortunately tranisitioned into a 14 hour train ride in the above described sardine can. And all of this being completely out of our control. Thankfully we lucked out with fairly normal cabin mates. No one in our cabin was traveling with exotic animals, was obsessed with compulsively stroking their goatees, or gushed sinister laughs when nothing particularly funny was said.

This virgin Europe train experience is all thanks to one very characterisitc and often occurring cultural trait of the French: They go on strike and they go on strike as well as they make crepes. 3 hours before our flight, Miriam asked Olivier, a manager at the hostel we were staying at in Monmartre, Paris, what the best route would be to the airport. Oliver, or Oliv-ee-yay as he pronounced it, quickly asked have you checked your flight status? We hadnt, being too busy taking romancy couple pictures from every imaginable angle with the Eiffel Tower. Upon checking her email, Miriam found sitting there in her inbox, like a festering malignant tumor, an email from Easyjet Airlines informing us that they were cancelling our flight because of union workers in the travel industry were going on strike. We are now left without a solution in arriving in Venice. Awesome.

Our hostel friend Olivier absolutely came to our rescue. His Dracula meets Prince halloween costume should have been Superman. He was in his early 40s, balding, did not wear his retainer as a child, had a great high pitch and contagious laugh, began a great many of his sentences with "allo", and had large honest eyes. He dropped what he was doing (blowing up balloons for his hostels Halloween party) and really helped us out by using his office computers internet to help us free of charge, printing multiple documents out for proof and verification, and making phone calls. In about 45 minutes, and after exhaustively searching every option of how to arrive in Venice, Italy from Paris, France the fastest and most economically, we decided to take a night train, straight shot.

So that is how M and I randomly and by forces out of our control, ended up sleeping on a train car, with four complete European strangers. Falling asleep proved to be quite easy, being rocked back and forth from the gentle swaying of the train and lulled by the muffled sounds of wheels gliding over iron rail ties. The moment we stepped on the airplane from LA to Madrid, the adventure clock started, and every second that it ticks away, is complete and utter adventure. I am writing this entry in Venice, Italy, and my ear is filled with the beautfiful rise and fall of the Italian language. We are heading into the heart of ancient canalled city of Venice for our second day. We aim to travel safely and soundly with a taste for Italy!  ¶ 11:41 PM