Never easy to say goodbye to Venice but my route to the station aided enormously by my host who dropped me there in his boat. (Rather illegal, he muttered, as we drew near. Could you leap up on to the concrete? Of course).
Here he is speeding away, dodging the vaparettos.
The station - Venezia St. Lucia - has a slight monumental swagger.
But nothing compared to Milan Centrale (of which more later. A note on stations is needed. As is a note on reasons for pilgrimage: was Childe Harold really a pilgrim, in the strictest sense of the word?)
The train is busy until Padua, then almost empty. The light fades as we speed through orchards.
Here he is speeding away, dodging the vaparettos.
The train is busy until Padua, then almost empty. The light fades as we speed through orchards.
Am carrying my disintegrating Blue Guide in a recycled envelope from my daughter, which has become something of an old friend. (The original copy mentioned was of another book - The Black Prince/Iris Murdoch which I have been carrying around with me, without opening...)
Byron travelled to Ravenna on May 25th 1819. Stopping en route in Bologna where he found inscriptions in cemetery that pleased him.
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