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A​ ​Spoon​ Full​ ​of​ Trains​ ​and​ ​a​ ​Pinch​ ​of​ ​Art​ ​Help​ ​the​ ​Medicine​ ​Go​ ​Down

I'm on the usual low cost flight directed to Italy. A couple is arguing in row 2A and B and the eccentric steward is desperately trying to impress lonely long haired women. My hair is short.

Security demonstration and take off. Two hours in a noisy box with wings. Don't get me wrong, planes are a great invention, but I find the whole liquids, weight, small bags, having to pay to sit next to your friend very stressful. For an immigrant/emigrant (depends what you like best), like me it is still more convenient to fly home but it's definitely not my favourite means of transportation.

I like the train. I love the train. I just adore it. I am fascinated by stations’ architecture, I lose myself looking at the life running outside of the window and I like that people seem to enjoy chatting on trains. Also I have always wondered why on trains I have never met one of those “name a country?! I have been there!” types that you often meet on intercontinental flights.

A book started my passion. The gist of the story was that when you travel by plane you get to an airport, fly, get to another familiar looking airport and only then you are thrown into a different reality, maybe hotter if you are usually based in the UK. All of a sudden you are somewhere else. And sometimes that somewhere else can be very different, a bit “foreign”. When you travel by train this doesn't happen, you get to a station, you look at the landscape changing step by step, then maybe the rain stops and you see the sun, then you get to a city not so different from your starting point, then again on the train, the fields change into hills and then mountains and then you get to your destination. Deep inside you realise that after all, we are not so different and that as the landscape changes slowly so do humans. Brexit doesn’t make sense and racism becomes the memory of an old and unkind world. I know, romantic.

On two occasions I decided to go to Milan by train. The first time I was unsure and the second time I was scared. On both occasions the train suggested the way.

My first trip was exciting. Leaving St Pancras for the Eurotunnel, although I knew it wasn't very glamorous, I kept imagining a transparent tunnel from which you could see the Gulf Current full of fish, whales and maybe the barrier reef. And I tell you, it was exactly like that. Then we got to Gare du Nord. Don't let me start on the statues on the façade. They all represent cities around Europe with Paris on top. Gorgeous idea! Metró to Gare De Lyon. I met a lovely English teacher that was visiting her sister in Lyon. We got off together and went to a confiture swap with her sister and her boyfriend. They showed me around the traboules and then I was ready for my hostel and the miniature museum. The next day I hopped on a lilac train to Geneva, gave my astrophysics friend Anais some toothpaste requested from London, visited CERN with Thilo and rested my worn feet in the lake. On the train once again between mountains and lakes to Milan. It is pretty glam to arrive in Milano Centrale, a little tear on my cheek. Now I was sure.

The second time was a year after my father passed away, too young for this aging world. Many people say that having panic attacks a year after the death of a loved one is pretty common. This notion didn't make me feel better. I was scared. My major fear was losing control and feeling sick or even dying somewhere at some point, suddenly. It was holiday time and I was meant to go home but I couldn't face the idea of going to the airport. After considering inventing teleportation I decided the train would be a good option. I remembered that an autistic student of mine was terrified of flying and we worked together on a sort of map predicting the steps ahead. I put my artistic skills to practice and drew my map. When I completed each step of my journey I had to tick the box next to the right drawing. I set off. Holloway road tube, two stops, Kings Cross. Tick. St Pancras International, walk through security, get on the train. Tick. Travel, enjoy, imagine barrier reef, Gare du Nord. Tick. Here I met some people and helped them to find their way. Metró, Gare De Lyon. Tick. Get on the train. Read Saga book 1 by Brian K. Vaughan and Fiona Staples for hours and chat with a lovely French man. Hills, Alps, Turin and then Milan. Tick. Running down the platform in tears and screaming in my mum’s ear: “ I did it!” Tick.

A fantastic full moon on the horizon. White pearl. Not so bad after all.


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