After waiting just about 40 minutes for our train’s platform number to show on the electronic board in Termini Station, we had 17 minutes to board before the train would leave – plenty of time.  There are 29 platforms at Termini – we would depart from #28.  In order to get to the platforms you must scan your ticket at the plexiglass electronic gates, go through to the platform side of the gates, and walk to your platform.  Most tickets also need to be validated before you board which can be done on either side of the gates.  Sometimes no one checks the tickets after you board – as was the case with us that day, but if they do and you have not validated, there will be a significant fine.  

Genny saw the machines to validate (usually green), we punched our tickets, walked to the gates, scanned our tickets and made our way through with our bags.  Fortunately we travel with as little as possible, one carry-on sized bag each and for this trip a second small bag for Genny and a back-pack for me.  

We saw the signs for platforms 25-29 clearly marked and headed that way.  After walking for several minutes we had not yet arrived at platform 25, and began to wonder how much further – and how much longer.  We kept up a steady pace and finally saw a sign – Platforms 25-29, 240 meters ahead.  Two and a half football fields to go!  The signs counted down from 240 meters to 40, then, no more signs and we reached platform 25.  We could barely make out #28 still further as I tried to figure out how we had arrived nearly an hour early and were now in a race to get to our train on time. 

We arrived with about 3 minutes to spare, boarded and found seats (no assigned seats for this train) but there was no luggage storage.  So we filled the seats in front of us with our luggage and we sat behind it, dozing our way to Civitavecchia for the next 1 hour and 1 minute.

We arrived on Platform 2, so took a small elevator that carried us down one level where we crossed under Track #1, then rode another elevator up to Platform 1 and the station.  We only waited a couple of minutes outside before Fabrizio drove up, window down, blonde locks flowing in the wind, shouting “MS. MARY TURNER, MS. MARY TURNER” in his Italian accent.  For some reason he liked saying my full name that way every time he spoke with me.  

He took us to the flat where we would be staying in a building built on what was once a portion of the walls of the city.  

We were on the 2nd floor (third floor to us – bottom floor is 0, next is 1, third is 2).  It was a great little flat with living room with eating table, full kitchen, a bath and a half, and two bedrooms.  There was no air conditioning, and it is still warm in Italy, but there were fans in every room and we slept comfortably.

Below us were a row of restaurants on the pedestrian street that served typical Italian food with tables outside, covered in huge umbrellas with rows of bright green and twinkling white lights.  Fabrizio recommended one named “Pyper” and said we would get a free appetizer if we mentioned his name.  We liked the menu so had dinner there with a mixed plate of fried foods including super thin french fries, some kind of cheese and veggie ball, olives and cheese and sausage, and vegetables; carbonara that was cooked Italian style – al dente – not soft like Americans generally prefer; swordfish caught fresh that afternoon at 4:00 p.m. – that unfortunately was not to our personal taste; and grilled vegetables.  Pyper was obviously frequented by locals who came prepared for the owner’s karaoke setup.  After the owner entertained for awhile others began to take turns.  When someone arrived they were greeted with hugs and kisses on both cheeks.  It began to feel very much like one big happy family enjoying the gifts of good food, good music, and good friends.

We left full, relaxed, and after spending the night before on an airplane and the day walking in Rome and riding the rails, had no trouble sleeping to the mellow sounds of amateur Italian musicians serenading us from below.

ZzzzzzzzzzZzzzzzzz

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