The journey of a thousand miles starts with a single fuck-up

The journey of a thousand miles starts with a single fuck-up

So, cutting right to the chase, an auspicious start to my voyage. My plans of sauntering down to Bari on Italy's east coast tomorrow after lunch and getting the ferry have been scuppered. Screwed. Changed, if you will. Due to Friday just gone having been a national holiday here in Italy, this weekend is buck wild and all trains on Sunday are sold out. Every seat. Out. Sold. So I have a ticket for an overnight train tonight from Roma to Bari, where I will arrive at 6:30am and have all day to soak up the joy. No big deal, to be sure, but a mild miscalculation.

By the way, on the subject of the holiday celebrated on Friday, for those of you who are uninitiated, April 25th is Liberation from the Nazis Day in Italy. It's the biggest holiday of the year apparently, although personally I think Jesus wins with Easter and Christmas, or as he probably called it, Memas. What strikes me as odd is that Italy celebrates a massive holiday commemorating the day they threw off the shackles of fascism, yet Mussolini is still revered pretty much throughout the country and they didn't really complain when they had him, just when Ol' Adolf goosestepped into town. Just goes to show, nobody likes the Germans. They should have called it Freedom from Bad Moustache Day or, cutting through the bullshit, Beach Day, which is what everyone does on the holiday anyway. I have nominated the Italians the people who require the least provocation to don tiny swimsuits and play volleyball on beaches without a net. You heard it here first.