When I travel

I’m back to traveling for work. My old project and my new job will require me to travel more often, much like I did in recent years, when four out of every 14 days I spent 800 km away from home.

Over the past few weeks, I’ve taken trains and planes several times. I’ve set foot in Italian train stations and airports again, with goals to achieve and no museums to visit. I like trains and planes, but I don’t like absolutely everything about them.

I don’t like it when the train is late. Damn delays. And not to mention the fact that sometimes you have a lot of free time, and you can’t just spend it watching TV shows. And I don’t even like the morning train from Naples to Rome, because the car is packed to the brim. And as for the plane and the airport, I don’t like the prices. Damn, what prices! And I don’t like it when you undress, wait for your suitcase, and then get dressed again – maybe, if they don’t throw anything away. And I don’t like waiting—all that damn standing around. And I really don’t like airport parking lots.

Instead, what I like about the train is how comfortable it is, and having time to watch a TV series in the evening on the way home, sprawled out. I like the stretch between Rome and Naples on the return train, when there are usually only a few of us. I like it when he’s punctual. At the airport, on the other hand, I love that even at 4 a.m., at the airport there’s always a festive atmosphere, full of joy and hope. Dreams come true, at the airport. And I love the world inside the airport, and the languages, and that liminal space between life and travel, between everything and nothing – like Schrödinger’s.

But what I like best about my business trips – and what brings me joy, whether I’m traveling by train or plane – is the hug from my daughter when I get home.