The road to Ravenna....

Jean de la Fontaine wrote, "There is no path of flowers leading to glory."  And anyone who has ever taken the train from Bologna Centrale to Ravenna knows this all too well.

Saturday, I left my lovely Renaissance city by taxi at 9.  He took me to the station at Chiusi Chianciano where I delighted in walking up and down the platform because it was flat!  Flat, darlings.  What bliss to walk on a flat surface.  The train came at 12 and dropped me at Bologna at 2:45.  Craziness began around 7 minutes before the train was to arrive and they changed the platform number.  O dio.  About 75 people rushing to switch platforms.  Insanity.  Crammed into the train with it seemed hundreds of sweaty bastards from hell. 

Here's some quick insight.  The train to Ravenna is on the same track as the train to Rimini, a coastal resort town known for its parties, mayhem and general bad behavior.  In the 70s, it was the heroin capital of Italy.  Now it's just full of partially nude and intoxicated youth. 

So I found myself, in my quest for glory and beauty, yearning to feast my eyes and soul on the 5th-6th century marvels of Ravenna, sharing the train with a bunch of hooligans, misfits, wretches, stoned hippies, and a gaggle of rather dopey looking American girls who really shouldn't be doing this. Standing room only.  Sweating like donkeys.  Absolute wretchedness.

Arriving in Ravenna, I pulled out my phone for Google maps and began the 7-minute

walk to my hotel.  Only to be stopped at one street because THE GIRO D'ITALIA WAS COMING THROUGH!!!!!! Oh my god.  Quelle fabulousness!  It was the women's race, but nonetheless, so thrilling to watch all the support cars go by, followed by the peloton.

Then, to my hotel.  Knackered.  Wretched.  I even had to eat a few things out of the mini bar or I was sure I would die.  But here are my room and the breakfast room.