July 13, 2012 in Wordsmoker Short Fiction
My strong preference when traveling across Europe has always been to take night trains — both so I can save on hostel accommodations, and because night trains seem inherently adventurous and romantic. Also, sleeping.
But the sleeping part wasn’t working very well on this journey. Because unlike in Agatha Christie novels and espionage films, in fact night trains crossing national borders frequently make stops which are both inconvenient and impressively long-lasting. And who can remain asleep, dreaming of expressionistic cityscapes and underground rebellions and mysterious women with hooded eyes and Levantine accents — all while one’s train is clunking and screeching to a stop on some remote, nameless frontier? Read the rest of this entry →