Lost in Transition

Continuing on, we travelled by train north-west of Italy and ended up in Genova, the capital of Liguria as I had intended to visit Serravalle Designer Outlet located some 50km east of the ancient seaport city. We quickly checked into the hotel and took the train towards Arquata Scriviata as I was already overcome with excitement at the prospect of shopping for discounted designer items. 10 minutes into the journey, as the train slowly snaked into the mountains, I had a bad feeling that we were going in the wrong direction instead of Serravalle prompting me to approach the Ticket Inspector to find out. With his smattering of English, he replied no because the train was heading west and in a very concerned voice, started to ask if any of the passengers could speak English to help him explain to me. Aww… I was so touched by his kindness!

A Russian guy who was travelling with his family explained that we were indeed lost and that we should get down at the next station to make a turn back towards Genova Piazza Principe station to change. So as the train approached the next stop, we jumped down and made our way to the ticket office in search of the counter. The place appeared rather abandoned and with no one in sight, we stepped out in bewilderment. Seconds later, a man appeared from a yellow wooden building next door looking concerned but otherwise friendly. I guessed the place where he came from was a restaurant (it had the words Caffe, Ristoratore and Tabacchi) and he could be the owner who perhaps also doubled as a ticket agent. I noticed a woman standing at the door of the cottage-like building. Without hesitation, the man explained that she was his sister. He asked further if we were lost to which we detailed our predicament. “Just wait on the same platform for the next train going back to Genova. There is no need to cross as there is only one track and no platform on the other side. Your tickets are still good for the return journey and you should be fine”, he assured us before disappearing back into the building. 

The yellow cottage beside the train station

The two people were the only ones we met at this peaceful country. With just the two of us sitting at the stop later, a strange feeling of loneliness suddenly enveloped me; the yellow wooden café and restaurant (I think) beside the station, red and pink roses blooming on the other side of it, the afternoon mist that seemingly descended closer to the ground as if to blanket the rail track, the chilly mountain air and the silence that befell the surrounding… cool breeze blew in our faces and stirred the leaves that stood in its path but everything else was so still and quiet, gripping me in a dizzyingly mixed emotion. Anyone or anything could emerge from anywhere, catching us off-guard and we would have nowhere to run to… and then whatever they were, they would capture us, tie us to wooden poles and carry us into the dark woods never to be seen or heard of again... Contrary to the serenity outside, there was total chaos inside my head. Just thinking of the eventuality gave me  jitters. Or man, did I see that in a movie? What was is called again? 

Despite the anxiety, I began to realize that the moment somehow felt very special like we needn’t anything or anyone then because we had each other to care about. I held my husband’s hand tight like I didn’t want to let go and I secretly harboured a dream of returning to the place and reliving the moment, sans the negative sentiment I had about the place in the beginning. But first I needed to check if they had any accommodation for visitors since it was a small settlement (I guess), or else we might have to put ourselves up at the abandoned ticket office... oh oh, no thank you. The only doubt I had was whether my husband shared the same feeling or was I only flattering myself with these so-called romantic ideas? Looking at his face that offered very little expression, I guessed the answer was the latter. Whatever went on in his mind was beyond my imagination but then again, that is a topic for another day. 

I wondered where the place was on the map. Checking out the signboard, I learned that it was called Mele – what an exotic name with such an enigmatic appeal. Well, Mele, I promise you that you are forever going to be etched in my memory as the place I felt safest holding my husband’s hand, even if he held mine only to keep it warm. And if time wills it, I shall be back with the man I love to uncover your mysterious ambiance, perhaps walk aimlessly in the mist to feel the tiny droplets in my face (away from the train and rail track of course!), smell the blooming roses and breath your nose-numbing air. And I pray that the day will come soon with new friends and acquaintances to be made apart from those two people we met earlier.

The mist-shrouded rail track (top) and the rose bush (below)

In the end, just like a story with a happy ending, the train arrived and we made it back safely to Genova’s main station where we boarded the correct one to take us on my little quest for discounted designer items. I will never forget the beautiful view as we slowly made our way to the city; the houses sitting on the hill slopes, the river flowing in the valley and the sea in the distance. The whole lost incidence in Mele was well worth it.

River flowing in the valley along small settlements

Houses perched on the hill slope with thicker mist obscuring the background

The painting I did during one rainy afternoon at home that in a bizarre way reminiscence of the cold afternoon we encountered in Mele  a few weeks before. Of course this piece could be a whole lot better.