Another missed opportunity.

One thing about Europe. Usually, train travel is a viable option. But my Italian true love is a bit skeptical of trains in Sardinia. 'The trains are kind of old,' she said, 'and they don't go everywhere.' So when we were about to board a train the other day, I thought it might be a little like when the writer D. H. Lawrence rode trains in Sardinia in 1920. But the experience was comfortable and pleasant and nice. Took us an hour to go from Carbonia to Sardinia's capital city, Cagliari. It was a straight shot on the way down. But on the return trip, we had to transfer trains once. The trains' seats face each other. And sitting directly across from me was an Italian man. Maybe in his 30s. With a shaven head. Carrying a satchel and a brief case. Which he placed on the seat next to him. And I would have liked to talk to him. But I assumed that he didn't speak English. Of course, my true love, seated next to me, could have served as translator. But she's not about to start gabbing with strangers. Unfortunately. If we had spoken the same language, I would have found out a lot about the guy. Out of custom. Out of curiosity. He got off the train with us. And I watched as he faded into the dark. Another missed opportunity to learn something. About a stranger. --Jim Broede