It's been many years since I took the Centovalli Express from Locarno to Domodossola. It was in winter, everything was snowed in and looked gorgeous.
This time, it is summer, I'm travelling the othet way 'round, from Domodossola to Locarno. The view is splendid, the couple next to me however close to unbearable for the woman is the kind of resolute Italian housewife with a voice that makes you long for earplugs. Difficult to imagine her husband ever disagreeing with her.
When I enter the main door of the building, a middle-aged woman, accompanied by her young daughter, who is smiling at me inquisitively, asks whether I'm Spanish. Much to my surprise, my Spanish seems to have influnced my Italian pronunciation. It is however not the first time that I'm made aware of it.
There are quite some Cubans in town, says the woman running a coffee bar near the Station that opens in the morning at 4:30. At 4:30? I wonder. For the commuters to Briga, Vispa and Sempione, she informs me. And, there are also Thais, Brazilians and and and ... but the Cubans had their own place where they used to dance to their loud music.
When having my nails done, an elderly ('though probably younger than me) and not exactly slim woman sitting next to me is having hers done. She is sporting a variety of tattoos, and I wonder once again what people makes wear tattoos – in my world (I'm aware I'm of another generation), tattoos belonged to drunken sailors and members of prison gangs..
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