There
aren't ticket machines at the tram stops, though there was one on the last tram
I was on. But the next tram I get on is a really old model (seriously old!),
and it has no such machine - there's only the one to stamp your ticket. But
where the heck do you get a ticket?
Then
again, what are the odds of meeting ticket checkers twice in one hour?
I know, I
know. A previous event has no impact on the future probability of another
event. Losing the lottery actually has no effect on the next round of
lottery-playing. Anyway, if ticket guys are in the area, perhaps that increases
my chance of meeting one...
Safely at
my stop, I duck into the train station to check out trains to Cuneo. Nothing on
the board. Either all the Cuneo trains go to the other station, or it's a stop
on the way to somewhere else.
I don't
stop to enquire, though; the need for a large glass of water, a shower, and a
nap is just too great.
Back to
base at 4:30. Seven and a half hours of walking around. Yep, I need a break.
This is such a comfortable bed. At six I go for a stroll along a different
section of the Po. The joggers and dog-walkers and rowers are out in force.
There are men rowing alone, very fast, very serious. There are teams
practicing. There are kids learning, and one 4-man boat of teenagers just can
NOT coordinate all those long oars. The odd kayaker makes a stir. Everybody
advances backwards on the water. There are not too many collisions.
People
are out. Everybody is out. Italians live on their balconies much more than the
French do, and they all seem to come out and get some air in the evening
between work or school and dinner. It's lively. It's nice.
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