Remembering Stuff

Late morning on Thursday. We're on the Eurostar Express out of Rome, headed for Florence. It's about an hour and a half ride on this very nice train. No stops. While we're in Second Class, it's still posh. I forced that word on you just so I can show off and do a short seminar.

When England controlled India, there was constant movement of officials and military back and forth by ship between the two countries. The very best on-ship accommodations were staterooms on the port side going out to India and on the starboard side coming home. That arrangement offered some relief from the afternoon sun. Requests by the higher-ups were shortened to Port Out, Starboard Home. And that's where the word "posh" came from.

I haven't been to Italy since 9-11. So I was caught by surprise Tuesday when I saw long, long - but fast-moving - security lines to enter St. Peter's. You used to be able to just walk up and in with no problem unless you had on short-ass shorts. Not any more. I could see that our bags had to go through scanners and we had to walk through metal detectors before entering the Basilica.

Ah, but this is Italy. Things are loose here. Bags went through fast, because no one looked at the X-rays. People moved through the detectors fast because the detectors weren't turned on. It was all "show." Something similar happened when we arrived from the U.S. A flood of people rushed the customs area to have their bags inspected. It was a real mob. So a custom official sauntered over to a big door, threw it open and waved the whole mob through with no inspections. I just remembered something else. During one of my past visits here a scandal was revealed with huge coverage in the news. It seems the Italian Post office was buried in mail after one of the many postal worker strikes. They couldn't catch up. So they loaded a train - an entire train - with undelivered mail and set it moving around the country. As I remember the story, the train with its cargo of mail was chugging around the country for months before someone blew the whistle, so to speak. The Italians have a unique approach to problem solving.

PHOTO NOTE: See, Galvin is alone. He has no friends. The name of this blog is a lie. So, Fine!