My Latin-speaking grand tour of Europe 2025 pt. 1: from Italy to Lithuania by train!
Theoretically, at least, if one has both the time and money, one can make endless journeys by train across Europe all summer long, hopping from one Latin conventiculum to another. In 2025 I did in fact do this, buying myself one of those youth train passes and going by bus and train from Schola Latina’s summer school to LUPA’s meeting in Vilnius to CAELUM in Madrid. I very nearly went mad, but I met various friends along the way and stumbled upon a quaint town in France, where I would probably honeymoon if I were ever to get married (the food was very good, the tourists few, and the sea brilliantly blue).
I began my grand train tour in Montella, where I had attended Schola Latina’s wonderful summer school, which I heartedly recommend to all. From there I took a bus to Roma Tiburtina. The bus stops at a truck stop somewhere between Campania and Rome, which sells sandwiches (as a rule, prosciutto on bread is always fine) and massive boxes of nasty looking popcorn, along with oversized candy, oddly flavored doritos, and many other things that will give you a stomach ache. I suppose a truck stop is a truck stop, no matter where you are. Having travelled often between Rome and Montella, I know that particular truck stop all too well.
Tiburtina, Termini’s slightly less impressive cousin, is both a bus and train station. One can walk right from the bus part to the building with the trains. Instead of a Victoria’s Secret or F.A.O. Schwarz, as one finds in Termini, there is a Kentucky Fried Chicken. Wherever I go, something embarrassingly American is there. Actually finding my train was a great adventure, because it was a special train that splits into two on the road, so it was listed as going not to Vienna, but elsewhere.
The train to Vienna was excellent. I had a little shiny white cell to sleep in with a window and buttons for lights, like something out of Star Wars, with a special box that locked for my shoes. The cell had a window whence I could see the fields and merry cows. For someone of a more normal stature the cell would have been too small to lie down in or sit up reading in, but I am happily quite small. In the morning I got tiny pots of jam with my croissant and tea. I put the jams in my coat pocket because they were too charming to eat; I probably gave them to some poor, confused friend or lost them but I cannot remember.
In Vienna I found a lovely shop with all the embroidery thread one could ever want and a basement full of scraps of quality fabric for only a few euros, in case one needed to make an evening dress for a doll, I suppose. I saw many fine museums. Well, as many as one can in a few hours while carrying a huge black backpack full of too many books and too few changes of clothes. I also ate goulash at my favorite old-timey cafe and drank many mint teas, while embroidering scenes from the Aeneid and watching all the people go by.
That night I hopped back on another sleeper train. This train was very exciting and much less fancy. Instead of Star Wars cells there were bunk beds. I was up top. I was stuck with two guys who drank strong-smelling spirits all night while speaking to each other quietly in a Slavic language, like doves whispering. They were very nice, as far as I could tell considering we communicated exclusively through mime, and helped me put my bags in the rack above the bunk beds. The fellow that checked the tickets and brought the breakfast was very charming; he was short and had great moustaches like a cartoon, or like the Monopoly man!
We got to Warsaw sort of late, I think, because the train came late to Vienna, but I was just happy to be in a new place. I had some sort of Polish food for dinner at a quiet little cafe. I cannot recall what I ate, though I suspect dumplings were involved; I know the dessert was pancakes with apples and delicious. I enjoyed the trams, which were quiet compared to public transport in Italy, and walking around the city.
Next, I was set to go by bus to Vilnius. I waited at the cafe until it was about time to go get on my bus so that I could charge my phone and drink herbal teas. The bus station in Warsaw is not scary at midnight, unlike, say, Port Authority in New York City. Port Authority in the daytime is in fact worse than anywhere I’ve been in Europe. Of course, New York as a whole is terrifying and disorientating for me.
The bus was very exciting. Next to me sat a girl who kept shouting to the two boys behind us, who must have been friends of hers, and laughing with them. She was drinking Monster, which I never tasted but smells pretty icky, which she proceeded to spill all over my coat. Happily, the nice Oxford copy of the Aeneid I was reading didn’t get splashed. At some point we stopped and a guy outside starting yelling at us; since I had by then learned the main Polish curse word I was aware that he was unhappy about something, and not only from his tone. Once we got going again I slept some, but was awake at sunrise when we went through the most delightful Baltic forest. The trees were lovely and delicate, like thin grey ballerinas all around us.
When we got to the bus station in Vilnius I was pleasantly surprised by the short walk to the university and, by extension, my hotel. Taking a bus to Vilnius wasn’t such a bad idea after all! Although, being as tired as I was, I needed to stop for a black tea and a pastry about halfway there. I then found my way to the funniest little hotel, where I had booked the Jane Austen-themed room. To me it hadn’t seemed very Jane Austen-themed at all, considering there were only a few books scattered here and there, but it had a good writing desk and space for all my embroidery things.
(I shall post a part two tomorrow.)