On the night train to Florence, world travellers from all nations stand in the corridor. They are talking about important things. Everything is important. I feel even older than I already was on my journey. I haven’t really cared about much since I got back. A few things are really important. I try to sleep.
All the way down the burner, the wheels screech in every bend. I don’t fall asleep until long after midnight and then wake up before Florence. The train pulls out of a long tunnel. The sun rises over Florence. I spontaneously decide to skip my train to Livorno and see Florence at dawn instead.
The light is golden. The hills are steaming. The city is completely empty at six in the morning. I set off without any plan. Once again, I look for nothing and find it. Silence in the centre of the city. Old walls and the scent of Italy, familiar since childhood: piss. Even that has its charm. The whole town is completely wet-cleaned every morning, it’s just washing cars and me.
The museums don’t open for a few hours, the cathedral too. The shops are closed and the restaurants are just starting to set up. I sit down in front of the cathedral, eat a Munich Leberkaassemmel and am as happy as a Wiener Schnitzel in Florence.
There are posters everywhere: anyone who buys copies will be fined 500 to 10,000 euros. Did the Pirate Party also run in Italy, or do more than 20% of all Italians work in luxury boutiques? Around eight o’clock, the streets fill up and the light gets brighter. A washing car almost runs me over in front of the Uffizi. Little lemming Japanese people take their first “Jumping jack was here too” photos. Off on the train to Livorno!
I almost oversleep on the train to Livorno. Luckily it was the last stop. In Livorno, despite a bus ride, I can easily walk another three kilometres with about 25 kg of luggage. Together with the 15 kilometres in Munich yesterday, I arrive at the ferry port quite exhausted.
Corsica Ferries sponsors the already quite popular car theft on Corsica. With a car you pay €23 for the crossing, without €46. The check-in mate asks about my car. “Broken. Accident in Livorno,” I say. Fortunately, he believes me.
Dave picks me up in Bastia. Shopping, off to camp and straight out onto the water with my 19m² Weisser Riese kite. Dinner, a beer, a campfire and the fireworks for the Corsican bank holidays.
Frank Woelky, born in 1973. Kitesurfer since 1998. Since 2006, I have been combining kitesurfing and web design on trips lasting several months off the beaten track.