I no listening you

Our bus has little trouble avoiding the sparse traffic as it drives through town. The few other drivers all seem to be going somewhere else, and doing it in a hurry. Curling yellow paper and other refuse lines the streets, as if pressed there by the weight of the hot, still air. Plaster peels in great sections from the walls of the buildings, and ancient faded shop signs sit above closed shutters. The occasional mangy cat can be seen, strolling along the alleyways. Desolate, decrepit and almost deserted, the city is dead.

Where is this ghost town? Just pick anywhere in Italy, as long as its on a Sunday. I am convinced that Christianity led directly to the fall of the Roman Empire, just because of the introduction of the Sabbath. A whole day when everyone is given an excuse not to work is sure to erode things like hygiene, leading to plague; commerce, leading to a failing economy; and defense, leading to a jolly good sacking. Together with the Italian service sector's unwillingness to recognise the 'service' aspect of its function (at least since slavery and lashes were abolished), a general feeling that more time should be dedicated to animated shouting and gesticulating than other actions and a propensity to spend all night in bars, it is simply amazing that any productive activity occurs at all. In fact I have only tenuous evidence that it does.

Only three places show signs of life on a Sunday in Italy: hotels, the train station and bars. Hotels are open because tourists don't like to starve or sleep rough on arrival, though it probably took a while for even this to get through to the tourist industry. The train station is open so that people can visit relatives, or get home from the bar they were at until 6am on Sunday morning. Bars are open so that liquid carbohydrate can sustain those who have foolishly forgotten to stock up on food earlier in the week.

I got off the airport bus at the train station, which was to be fair, bustling. However this seemed to be because of the glacial pace at which the station staff were willing to exchange tickets for money, and the lateness of several trains. Generally it is held that trains on the continent are not late. Well perhaps this is true for French or German trains, but Italian trains definitely exercise their fundamental human right to lateness. What's more, because it's Italy, and no one is in a hurry (or is striking to prevent the dangerous introduction of 'hurry' and it's unfair implications on workers' rights) there is no information on how late the trains might possibly be. In fact it is difficult to determine if the antiquated platform number and train time boards work at all, though the brand new electronic screens next to them do have neatly affixed signs declaring them "Outi of Orderi". Or something.

It doesn't help that I don't speak foreign languages, which for the English means being able to slowly shout English words at perplexed looking foreigners. Instead I try a few words from a phrasebook, some English words spoken at normal volume, and sign language. Generally I have experienced reciprocal behaviour from the host nation, though I'm not sure whether the "I no listening you" lady was being rude or not. As I am staying at an international centre, lots of things are in English anyway, including the "Don't stand on the toilet seat" sign. There is even English available elsewhere, such as in the name of the intriguing 'Magic America Sex Shop'.

I am sharing a room in a hostel with a polite man from Egypt. We don't talk much, and I somehow feel that we don't have much common ground, given that I sleep under just a sheet in our stifling un-air-conditioned room, having dispensed with the other bed clothes, while he wears a full set of pyjamas and even pulled an extra blanket out of somewhere. At some point though, I may ask him about his mysterious 'No more bad smell underarm for man or woman' jar of white powder. "Just take a pinch", it says. I wonder whether it is customary to snort it up one nostril at a time, or both at once?