The first words that come to my mind when I lay eyes on her are sleek and polished. The curvature of her body is especially pleasing to the human eye, as well as her unique coloring. Her base coat is pure white, with a thick strip of black running from front to end. The primary colors red, green, blue, and yellow alternate with each of her segments, suggesting a captivating simplicity. Her temperament, from what I observe, is a combination of many different things. She is quiet and elegant, as well as timely and efficient. She is generous to her patrons, and helpful to those who seek her aid in traveling somewhere new. She wears her name proudly in bold block lettering: SBB CFF FFS; she is a member of the elite Swiss rail system.
The life of this train, like all other trains, is most nomadic: she spends her days gliding along the boundless railroads which traverse the country, stopping occasionally as her conductor requires. On this particular afternoon, she has made a stop at the train station of Lugano, sliding right next to Binario 1 where I am seated. From our mutual vantage point, perched two hundred and fifty meters above the lake, the view is stunning. A maze of cobbled, narrow streets lined with Italian-influenced architecture leads the eye to a shimmering teal-green lake, whose visible perimeter is dotted generously with palm trees. To the unaware, this image seems like an illusion: a Swiss city in the dead of winter cannot possibly be so tropical. However, looking towards the cloudless sky, the snow capped Alps verify our location and we know that this is indeed reality. The late afternoon sun shines brightly between the gaps of the covered platforms. Although it is still January, the rays create a pleasant warming sensation on the skin, as if to remind us that Spring will arrive soon to Lugano. The effect of this sun as it hits the station’s main building is beautiful. The coral pink surface practically glows under the natural spotlight, as if ready for a grand performance...
Abruptly, we are brought out of our thoughts by three consecutive chimes, the melodious prelude to a train departure. The last of the train’s passengers rush up to her doors, pushing the lighted green button frantically and pleading to be let in. I watch amusedly as one man, just a few seconds too late, is left behind. The train has already begun her journey, and as said, it is not in her nature to be untimely. The man sullenly joins me on my bench, grumbling to himself and fiddling with his belongings. He flips open a slightly antiquated cell phone and presses it to his worn, scruffy cheek, “Che cosa fai!?” he exclaims. He looks over after hanging up and smiles apologetically for the outburst, flashing me a smoke-stained, gapped smile. A flock of teenage boys struts by, shouting and laughing. They move in unison: hips thrust outward, hands tucked in the pockets of their tight, embellished jeans, and long, wide strides. Their egos appear to be quite inflated, like the shiny bomber jackets they are so keen on wearing. A typical Luganese woman walks by pushing a black baby stroller. She is wearing knee high black leather boots, black slacks, and a long black peacoat. Her sunglasses and her hair are also black. I think perhaps she likes the color black. However, despite all these differences, they all have one thing in common: their language. It is like an opera, musical and dramatic, full of vibrato and hand gestures. The notes of this linguistic music rise and fall periodically as passengers accumulate, depart, and then re-accumulate.
After the passengers are whisked away by their train, I am left in the company of two foraging pigeons and a young girl whose headphones are blasting a gaudy Italian pop song. The platform’s surface, now clear of clacking heels and rolling luggage, is speckled with carelessly deposited chewing gum in yellows, blues, and many hues of green. There are dark green garbage receptacles, but they seem to go unnoticed by the station’s patrons. The bench I am sitting on seems to be dominated by bored people with pens and a dirty vocabulary. The platform’s support beams, which hold up the roof covering for rare inclement weather, also support the large analog clocks. Tick, tick, tick: an ever present reminder that time is passing us by all too quickly.
The illuminated, electric-blue information sign above reads Zurich, 16:12. To most people, this signifies that the coming train will simply get them from Point A (Lugano) to Point B (Zurich). To a select few however, this train route represents an endless dimension of possibility. These individuals know that a train which takes you to Zurich makes it possible to get to countless other destinations, each having the potential for new and challenging life experiences. For instance, Point C might mean the opportunity to meet lifelong friends while Couchsurfing in Prague, and Point D might mean getting wonderfully lost in the bustling streets of Paris while eating a chocolate crêpe. Tick, tick, tick: the time is now 16:12. My elegant friend comes to a stop, and her doors slowly open. Now think hard, will you get on the train?
