At the time of our departure, I had no definite answers. With no real expectations or back-up plans, Aubrey and I arrived in Nice, France, on April Fool's Day, after having spent most of the evening craving sleep on the floor in the tiny London Luton airport. We each had only a backpack, passport, train ticket and cash. We shared a room with two Americans, a Japanese and an Australian at Hotel les Orangers, and we visited both the Henri Matisse and Marc Chagall museums. After two full days, we got on an overnight train to Rome.
Trains are the most ideal forms of travel for young backpackers.
Even at night, Aubrey and I could see the outline of the French Rivera as we swung along the coastline into Northern Italy. Sleep in a seat will save you money, but sound rest is hard to come by. At 8 a.m. the next morning, we found ourselves exhausted, slowly walking on busy, metropolitan streets within the warmth and mystery of an immense Italian city. Rome is stuffed with a surplus of sights to see. It is a city that we only began to get a feel for after three days of endless discovery on foot.