As I had no reservations made for the night in Torino, I walked to the first hotel I saw, or actually the first one that didn’t look too expensive considering my modest need of just getting a place to stay. The friendly old lady of Hotel Bologna booked me in, and I went to the room to sleep my still-going hangover milder. At the very late night, I made the decision where to go. I had thought of going South, to Spain maybe, but the feeling of getting closer to home now as I only had a week time left was the one in my mind, and that’s why I chose to go to Paris. I’ll get to see Spain again some other day.

In the next morning, I bought the seat to the train that went straight to Paris, and I went to abuse a free wifi in a cafeteria to reserve the hotel. This time I didn’t really care about the price as long as it was in “my price range”, and took a fairly good one.

After eating some ciabattas and traditional Italian döner kebap with traditional Italian fries, I headed to the station. Fortunately I was there early, as I hadn’t noticed in the train ticket that the station wasn’t the right one. With a mild panic I headed to the underground and got to the correct railway station well ahead of time. Another missile avoided. One of those will hit me before I’m home, I’m sure.

She must have loved me.