KEY POINTS:
I learned a new word while travelling by train through Italy and France: "supprime". According to my dictionary it means "deleted". But for us it meant missed connections, hassles trying to rebook and an arrival at our destination hours later than expected.
The plan was for us to travel from Padova, near Venice, with changes at Milan, Nice and Aix en Provence, to Avignon by 7.24pm. There were a few tight changes - at Milan, there was only 15 minutes between trains - but it all looked doable.
Things started well enough. We left Padova 10 minutes late but caught up and easily made the change at Milan.
We had to share our pre-booked compartment on the next leg with some extraordinarily obnoxious Australians but the scenery, especially along the Cote d'Azur, was amazing.
Unfortunately once we crossed the border into France, the train got slower and the halts at the stations took longer so we missed our connection at Nice.
Still, the booking office staff spoke English and we were soon re-scheduled via Marseille. Sure, we had to wait an extra hour but that meant time to sit in the sun at one of Nice's many cafes and enjoy a croque monsieur and a coffee.
It was at Marseille we discovered "supprime". It was the word against our train to Avignon and it made me nervous.
Unfortunately the man at the information counter couldn't speak English and I couldn't understand his French but his throat-cutting gesture got the message across and further sign language indicated we should take the next Avignon train in just over an hour.
Owing to the language barrier I couldn't work out the reason for the cancellation but a fellow passenger later explained to me that the railway workers were staging strikes to protest the policies of President Nicholas Sarkozy.
Their action was obviously spreading because "supprime" kept moving down the board until it reached our new train. More sign language indicated a further wait of 2 1/2 hours.
Even in daylight the Marseilles station was not a great place to wait and after dark it was downright scary. The place was like a wind tunnel, there were a lot of strange people hanging around, security guards with dogs and submachine guns made regular patrols and not much was open.
As we waited, "supprime" spread down the information board but, hallelujah, our train escaped the virus and, more hallelujahs, it left on time.
We ended up in a carriage with some tough-looking Moroccans who spent a lot of time sneaking off to the space between the carriages and smoking cigarettes with a distinctive smell and as a result got a lot of attention from even tougher looking security guards.
The Moroccans were friendly to us, not least because our respectable middle-class presence probably saved one of them from being beaten up after he coughed sarcastically at one of the guards, but it wasn't a relaxing journey.
Worse still, when I called the Grand Hotel in Avignon to explain we would now be arriving after midnight, they said they had no booking for us. Luckily they did have a spare suite, so we wouldn't be homeless, but the news didn't help.
Our subsequent train journeys, from Avignon to Le Creusot with a change at Lyon, and later from Le Creusot to Paris, were excellent.
The trains were clean, fast and reliable, "supprime" was nowhere to be seen and our seats came complete with tables, power points, WiFi and a bar service. Fantastic.
But the earlier experience was a reminder that while Europe may have wonderful modern trains and high-speed railway lines, the system ultimately depends on a lot of old-fashioned unions with quaint ideas about service to the travelling public.
