A nomad by nature and by trade, Salbitani gathers here the frames and the words accumulated over many years of travelling by rail. Calling himself a spying photographer in the opening of his own text, he makes the volume out of the journey — up and down the peninsula, made of people, of track and of carriages — and of impressions: recollections, digressions. "A journey is always the wait for a prodigy", he writes, and that waiting is in the looks thrown beyond the window, in the play of reflections, in the lost countryside that seems to promise something large. The compartments are recreated as places outside time and space, and the reader meets the human variety that a train normally carries: portraits of people coming and going, each with their own luggage and their own singularity, often unaware of being watched while the photographer spies on his travelling companions and writes about them at the same time.