Lovely, lovely Italy


You’re going to hurl shards of glass and bitchy looks at me. For the longest time, I had an aversion to visiting Italy. There, I admitted it.

I’d find myself at the Milano train station, with the full intention to see Florence or Venice but then I’d freeze.

A faint voice originated from the arched ceilings of glass and light, carrying down, and then sonically landing in my ear. “Don’t go.”

It just never felt right at the time, so I’d book a train ticket anywhere else instead. Munich. Paris. Madrid.

It was unfair to Italy wasn’t it?  It’s not Italy’s fault.

Once I finally got there a friend sternly reminded me of something important: 80% of the world’s art is in Italy.

I think Italy has forgiven me, so it’s my mission to do it justice. Thus, I’ll give you a teaser of my time there, with more to come!

By |September 15th, 2014 |Categories: Italy |10 Comments
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UTC: In the Middle and Next? Russia

Oooh whee, where am I?  More importantly, where was I?


After my huge crush on Paris, it was time to move onto Italy.  I took an early morning train that zipped me across France into Milano, at the dead of night.

I booked myself into a bare bones hostel to grab shut-eye.  There ain’t much to say about this one, it was literally a boarding school style, beds ganged up against each other.

The only thing of note when you disembark a train at 10 pm in Milano was the use of benches at the platforms.

Round, and I mean, the kind of men who eat pasta three times a day, used these benches as a space to lay out and sleep. I saw several scattered across the platforms, happily snoring away, their shirts hiked up to reveal a jiggling belly.

Not exactly what I wanted to see at that time of night.

I got to my hostel, and literally passed out into my assigned bed.  Then woke at 6:30, opening my eyes to another large, Italian man beside me, chest heaving, whistling away like a freighter train in a hurry.

I couldn’t get away from them!

A consolation prize was trying my first Italian cappuccino at the Milano train station before departing.

My coffee palate will never be the same again.  I am ruined. Forever.

Next up: Verona.

Why Verona, you may ask?

Shakespeare says it best.

In Verona, I treated myself to ricotta and spinach pasta with a house, white wine.  Was deelish.

Seems this train trip is centered on food.