The Trip and First Night

So, I finally found a chance to write my first real post for my blog. Hopefully you’ll find it interesting and if you don’t….well there isn’t anything I can really do about it. I’m going to try and do this first post justice however, so here goes.

THE TRIP

For the most part, my trip went without any major hitches besides the fact that it was ungodly long, and my butt went numb from sitting. O’Hare wasn’t actually all that bad. I got through security in about 10 minutes, just in time to start boarding the flight for London Heathrow. I stumbled onto the plane (GIANT PLANE) and stumbled back to my seat, 45b, and looked around. OH MY GOD. I was surrounded by about 25 children under the age of 3. I sighed and resigned myself to the fact that this might not rank as my most awesome trans-atlantic flight. Actually, it turned out that all of the kids fell asleep about an hour into the flight and stayed that way until we landed. My only explanation for this phenomenon was that their parents had deprived them of sleep for two days and then passed out shots of benedryl. However dubious this method of parenting may seem, at the time I appreciated it. One of the people in my row didn’t turn up so me and my row buddy, Ubernerd, were able to put a seat in between us and later have to deal with the awkwardness slumping on the other’s shoulder at some point during the flight. Excellent. There were good movies available. Excellent. And dinner was good. Excellent. And British Airways is considered UK soil so I had wine with dinner. Excellent. I got a little packet with a toothbrush, blindfold, and socks. SOCKS. How cool is that? I made use of all of these fine creature comforts, and then leaned back my seat for an attempt at sleep. The chair leaned back to a surprising angle and I had a good feeling about being able to sleep. Unfortunately I hadn’t counted on Unreasonable-Needy-Whiny-I-Need-To-Get-In-The-Overhead-Every Five-Minutes-For-Eight-Hours-Lady, or UNWINTGTOEFMFEHL for short. Actually, that isn’t very short and admittedly isn’t what I called her in my head. The entire night she insisted on getting up to find crayons, or apple sticks, or carrot slices or whatever the devil else she kept getting up for. She would bump the back of my seat with a force just shy of giving me whiplash. Then sit back down complaining to her husband how rude it was of some people to lean back their seats and how could they be so inconsiderate of other people’s space. Well, lady I needed to sleep, it was a NIGHT flight, and deal with it. This is on top of her dropping a full fledged rolly suitcase on my head, which she chose to just pick up out of the aisle and ignore the fact it had bounced of a person’s head. If her 3 year old wasn’t there the stream of profanity would have probably ruptured the fuselage. But I digress from the trip itself….

I arrived in London, sleep-deprived and with a bump on my head, To find that we had arrived a little late and had missed my original flight into Milan. No big deal, 20 minutes in a queue and I had a new ticket for two hours later, and a 10 pound meal voucher. So I went and found a pub in the airport and indulged in a full English breakfast (On right). Nice. I later boarded the plan and was off to Milan. I really don’thave much to say about that flight. I don’t really remember it, just the bewildered pissed-offedness that I seemed to have gotten the one seat that didn’t recline at all. I mean it didn’t even have a button. So my main impression of the flight was the jerking awake as my head fell forward. I tried to see the Alps, but they were covered in cloud. Later I heard we were approaching Milan, and tried to get a view of the city. Clouds. Bummer. As it turned out, I couldn’t see anything until we were about a hundred feet off the ground. Finally we touched down and after trying for 6 years, I was in Italy. And it was snowing.

I don’t really remember much of my train ride into Milan that sticks out as being particularly memorable, asides from the fact that I was on a train in Milan. Happy Face. Oh, I did listen to the Bourne Identity soundtrack….and then next thing I knew I was in the middle of a snowy field with bruised knuckles, a gash across the bridge of my nose, and a 9 mil.

Just kidding.

I got into Milan and took a taxi to the Hotel ABC (inventive right?) I dragged my luggage upstairs, and clumsily checked in. Then stumbled in and locked the door, and fell on the bed, and was asleep within five minutes. (Me on right looking dead before my nap)

I woke up at about 6 and my facebook friend Carolyn who was supposed to share the room with me wasn’t there yet. Yes I do realize how sketchy that sounds but it was totally legit. I was starving, but didn’t feel like wandering by myself into a cold, wet, dark night in a city I didn’t know. I decided to wait it out. I was supposed to go to a Super-Bowl party later too. But where was it? I hadn’t thought to write down the email, so I had to resort to texting my mom and asking her to look it up since I was sans internet at the time. (Oh and mom, you know how I thought Andrea was a girl? Well as it turns out it was a dude. Andrea being the Italian form of Andrew. Strike one for Sam and being interculturally competent. (That was for you. You know who you are.) Dang. So I just bummed around and read a book and about 7 I heard a knock at the door and opened it to find Carolyn. It was my first of many experiences of meeting someone in real life who I had talked extensively to on Facebook. It was weird. And it hasn’t really gotten any more normal, even after having re-met/introduced myself to about 20 people. We then ventured out into the -3 Celsius Milan with snow falling copiously about our ears. As it turns out, food is hard to find (cheap food anyway) on a Sunday night in Milan. After about 30 minutes of walking and feeling the imminent threat of bumping against something and shattering our frozen limbs, we were face with a dilemma. We had found an open place, we were just troubled over whether or not we should go in. It stood before us, like the Globalization Gates of Hell. Or should I say arches. Golden arches. That’s right we faced the dilemma of the first meal eaten in Italy being a Big Mac. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. We were torn(I don’t know what is the proper punctuation right here, : ; or - ? Ach) starve or sumbit to the Mephistophilic McDonald’s. ….. Sweat beaded our brows….we started resignedly towards our doom…But then we a saw a supermarket and ,went and bought stuff for prosciutto and cheese sandwiches. Sweet. I was much happier with this result. And just as a point of interest, I found a package of pre-sliced deli horse meat. I didn’t get it… but I’m not ruling it out just yet.

We finally made it back to the hotel and drifted off into sleep accompanied by the sounds of an episode of House in Italian. Molto Bene. ( By the way these two pictures aren't in chronological order. They are at Stazione Cadorna where I first arrived in Milan.)

Oh, congrats to all of you who actually read my entire post. Sorry for it was so long, but I wasn’t able to grab the time until today. So if you talk to someone and they say “I tried to read Sam’s blog but it was just so long and I decided it wasn’t worth it”, Look them square in the eye and say “Fie on you”. But really, sorry it was so long. The next one, detailing my first day of activity at the University, will probably be just as long, but I’ll try to cut it down.

As for now, the international students are supposed to get together for pizza in a while and then go to a club, Hollywood Rhythmateque. Holy crap. The first of more welcoming parties than you and your friend could shake a stick at. Ciao mi amicos & amicas!