Getting to Italy: The Longest Day

January 28, 2011

This entry was written longhand while I was on the train from Milan to Genova during my weekend in Italy. More will come later about the trip following this introductory travel, but it deserves a post on its own.

            Today will be, as of yet, my longest day. If I count my flight to Dublin, then I guess today may only be second place, but it’s my life and I choose this as #1 since it was more continuous and (dare I say) epic than getting to Dublin.

            Today I’m traveling to Italy to see Emily V. My day began at 2:55 am after a refreshing 2 hours (or less) of sleep. It began with me wandering around Dublin, trying to find the Aircoach bus stop. (Thank you Aircoach website for being completely useless.) Along the course of my walk I wandered down to Grafton Street where I not only saw a bunch of drunken people climbing up to pose for a picture on/with Molly Malone, but also heard two Irish guys singing the Molly Malone song as they weaved by. The song transported me back to freshman year English with Huth and couldn’t help but laugh.

            I eventually found the bus stop and was relieved to learn that I hadn’t missed the bus that hour. I got to Dublin Airport and made it to London with no trouble. After a long (make that L-O-N-G) layover in London-Stansted, I queued up for my flight to Milan-Bergamo.

            A quick side note about the flight to London. I was early enough to get a window seat on my Ryanair flight and was asleep before the plane even took off. When I awoke, the sun was just beginning to rise in the blue sky over a fluffy frosting of clouds. The guy sitting in the aisle seat leaned over to take pictures of clouds. I can confidently say I have never seen (and don’t think I could ever again see) anyone get so excited about clouds. He repeatedly informed me that he loved clouds. Over and over and over again.

            “Look at these clouds.” (iPhone picture)

“I just love clouds.” (picture picture)

“Those are just great clouds, can you believe it?” (picture picture picture)

            Now, back to the London airport.

            As we’re standing in the queue I start talking with the woman in front of me. She’s headed to Milan for the weekend to visit her parents. I tell her about meeting a friend in Genoa and the different modes of transportation I have to take to get there. I think it was about this moment that she transformed into my Hero of the Day. She too had to go to the train station. I half-jokingly said I would just have to stay near her to get to the right place, and that’s just what I did.

            We sat next to each other on the plane (I had the window seat again; yay more naps!) where I was immediately struck by a horrible coughing fit. I could barely breath I was trying so hard not to cough (unsuccessfully I might add). If I had been sitting next to me, I probably would’ve glared at myself and resented the jerk spreading germs. Luckily for me, she only seemed concerned, rather than attempting to run away from the crazy infected girl.

            I fell asleep again. When I opened my eyes this time I was greeted by the sight of jagged peaks dusted with pristine white snow: my first glimpse of the Alps.

            It quite literally took my breath away, and I could only stare in awe for the final 15 minutes of the flight. Meanwhile, my seatmate told me about her trip taking a train through the peaks, and the history of a certain peak that had claimed so many lives before the current road was completed.

            We landed and deplaned, and I followed her to a shuttle bus, chatting about travel and such. She asked around to find the correct bus (in Italian of course) and even lowered my ticket price by combining it with hers. I think I owed her more than I paid, but she insisted it was fine.

            The ride between the airport and the train station was spent discussing education, comparing the health care systems of Italy, the UK and America (Italy wins, in case you were wondering) and talking more about travel. When we got to the train station, she led me to the ticket counter. The night before, Emily had taught me a key phrase to use when attempting to buy my train ticket. Instead, I had a personal guide to purchase the ticket, and I had to just pass over my card.

            I had about 25 minutes before my train left, so she took me to see the front of the train station. It was built during Italy’s Fascist period, and the emphases on masculinity and power are evident in the architecture. She then led me inside the train station and to my platform. It was only then that I learned her name: Valentina.

            I doubt I will ever see her again, but Valentina, who comes from outside Milan and has lived in London for the past 13 years and has an Australian boyfriend, was my hero today. I’m now on the train to Genova and will meet Emily at the station. Let my Italian adventure begin.

Stay tuned for the next installment of Emma’s Italian Adventure, coming to a computer near you later this week!