Jan 11, Day 1, Into the dream

The flight attendants turned on the lights at about 11PM EST/ 5AM Italy to begin serving breakfast. I was hoping to see the Alps this morning but it was still dark for a half hour after we landed around 7. However the Po valley was covered in its usual blanket of fog that distorted the lights of the cities below into an ethereal blur.

I chatted with a Jewish jewelry broker and then a group of 5 American girls waiting for our luggage. I chuckled as they flipped though their maps and books discussing how to get from the inconveniently placed airport to their hotel. It wasn’t that long ago I was bewildered by the same questions. I offered a bit of advice, and they asked if I would like to be their tour guide for the day. I think I would have agreed to if they were younger, but I held my tongue and left them to their own devices.

I sent mom an SMS announcing my safe arrival while I was waiting for the bus to leave the airport. Although I’ve had no trouble sending messages to Great Britain, I don’t think they ever make it to the US. I began to ponder what possessed me to leave Florida for this gloomy place as other passengers began to trickle onto the bus. I put on my only Italian cd called 883. I used to listen to it in my old car driving down to see a friend in San Jose. Malpensa to Milan is a different sort of trip, but the music brightened the morning gloom for me.

I was smothered by a rush of mixed feelings as the stazione centrale came into view. I was back in Milan: somewhere on the frontier between the absurd disorganization of the third world and the opulence of the fashion capital, where the scooters outnumber cars, cell phones outnumber people, and people drink enough espresso to put a horse into cardiac arrest, between the land of my ancestors and my home away from home, where elation and frustration play an continuous game of tag, but the food is delicious enough to metabolize almost any bad day before it becomes bitter. Maybe I have to be dreaming to understand the reality here just as I’m living this reality to realize one of my dreams.

I had several very “Italian moments” today to remind me what life is all about here in the “dreamworld”. They stamped my passport without using any ink. There also seemed to be a shortage of ink when I validated my train ticket, so I’ll re-use it. The pavers in front of the Monza train station look like they might be almost finished, but the whole renovation was scheduled to finish in the end of October. I guess that’s OK because I still haven’t been paid since November. It took 20 minutes to change 70 dollars to 48.94 euros without counting waiting in line first because off the “anti-mafia” bureaucracy involved. I bought 2 bags of groceries, but the credit card machine took 15 minutes to accept my card. I guess even machines deserve coffee breaks. Then I recharged my cell phone minutes where the girl at the counter was more committed to chatting about new years than attending the growing line of customers behind me. I returned with the groceries to the sound of running water as the kitchen radiator defiantly pissed on the floor. After I got it shut off and cleaned up the floor, I ate a prosciutto and formaggio panino in the sunlight on the porch with a glass of chianti from a 2 euro bottle. I was interrupted by a call from the landlord asking to arrange an appointment with the plumber at 9AM and for an extra key if I’m not going to be home. The apartment came with an assortment of about a dozen keys for my 2 locks, but only 1 key fits, so I guess we won’t be using both locks this. I took a nap before dinner of risotto, artichoke, assorted cheese, bread, and home made limoncello and limoncrema with the neighbors. After dinner I tried to call home, but it appears both of my phone cards have been used up. I imagine people guess the codes and use them up for you if you keep them too long.

I’m taking the train to Rome tomorrow.