Layover Milano

I had my first trip to Milano this past Thursday. I can tell you I was pretty excited by the prospect even though as on all of these layovers time is short and you are on the back side of the clock. We arrived at the Malpensa airport about 8:30 am local time (2:30 am EDT) after the all nighter from Newark. The weather was beautiful. The arrival brings us in over Geneva and the Alps. What a sight! As we descended into Milan the air traffic controllers were nice enough to give us an unplanned 360 degree turn nearing final so we could see even more of the countryside. They appeared to have had a lot of rain the day before as much of the surrounding countryside was flooded.

As an aircrew member immigration is all too easy as we are just waived through while flashing our ID badges. You kind of feel sorry for the poor sods waiting in line to be inspected, detected, selected, corrected, injected and rejected; well not really. We then had our first experience with the renowned Italian efficiency as we waited for 45 minutes for our van to show up to take us to the hotel. The driver proceeded to explain that there was an accident on the autostrada thus we would be taking an alternate route into town. All this while he was loading our bags onto the bus with his head constantly encircled by a plume of cigarette smoke. Once on our way we were treated to an extensive tour of northern Italy including back roads, small towns and traffic a native New Yorker would cower at. The usual 45 minute trip morphed into a two hour excursion through the hell which is otherwise known as Italian driving. By the time we reached the hotel it was 11:30 am. The sun would just be rising on your shining faces back here in Hampton Roads.

At this stage the mind thinks it would like to go out and see the town, but the body has other plans and seeing that I just saw probably seventy-five percent of northern Italy from the seat of our excursion bus the body won out and I hit the sack for a few hours of much needed rest.

At 3 pm I was up, showered, dressed and ready to explore, blind to the fact that as it was early afternoon all the shops are now closed for the proprietor's much needed resto. No matter, for with the current Euro exchange rate I couldn’t afford an Italian leather purse anyway. It would only clash with my uniform. I elected to stroll around as far as I dare being it was my first visit to Milan and I didn’t wish to get too lost and miss our van time the next morning or worse the dinner that evening.

The dinner! Oh-my-gawd! About seven of us went to a little restruante a few blocks from the hotel. It seems Continental aircrews have been going there for years. The name is St. George's and you would think the owner was a long lost brother. He quickly surmised it was my first visit, thus I was treated to the royal treatment. Appetizers came one upon another “no cost,” “no cost,” our generous benefactor keep repeating. Bruschetta, prosciutto, calamari, cheeses, etc., etc. Bottles of red wine kept appearing as if by magic. Nectar of the Gods. Pacing myself was not only essential it would certainly mean the difference between life as I know it and eternal damnation. As quickly as wave upon wave of delicious food arrived it disappeared. For the main I elected a pizza Marghertia. OK, I’ve heard people describe certain foods as “to die for,” mostly attributed to some chocolate concoction, however this pizza had RIP infused in each and every morsel of it’s being. I say “being” because it must have truly been some living, breathing beast to taste so good.

Time could have stood still and I could have been no happier. Well, OK, if I could somehow enjoy this meal while simultaneously driving my Spider along some deserted twisting country lane in bright, warm sunshine...but I digress. As the main courses waned, as if by magic, desserts began to appear. I was personally presented with a tiramisu the likes of which I am sure have never before passed the lips of a mere mortal like me. And just as I thought this is what heaven was meant to be a lemon cake fleetly followed and it too was dispatched faster than a Ferrari in Harlem. Of course dessert would not be dessert in Italy unless it was accompanied by a jet fuel octane espresso which of course it was. Then to top off the evening meal I was presented with a cool shot of Limoncello in a chilled glass. Here I am, silly me, thinking only beer came in chilled glasses. Oh, yeah, wrong continent.

As the evening drew to a close and Euros flowed across the table like pollen in spring I profusely thanked our gracious host in my nonexistent Italian while he thanked us in his passable but broken English. I somehow feel guilty if not outright stupid when I visit a country and cannot speak their language. Oh well, I’ll get over it. After the obligatory thirty minute goodbye we strolled, er, waddled back along the ancient, lamp lit streets to the hotel while a thunderstorm flashed and rumbled in the distance. As I lay down in my bed and wondered what the peasants were doing this evening I drifted off into a carb and alcohol induced slumber of which even the espresso was powerless to impede.

The morning again brought beautiful sunshine and warm temperatures. The drive to Malpensa was not fraught with abominable traffic and I even managed a glimpse of the Alfa factory along the freeway as we passed Arese. All-in-all not too bad for a first trip to Milan.