I was still in a hazy daze as the alarm rang at 5:45 in the morning. For a moment, I was clueless as to which hotel room I was. The yellow-faced steel wall clock was the same as what I have, there’s a mini picture frame of my mom amongst the small cute thingies on the wall-mounted shelf. The 14-inch boob tube was upgraded to a 42-inch piano black flatscreen on the rack by the foot end of the bed and why on earth is my laptop lying on that desk? I don’t remember bringing it along this trip? When I got to my senses I figured out that I was in fact in the confines of my own room- I couldn’t go wrong. I’m no longer in a hotel somewhere in Italy . I am indeed back in Saudi Arabia no longer a tourist but as a regular employee in an engineering firm. Eight days ago, I was in Malpensa International Airport with a trolley bag I just borrowed. The actual purpose of me being in Italy was to be with an all-Filipino choir (as spectator) who would be competing in Riva del Garda but thanks to Saudia Airlines for my cancelled booking. Long story short,
"...but wait till you get inside, you will be impressed at how they got to preserve the vintage façade while inside would be every urban facility you could find in a train station..."
I got left behind and had to get another flight and all. First issue in mind was how to get to Milan from Malpensa and fortunately, there were buses by the airport dropping passengers to Milan Central Station. The bus ride from the airport to Milan was about 45 minutes. It was then that I learned through an Italian taxi driver that Riva del Garda was about 300kms (at least) from Milan – a three-hour train ride or a whopping 350 Euro on the taxi meter. At the moment, the logical thing to do was to stay in Milan and make the most out of the situation. I walked around the huge station which from the outside seemed like an old Roman structure but wait till you get inside, you will be impressed at how they got to preserve the vintage façade while inside would be every urban facility you could find in a train station- escalators, automated self-service biglietteria (ticket-vendo machines), souvenir shops, fashion boutiques and the like. The use of public toilets will cost you 1 euro in the coin slot of the turnstile. Interiors of the station flaunt giant billboards of designer brands such as that of David and Victoria Beckham in their Armani skimpy underwears. I practically spent hours just going about the details of the station. At one point I was looking at the LED-illuminated screens flashing the schedules of different train routes of the trenitalia and it occurred to me that this is not just an average inter-city station. Milano Centrale was in fact more of a hub to neighboring Schengen States such as Paris , Frankfurt and Lugano among others and must therefore be one of the major landmarks in Milan . I didn’t want to go outside for the air was rather chilly eventhough I was already bored and hungry. Yet the aroma of cappucino and some other italian treats by the kiosks that continually permeates from the outside breeze made me give in. As I was approaching the nearest refreshments stand I was figuring out what to say to the vendor like shall I start with “Buongiorno!”? I highly doubt that they speak English and even if they do, I was sure that it would not be enough for us to understand each other. Good thing though, the food in the displays are labelled- name and price. The man exclaimed “preggo!” as soon as I got there and I smiled back sheepishly. “Uhm, one panini please”, I was pointing at the enticing sandwhich with mortadella, some greens, tomatoes and cheese tagged at 3 Euros. He answered me in Italian and the only thing I understood was the part where he said “uno?” So I said “si!”. I asked for a bottled water and he asked me if I wanted naturale or frizzante. I wasn’t sure what the latter was but definitely I wanted a natural water to drink.
You can purchase tickets at the self-service biglietteria.
Soon I would realize that in Italy , you either drink the natural water or the sparkling/carbonated frizzante. Meanwhile, the panini was tasty and was already enough at that time. I was more excited to get to… I really don’t know where. As soon as I was done with my little snack I decided to get to the other end of the station and just by the exit, there was a stair leading to the subway. Good thing the panini man gave me a few coins as cambio. I dropped a few into the biglietteria and got a ticket. But to where? I wasn’t sure actually. One thing I do know, it was worth unlimited stops provided you don’t go out of the turnstile. From the map on the platform wall there were Linea’ s 1, 2 and 3 – all three trains of different routes inter-connected to each other. I tried to go through it (like I’m really good at maps) but the longer I look at it, the more complicated it gets. For whatever its worth I left the map and got on the train and perhaps where most people get off, that’s where I should be. The metro is an average commuter train which is a little wider than what we have back in the Manila . It runs underground while ours run on overpass tracks. Some stops are crowded and some are not. The actual coach I was in was crowded with passengers- daily commuters and tourists alike with back packs and trolley bags even bigger than what I had. What a relief, it would have been an awkward moment if it were only me. For a while back there, I didn’t feel different or at least I wasn’t the center of attraction being the only one. Few stops later, a lot of people got off the station called Loretto. “Oh well, I guess this is my stop” I said to myself. The deciding factor was rather ridiculous, yet it didn’t strike me as funny for I didn’t know where I was for crying out loud.
To be continued…
