The Italian Interlude Part 3- A Homey Hotel (in Milan)

The motion-activated sensor prompted the glass door to open as I climbed my way six-steps up to the hotel’s entrance. It was rather

"The hallway is carpeted with green and fractals of criss-crossed lines complimenting the cream colored walls and door..."

narrow compared to what I got used to in Saudi Arabia . Hotel Mozart is a small 3-star hotel which kind of suited my desire of not being overwhelmed in anticipation of the rate. Although I have booked in advance in the same hotel as required by the Italian embassy back in Riyadh , it was a shared room with two other members from the group. For now, I will be booking for a single room out of my own pockets. A goodlooking male receptionist along with his equally attractive female colleague were manning the counter. “Preggo Signore! “ saluted the young man. By this time, I have already figured out that preggo could mean “welcome” or “come in” or things of that nature. After explaining to them that I was supposed to be with a group and we have already booked for a night only after two days from now, it was clear to them that I will be paying for my own bills only until then. They quoted me a 60 Euro/ night for a single room- bed and breakfast. I was too tired to think whether it was a reasonable price or not (in retrospect, it was indeed cheaper compared to the others). I was given a key with a big and solid brass metal which seemed to me weighed like a little less than a kilo. Either that or its just too large and heavy enough for you to carry around so you would definitely not forget to leave it in the counter before you go out of the hotel. Embossed on the plate is the number “501” my room number. The bellboy led me to the lift which was way too small for 4 persons as indicated in the control panel. The way up to the fifth floor seemed like eternity. With the elevator’s cramped space and slow motion made it even harder to breathe for someone like me who’s got claustrophobic tendencies. A soft “ding!” indicated that we’re finally on the floor. The door split open at a snail’s pace and even before it fully opened, I was already halfway through.

My room is just about a couple of doors away from the elevator.

"...on one corner is a glass cubicle obviously where you take a shower ..."

My room is just about a couple of doors away from the elevator. The hallway is carpeted with green and fractals of criss-crossed lines complimenting the cream colored walls and doors. The bellboy left as soon as we arrived at the door. As I opened the door, I would go through a (3-steps) narrow way leading to the bed. To the left is the bathroom which I inspected first, clean of course complete with towels of different sizes (makes me wonder how much towels do you need in a day?). There were small containers of shampoo, conditioner, small packets of soap- the usual stuff you’d find in a hotel. There’s a wall-mounted hair dryer and on one corner is a glass cubicle obviously where you take a shower and opposite is the medium-sized bathtub halfway covered with swivel glass instead of shower curtain. In totality, it was impressive enough I thought. Next thing, I was belly flat as if I was unloading my weariness to the bed. The split-type air conditioner at arms length just below the window was off and after moments of tinkering with the control panel, it wouldn’t turn on. I called the desk and learned that they don’t operate air conditioners at this cold season. Right, perhaps I just felt warm because I’ve been walking for hours but I need to feel a little motion of air or I would feel suffocated so I pulled the two-panel drapes on opposite sides and opened the window. They were right it was indeed cold and the cold, crisp air gently seeped its way through the open window giving me the ventilation that I so desperately need. As I lay on the single bed, my eyes roamed freely on the four corners of the small room. It was presentable enough for me. There’s a small closet (with a safebox inside) on the left corner at the foot of the bed.

"Everything was just perfect, promising me a sound sleep later on."

 The dresser is actually one piece with the closet and has a marble table top and on it is a small 14-inch tv monitor. A mirror is fixed on the wall and on top of it is a small elegant lamp. Everything was just perfect, promising me a sound sleep later on. The time on my cellphone flashed 7:45pm, an hour earlier than Saudi Arabia time. No wonder I was hungry, I ate nothing the whole day aside from the panini earlier this afternoon. Unfortunately, there’s no room service for the hotel serves breakfast only so I decided to go out and check where to eat to close the long day I had. Along the street where the hotel is located are small bars, small restos, pizza stands. As I passed by the small bar, there was a drunk Italian lady who stopped my tracks and was trying to pull me inside the bar. I was dumb-founded although it wasn’t actually a scary situation, I just wasn’t expecting it and I have gone through enough during the day. Her friends came out and pulled her back to the bar and one of which came up to me and said the words “scuza signore” nicely. It’s OK, I;ve gone through worse and hopefully that was the last for the day. I wanted to stick around the pizza shop but in the hopes of not having anymore complications, unlikely situations or any other unexpected moments, I decided to just take the pizza to my room. I sat on the bed with my back against the soft, padded headboard. The TV was showing America ’s Next Top Model dubbed in Italian. I checked the rest of the channels and the rest are dubbed in Italian so I lost my interest. I was already full eventhough I haven’t even finished my second slice of the ultra-thin yet super-large slice of pizza. I was just too tired to even examine what I was eating. I took a warm bath and before I knew it, I was already dozing off. The following morning, I woke up to a cold breeze gently blowing at my face. It was too cold that I couldn’t even muster enough courage to get out from under the warm comforter and walk towards the window to close it- I did anyway, I had to. I was up anyway so I headed to the shower and had a nice, invigorating warm bath. It felt even colder when I stepped out of the shower and I was literally shaking as I reached for the dryer like it was a life-saving device. The hot air it blew felt nice on my wet and cold skin. Soon enough I was warm and dry enough to get back to the bed room and dress up for breakfast. There were two old couples with me on the elevator ride talking in a familiar American accent about how small their room was as we descend down to the breakfast buffet at the lower ground of the hotel. I was expecting pasta will be one of the items on the buffet table but there was none, not even one. There were breads, different kinds of breads, crackers. mortadella, salami, different kinds of cheese, different kinds of fruit jam in a disposable single serve containers and a lot of fresh fruits. On the other side is a longer buffet table with cereals, milk, coffee/capuccino urn salads, teas and cakes. I stuffed myself with almost everything before I headed back to my room to get my small bag with which I can put my wallet, passport, cellphone and camera. I left the room key with the same guy at the frontdesk who booked me in last night- the lady was no longer with him.

 

The Italian Interlude Part 2- Lost In Loretto

The thudding sound of the wheels against the blocks-laid sidewalk vociferously resonated as I yank the trolley bag along one of the streets of the Loretto District (if I may call it such).  I looked around and there is nothing Italy about this place I thought.  In fact, it seemed like I was somewhere in Malaté  (somewhere in Manila ) for that matter.  Aside from the narrow streets, among the things I noticed in that area are: (1)  There were fewer than few taxis that roam around (you will find a couple of them in taxi stops)  (2)  Private cars are mostly that of the mini-hatchbck types.  (3)  People get around in bicycles.  (4)  The public transportation are trams  and buses that look like trams.  The trams run on tracks laid on the same road where cars and other vehicles pass.  At first sight, I found the tracks to be a little complex than the usual two-way tracks I’ve been accustomed to.  It seemed to me that one track splits into about three or four more at the intersections.  The metro ordeal was enough for me at the moment and another ride would yield another risk so I decided to just walk again- the safest way to do at the moment.  There were mostly coffee shops and bars along the stretch that I was trudging.  And by the next block I would find similar establishments and some others like panini shops, kiosks and the like.  Canopies are common in almost all the shops- now that’s Italian (or French perhaps? I don’t know).  The signage of every establishment bearing Italian names, words, taglines and all tells me that I am not somewhere in the Middle East.  Having worked in Saudi Arabia for over 7 years, I got used to seeing (not reading, mind you) Arabic texts everywhere.  At least where I am at the moment, I can read what’s written and somehow comprehend the message it conveys like the signs on driveways says: “Passo Carabille”.  For one thing, I thought passo and the English word pass could are one and the same and carabille could mean car.  Ergo, this is where a car passes and therefore must not be blocked.  At that point in time, my feet were already tired but there was nothing else to do but walk  and walk until I figure something out.  Which hotel should I stay and which  one  is within my means. I didn’t know where to go, and was too shy to ask around.  In as much as I was literally lost, I was starting to feel desperate as the air got colder everytime as the sunset is halfway through.  I started praying and asked the Lord for strength and rational thinking.  “Attenzione!”  an old folk (seated with some others) in one of the outdoor tables of a coffee shop hollered as her hand gestured me to stop.  So I stopped… she was smiling while pointing at my shoes.  It so happened that I was about to step on a dog poop.  I took in a luxurious deep breath and exhaled a sincere “grazie mille!” and a smile (good thing I read one of those “common Italian phrases”).  She answered back in Italian not losing the smile on her face.  Whatever it was, I knew she meant “you’re welcome” and so I headed on my way.  It would have been another burden (and shame) walking around with a dog poop all over my shoes.  And oh while were at it, one more thing noticeable among them is their love for dogs.  You would see a lot of residents walking their dogs- big and small alike (later on I will find out that it goes the same for those in the tourist spots area and mainly in the city center of Milan ).  At that time it was already about 6:30 in the evening.  It’s been over  5 hours of wandering about from the time I got off the bus in Milano Centrale to where I was standing right now.  My aching feet and strained calves adds to the panic type of disposition I am currently in.  Right now, I am supposed to be either in a hotel in Riva del Garda or in the the ampitheater watching the chorale contest.  We are not booked in a hotel in Milan until after two days more as part of the actual itinerary.  I sent a text message to Marlo back in Riva, the  group’s president and asked for the address of the hotel in Milan where we have reserved for 19 persons.  The only thing I know is that the hotel name is Hotel Mozart.  I decided to just book in  the same hotel until they get here.  The message tone hasn’t even finished beeping as I hurriedly opened the inbox of my cellphone.  Marlo’s message reads:  HOTEL MOZART, PIAZZA GERUSALEMME MILAN ITALY . That was it and the next thing I know I was already seated at the back of an odd looking cab which I couldn’t figure out whether it’s a car or a mini-SUV or both.  I didn’t have to say the address to the cab driver.  He knew where the particular hotel was and as we were on our way, I thought that it was the best thing that ever happened to me on that day.  Fifteen minutes later, the taxi pulled over in front of a building with a neon sign that says HOTEL MOZART.