Sunday morning I woke up and gathered my belongings to start my ''long journey home.'' Barret and I took the bus to downtown Genoa so I could see the old city. It had a medieval feel which was quite the contrast to the resort-like area Barret lived. There were twisted alleyways, markets everywhere, street vendors - I loved it! We got some foccaccia bread with cheese from the open air market and did a quick tour before my train.
I headed off on the noon train to Milan. When I got to the station, I stowed my duffel bag in a luggage locker, and set off. I had 2 hours to venture through Milan until I needed to get the bus to the airport. I hoped on the metro (Barret had given me instructions) and took it 4 stops to the Duomo di Milano - one of the most amazing cathedrals I have ever seen. Even as a non-religious, non-spiritual person, it gave me chills. The best part is you can go up on the roof which overlooks the entire city. After I finished my sightseeing duty, I did a bit of wondering. I didn't get far before I found a cute pedestrian street with some ritzy looking cafes and a huge Prada store. I plopped myself down at one of the outdoor tables and ordered a rather large Gelatto sundae, complete with dark chocolate, Grand Marnier, and whipped cream. The waitor was so nice, and loved my attempts at speaking Italian and even offered to take a picture of me with the sundae, which I devoured. After getting my people watching in (still picturing the woman wearing head to toe Gucci and carrying a Gucci shopping bag), I headed back to the metro, making a brief stop at the street vendors for some hot Milano sunglasses.
I picked up my luggage and set off to wait for the bus. I saw one bus going to Milano Bergamo airport, but when I tried to get on, the driver and his attendees said my ticket was for a different company. They were a private shuttle bus. So I said ok, and got back on the sidewalk to wait. Well, you know Italian men, they started chatting me up, saying I was nice-a, where you from-a, do you parla Italiano? They were actually very sweet and not too skeezy so I humoured them until it was time for them to leave. Then right before they left they said, come on, get on the bus (as my bus still hadnt shown up). Confused, I just stood there. Then they were insistent, come on, come before our boss sees! Just go! So, not entirely sure of my flight time, and knowing I should probably get to the airport, I say, what the heck, grazie, and I run onto the bus.
20 minutes later, I'm minding my own business, reading my book, when the bus driver comes back and says, ''come with me.'' Crap! I'm in trouble, I think. On the contrary, he has pulled out the seat next to him, and would like me to sit there. ''First class,'' he says. So I sit, not really sure what to do since his English is almost as limited as my Italian and it's about a 45-min bus ride from that point on. So I pretend to enjoy the scenary (which was pretty much just highway at that point).
I grazie mille him profusely afterwards and run into the airport to check in. Looks like I'm more than on time, I arrived at 5:30 pm and my flight wasn't until 7:50 pm. So I do a little airport shopping and panini eating (that is, after bus driver finds me in the airport to make sure I'm alright and we have another awkward -- neither of us speaks the same language -- conversation).
2 hours later, I get on my flight. Only to get right back onto another bus from Paris-Beavais airport to the city. An hour and a half later, I get on the metro. I am so tired it feels like every nerve in my body is exposed. I think if someone so much as bumped into me I would have cried. But at the same time, I realized, I just traveled, by myself, through two foreign countries and multiple cities. The sense of accomplishment trumped the exhaustion just long enough to get me home and into bed...
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