It’s Been Nice and All . . .
Saying goodbye to France, I retraced my tracks from Nice back to Zurich before heading into uncharted lands (that is, Hungary). I had almost an hour to kill in Ventimiglia, the Italian town on the French border. It was so colorful! Just a couple of miles into Italy, it was already as noisy, chaotic, dirty, and dangerous to drive or walk in as you have heard. Alissa would go insane there. I sat at a sidewalk café and had one of the best espressos of my life, complimented by a couple of tiny and delicious pastry bites. Across the street from me, two men worked (is that the word?) on removing a streetlamp from the sidewalk. After judicious jackhammer use, they failed to unearth the lamp, and resorted to shaking it vigorously in an attempt to loosen and dislodge it. I felt certain that they were going to break something. And I was right. I hope they hadn’t been expected to be able to reuse that streetlamp. The best part was, several times, somebody they knew would drive by and honk or, better yet, stop and chat with them for half a minute, even though they held up several cars behind them in the process. Nobody honked their horns or otherwise indicated that this kind of behavior was abnormal. Again, it seems that some stereotypes are based on reality :)
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| Traffic probably held up due to aforementioned chatting |
The Italian trains were as awesomely unpredictable and undermaintained as before. This time, the air conditioning worked everywhere except in the first class cabin. I prefer it warm, but by midday, even I had a sheen. Not long before the train arrived at Milan, I actually saw a stowaway get booted off! I was wondering why that guy was crouched in the stairs at the end of the train, but I assumed it was only to get some moving air because there was a nearby open window. He pleaded to be kicked off after they got to Milan, but the PO’d uniformed train police guy (or whatever he was) would have none of it. I saw him marched off the train at a small town stop, presumably to pay the piper.
The train also had a small electrical fire (!!) in my cabin, so they cut all power. Not a problem because the power outlets, predictably, didn’t work anyway, and there was no air conditioning to lose, so it was all good fun.
Milan
I had a five-hour overlay in Milan, so I hit the streets and brought my camera. Wow, it is truly a grand city. It still seems awkward to me in a way that’s hard to describe (I guess Italian culture and I are worlds apart) and it’s similarly chaotic to Ventimiglia. But it’s beautiful in many ways. The style and attention to detail of the architecture always impresses, and the scale and grandeur of their piazzas (big squares at intersections surrounded by shops) is unmatched in my experience.
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| Just one of a zillion like it in Milan. By the way: see that arch in the center? The pic below is what's inside the arch. A covered open-air shopping area. Just magnifico. |
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| Even the tiny, insignificant intersections featured an abundance of artistic touches |
And then there’s the food. I can’t speak for the whole city, but I hit up a gourmet deli for a few interesting items. They were pricey, but well worth it, and the items I had were among the most wonderful tasting things I’ve ever eaten. It’s a good thing I wasn’t in town for long, or I would have emerged fat and broke.
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| I have never tasted anything with fresh tomatoes that tasted so fresh and tomatoey. One of these was actually the most delicious thing I put in my mouth the entire time I was in Europe! |
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| Bitter leaves (endives?) wrapped in prosciutto, drizzled in liquid sunshine, I mean olive oil |
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| These were shockingly awesome. Top layer like a crepe, center ricotta and spinach and general yumminess, bottom was a creamy cheese-like layer. Each was the size of the palm of your hand. |
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| Olives on the left, marinated mushroom melange on the right, meat and cheese everywhere . . . this deli went on and on and on and everything looked like it should win a prize of some sort. |
Milan is known as a fashion center. I cruised one of the fashionable main streets and, coming from Newport Beach, was nonplussed, but I still thought it was pretty cool. I was amused to see a pricey Norwegian clothing brand situated there. The sales clerk knew much less Norwegian than I do. Haha. Actually, virtually nobody I ran into in Milan knew (or admitted to knowing) anything other than Italian. That was completely unlike the rest of Europe, at least the parts I’ve seen. Interesting.
Having gone almost a month and a half without a haircut, and unwilling to see what the Hungarians would come up with, I kept my eyes peeled for somewhere to get a good cut. I figured a city known for fashion would be able to help me out. It was the first time I’ve explained what I wanted in a haircut using sign language (and a picture of myself that I found on my phone). It didn’t go particularly well, but at least I now look groomed. Oh, and my receipt looked pretty cool: it said taglia uomo (men’s cut), which sounds rather cool if you ask me.
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| Haircut visible. Mostly. |
Zurich Revisited
I don’t remember if I mentioned before that I noticed several Asians on the train to (and in) Zurich the last time I was there. On the train up from Milan, I saw more again, and it finally occurred to me: what do Switzerland and Hong Kong have in common? Banking. I think I’m onto something . . .
Also on the train up to Zurich, I had heart-wrenching moments time and time again when my camera failed me during many long, perfect moments where I should have captured gorgeous shots of sunsets over lakes (lakes complete with pretty little islands, no less), with all kinds of trees, idyllic farms, quaint churches, and of course Those Mountains. I don’t know what was going wrong, but after about 6 pm, my camera never worked, and it actually gave me a new message (“camera failure”) every time I tried to use it. The following day it worked normally again. Sigh. Here's the best I could come up with before I hit the really good stuff:
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| Of multiple photos, this was the one with the least distinct bags under my eyes. So tired of the train! |
First Class, Hungarian Style
I was so excited that I had booked for myself a first-class cabin on the night train from Zurich to Budapest. The ones I had peeked into on the German train from Amsterdam to Zurich looked positively luxurious, with thick mattresses, tons of space (only 2 beds), great lighting, and other classy touches. Even when I booked the ticket, the guy behind the counter gushed about the bathroom and shower that you get with the room. He must have been thinking of the German train, for, little did I know, Germany and Hungary share few notions of “First Class.” My sheets were frayed, my pillow was lumpier than a lumpy bag of lumps, my mattress was actually harder than the cots in my previous cheapo sleeper car, and there was a general sense of “clean enough” in the cabin. The best part was the train attendant who told me, “Most Important! You must lock your door!”. I was very pleased, however, to have the whole cabin to myself (nobody booked the second bed), It was still well worth it even if just to have some privacy and space. I also got “breakfast” delivered in the morning: two foil-packaged croissants, a tetra-pak of orange drink, and a suitably hot but woefully flavorless cup of coffee.
By the way, if it sounds like I’m complaining, I’m not. All of this has been wonderful to behold, and marvelously enriching. One of the best things about travel is simply seeing how other people do things. It helps me avoid taking things for granted and it inspires me to consider other ways of doing things. I love travel, even the less rosy parts of it.
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| Hungary's Finest |
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| The cabin once the "bed" was flipped up and became seats |
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| Actually pretty cute as far as dining cars go. A whole breakfast on this train cost what a cappucino in Norway cost |
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| Hungarian train station. lol. |
