Gerli woke me up at some ungodly hour because she wanted to go back to the local market to buy the same mohair sweaters she had looked at on Saturday and then decided not to buy. Naturally, today she still didn’t buy them, because apparently THAT seller wasn’t there. The other entrepreneur who had turned up instead was selling exactly the same sweaters for twice the price, which was obviously unacceptable on principle.
So we went back to the apartment, woke Saskia up, packed everything and dragged our travelling circus back towards the car park. This was the moment when we discovered that our MG3 had not really been designed with three women and several days of shopping in mind. The boot was already experiencing emotional distress before half the luggage had gone in. Somehow, with enough pushing, rearranging and much optimism, we managed to squeeze everything inside and then went off to find breakfast.
Saskia ordered an English breakfast large enough to solve a minor humanitarian crisis in Rwanda, although her fruit bowl was absolutely excellent. My eggs appeared to have been manufactured from leftover plastic somewhere in a Temu factory, and Gerli was slightly offended that the amount of avocado on her avocado toast had clearly been reduced to make room for beetroot hummus. Apart from two dogs getting into an argument nearby, breakfast passed without major incident. The most surprising part came when the bill arrived and there was no cover charge. In Italy we had become so used to paying roughly €2–€3.50 per person for the privilege of sitting at a table and using actual plates that this almost felt suspiciously generous.
Then we started driving towards Milan. I messaged our host to say that we expected to arrive sometime between three and four. He replied that this was perfect and that he would be waiting for us at four. I clarified that we would actually arrive between three and four. While we were already discussing practical matters, I also asked whether we could have a separate duvet or top sheet for each person. This turned into a surprisingly complicated issue. Apparently a double bed comes with one set of bedding because, well, it is a double bed. If we wanted an additional sheet, that would cost €30. We decided that for €30 we could probably survive sharing the existing textile arrangement.
We reached Milan, parked the car and went for a walk around the city. After some shopping, the plan was to sit down for a while at the largest Starbucks in Europe. Unfortunately, every tourist in Milan had apparently received exactly the same memo. So we chose another Starbucks nearby. This one was basically a counter with two bar stools. No proper seating. Not even a toilet. Barista very helpfully directed customers to the toilet on the 4th floor of nearby Primark. Barely even a Starbucks in the philosophical sense. Still, we got our drinks and started walking towards the apartment.
On the way, we stopped at the car park and collected part of our luggage. At 14:58 we were standing outside the gate of the apartment, which, to be fair, turned out to be very cool. It is spread over two floors and immediately made us feel slightly better about carrying half our belongings through Milan like refugees from a particularly stylish department store.
For dinner, we decided ordering food would be a better idea than going out again. For Gerli and me, the choice was easy because I had spotted a lobster-roll place earlier, so we ordered some rolls and sweet potato fries from there. Saskia wanted a burger, which is where dinner became more challenging. Eventually we found a place offering burgers with gluten-free buns and placed the order. Estimated delivery time: 25–45 minutes. So far, so normal. About 30 minutes later, the courier reached the restaurant. The burger was not ready. Fifty minutes after ordering, the courier finally was able to collect the food, and the app announced that he was four minutes away. I immediately headed downstairs because there is actually a bit of a walk from our apartment to the gate. I reached the gate. The app still said four minutes. The courier did not move. Then he moved in the wrong direction. Five minutes. Then he stopped. Four minutes. By this point, those four minutes had lasted about fifteen minutes, which was becoming an impressive demonstration of how flexible time can be in Italy. I contacted customer service. They checked with the courier and informed me that he had got stuck in Milan Fashion Week traffic. Of course he had. But he promised to arrive within ten minutes. Eventually, one hour and twenty-five minutes after we had placed the order, we received one cold burger and a portion of fries that had once, in a more optimistic phase of their lives, been warm.
For the cultural highlight of the day, we had selected Milan Dome, the Starbucks next to it - partly to compensate for our earlier rather underwhelming Starbucks experience - and the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II right beside it. A very solid plan.
Unfortunately, all three were effectively closed to normal humans because Milan Fashion Week had taken over the area and access was reserved for the chosen ones.
So much for culture. We went back to Uniqlo instead, stopped at a supermarket, and returned to the apartment.
Kommentaare ei ole:
Postita kommentaar