Finding God in Station Centrale Milano
When I look back at my many memories of traveling from one country to another, there are generally a few common threads that tie all trips together.
There are always memories of fabulous meals. Food, cuisine, gastronomy, whatever you want to call it, has become a focal point for many destinations. We all love to eat or live to eat if that’s where your bread is buttered, and who doesn’t like to brag about taking their friends to some little hole in the wall restaurant way off the beaten track for the Best whatever anyone has ever had?
And, of course, spectacular views that seem to appear out of nowhere as your train takes a long curvy turn around a mountainous track will always be great memories. We take photos, but for me, the magic is in being there. The photos will take you back to that moment and bring up what was going on at that point in your travels, and while they don’t hold the feelings of that moment, they carry the story.
And this brings me to the people who often become the heart of the story.
My first trip to Italy always reminds me of the kindness of strangers. I left my hotel in Milan Italy walking with two suitcases in the direction of what I thought was Station Centrale Train Station in Milan. I was told it was a short walk of fifteen to twenty minutes.
After 30 minutes under the blazing June sun, I finally saw a street sign with a photo of a train. I turned in the appropriate direction and kept walking, growing weary and understanding that something was off.
I reached a big grassy field and saw two young men kicking a soccer ball around while their dog joined in the chase. I shouted out buongiorno and waved my hands. When they got next to me, I said Station Centrale per favore- their smiled dropped as they pointed in the opposite direction saying two kilometers.
I shrugged my shoulders and started walking. In a minute,I heard the beep beep of a car horn and saw the two boys and their dog pull up next to me. They waved me into their slightly battered but oh so welcome blue Fiat, and drove me to the train:) Amo L’Italia
On this same day, finally on the train heading to Santa Margherita, I was informed that I needed to stop at Genoa, because the hotels would not be open for registration at the hour we would arrive. So I got off and the train station in Genoa was so beautiful and spectacular. I was happy to spend the night and walked out of the station and saw beautiful old hotels on every corner.
After my first step, an Italian man pulled in front of me and got out of his taxi. Hotel? He looked at me and reached for my bags. No, no grazie I said as sternly as I could. I see the hottel. He convinced me I wouldn’t get a room without his help and I finally relented. I figured it would be well worth the $5 or $10 to get him out of my face and enjoy a sweet bowl of real Italian pasta and a scoop or three of gelato.
We drove the 30 seconds to the hotel, he ran in, came right out, grabbed my bags, and said”$30 Lira. No good deed, right?
I looked at him like WTF? I said, No. Then I asked him, “ do you have a pistola ? He said no. So I grabbed my bags and ran to the hotel on the other side of the street. I got my key, went up and into my room and pushed the dresser in front of the door. I was shaking for a while and finally fell asleep. In the morning I had a fabulous breakfast with Italian espresso and baguettes, pocketed a few yogurt cups and bananas for the road and got on my train to Santa Margherita. I still laugh when I think of this story. I went to sleep thinking the real Italian mafia would be busting into my room any minute. Of course they didn’t, but I have to tell you, I’m still pretty amazed at myself for grabbing my suitcase and running!
Keep on traveling and love your life