Day 6

May 30

I had my watch set to go off at 4:45 or so, as we had to exit the train around 5:30. The conductor brought us coffee (it was no cafe crème) and an orange flavored croissant that was pretty good for coming out of a plastic bag. The train dropped us in Milan, Italy. After wandering the train station in search of a taxi, we found one at last. He took us to our hotel, which was ten times nicer than the one in Paris. The catch? Check in time is 2:30pm. Current time? around 6:00am. We were informed that we could wait in the lobby or "do as we please". We found a couch in the empty lobby and waited. And waited. We looked at every person who came out of the elevator and crossed the marble floor in front of us for luggage, praying someone would check out early. Around 8:30 a member of the hotel faculty gave us a room key and number. After the elevator climbed the four floors to our room, we hit the beds like a sack of rocks.

After an amount of sleep we deemed appropriate for the remedy our weary minds and bodies, we went downstairs for some advice from the overly chipper concierge. As well as being in what seemed to be a perpetually good mood, he was also very helpful and not the least bit frightening, unlike one or two Parisians we had happened across. The main goal of our two day one night stay in Milan was to visit Da Vinci's Last Supper. The reservations to see it have to be made in advance, and it was believed that we had done so. But apparently something was lost in translation and the reservations had been lost. Luckily, all hope was not (lost, that is), as our blissful concierge arranged for us to take a bus tour around the city, one of the stops on that tour being Da Vinci's Last Supper. He made our new reservations with one swift telephone call, and all was well once again.

Now, as the foremost objective was neatly arranged and confirmed, we hit the town. Or, actually, we hit the street about two blocks away from our hotel. There I puzzled over the fresh map, in search of the nearest Metro. Not long after we had stopped at this crossroad, an older man stopped to see if we needed help. As we so obviously did, he began pointing at the map and jabbering in Italian. I picked up a few of the words and managed to speak a few myself and after a few minutes of chatter, neither of us understanding the other’s words but less than half the time, we were on our way, newly revitalized by the thought of knowing where we were going.

On the way to the metro, we passed by the most adorable bakery, the window filled with cream puffs, chocolate tarts, meringue droplets and tiny cherry pies. I resolved to come back and buy a bag of sweets for the train.

The metro took us to the duomo, or church around which a city is built, and walked, shopped, ate, and had a generally pleasant afternoon. I had a chicken and tomato sandwich and a peach ice tea at an outside restaurant. Two gelatos (one tiramisu, the other yogurt chocolate), an hour or so of window shopping, and a metro ride later, we were back at the magnificent hotel, tired as ever. Another day down!