…
The flight to Milan was direct and long. I sat next to a Chinese guy who couldn’t speak English, and surrounded by Italians and Chinese alike. I must have been the only foreigner to both countries aboard the Alitalia flight. During the flight, I witnessed a man suffocate a few rows in front and receive all the medical attention he could get. I watched Shriek the Third (man I love Shriek), and was entertained by the Michael Buble of stewards (both in looks and charisma). I arrived at the Milano Centrale train station late that evening and stayed in the first hotel I found vacancy with.
The next morning I made it to the Politecnico di Milano once again, luggage and all, and collected all the necessary documents and information I needed in order to stay in Italy as a student. I spent the rest of the day exploring the neighbouring streets in search of a bank, cellphone provider, post office, and an internet café.
Now, coming to Italy this time around was probably the least prepared I have ever been for any trip. This was largely because if I could have avoided it, I would have liked to skip the whole idea of going back to school. Especially a design school. I have grown extremely skeptical of design schools over the years and honestly think the entire discipline is being misguided, but that is another topic for another time and another place. In the meantime, I still have a potential job offer in Shanghai on the table, but I’m not counting on it.
Being unprepared has however meant that the only Euros I had were those that I got in exchange for the 83 American dollars I had with me. A whopping 40-some Euros. Anyway, that meant that I needed to find an ATM that accepted Visa or resort to Western Union, because apparently the hostel I planned to stay in only accepted cash. That had me running down the same neighboring streets where I swore I saw a Western Union. It turned out that there was none, but luckily for me, I had just enough money to pay for one night. So, sparing any transportation expenses, I made it to the hostel, luggage and all, with just enough time to pay for the night.
The hostel is in a reconverted building that used to be a hospital, and the surrounding area has a park closed off by a high wall. When I arrived that evening, I walked through an unlit path through the trees with a warm yellow light at the end. Just like walking through an enchanted forest from Zelda, no joke. In front of the entrance stood a man who seemed to be waiting for me that I would later come to know as Gabriele, or Gabo. I spent the rest of the evening talking with him about everything from girls to God. The night ended with an introduction to a woman who I would later call Mimma.
On the 23rd, I spent the whole morning getting my Codice Fiscale (Italian tax code) and meeting an American English teacher in the process. I spent the rest of the day exploring the tourist sites of the center of the city, the Duomo and a castle, only because they were on the way to the post office, batteries and ice cream.
That evening I spent some time with Mimma, a 32 year old Siclian in search of work, Antonio, a 23 year old Sicilian in search of work, and Gabo, a 35 year old from Turino. Each one a real character. Gabo, a bit like Faramir from The Lord of the Rings; Antonio, a living example of dynamic, expressive Italian speakers that stereotypes are derived from; Mimma, the mother of our group, much like the Portuguese girls I had known in elementary.
The 24th was the first day of classes. Introductions, a buffet lunch, and a campus tour. Whether it was because I was back in school, back in design school, or just unprepared, I’m not sure, but I felt the most cynical that I have ever felt that day.
The following day didn’t really lift that feeling from me, but I learned that some of my fellow students had similar sentiments as one of the lectures seemed almost too ideal and out of the realm of traditional design. Even for me.
After class, I accompanied some of my South American classmates to look for an apartment. That evening was Gabo’s last in Milan. An older guy with the enthusiasm and concern for things typical of someone ten years younger.
Friday morning, Antonio was supposed to wake up earlier than all of us, which he did, to go to his newfound work. His only problem was that he went right back to sleep once he stood up. Needless to say, he didn’t go to work that day. It was my third day of school, but also the start of a Milanese holiday. So, that means no school for 10 days. Great…
That evening brought a new face to the hostel. Carlo, an Italian-Canadian actor from Montreal. Nice guy. Carlo, Mimma, Antonio and I all ate pizza and talked until late in the night. From my memory of Italy last year, and my experiences here so far, I think communication will be a much greater issue than in Shanghai. I think the Italians are too proud of their language and their heritage, but I can’t blame them.
Yesterday, I woke up early in the morning to some guy yelling praises to the Lord. Mimma and Antonio laughed when I tried to ask what was happening in my poor Italian. I spent the later morning with Mimma touring the neighbourhood and walking through the streetmarket (remarkably similar to the one I went to in Shanghai). After lunch, we said our goodbyes and she returned to Sicily. I saw another apartment, and then had dinner with the staff in the hostel. Carlo left early the next morning, but before he did he said to me, “Now you’re going to have to make it on your own, as you always have”. I wasn’t completely sure what to say to that, but I think somehow he knew the road I am taking.
