I tried to sleep on the train, but once I got to Torino, I needed to change trains to continue my journey to the town of Bardonecchia, on the French boarder. On that train, I sat in front of a really positive 30 year old Frenchman, and we shared stories of our adventures along the way. He had won a scholarship to play soccer on a US team when he was in college, was on the French news when Hurricane Katrina hit, and then worked in Shenzhen, China for a year and a half. He said he had ambitions to start his own import-export company with China (a fairly common idea I’ve come across when talking to people who have lived in China for a while), but now, thanks to a year old marriage and his wife’s pregnancy, he has chosen to become what Ezio Manzini referred to as a “downshifter”: working in a sports shop and taking his time to enjoy “the little things in life”. Near the end of our travels together, he told me to “just keep moving forward”. Another point taken.
When I finally arrived in Bardonecchia, what I had hoped for came true. Standing in front of the lift-pass office was a fellow Canadian waiting for it to open (almost everything everywhere in Italy closes for at least an hour and half for lunch). We chatted there for a bit and then took a short stroll down the street to get a coffee. He was a fairly stereotypical guy originally from Newfoundland, now living in Idaho, who had somehow got a three month university contract in Torino to teach International Business, even though his background was in Marketing. He told me a lot about differences between Canada and the US, his academic interests and his love for cars (he had just gotten back from the Geneva Auto Show, which is ironically where I planned to go after Bardonecchia). Oddly enough though, I felt this encounter had shown me both the good and bad side of living so long in North America. The world outside is so different.
The two of us arrived at the bottom of the slopes by shuttle bus just after three in the afternoon, which gave us just two hours to ski (since almost everyone everywhere in Italy goes home when you least expect them to). I hesitated, but ended up renting some equipment and went for my three runs down the mountain. It ended up being well worth in though. On my second ride up the mountain, I got talking to two local employees who helped me find a place to stay that night, since I decided two hours of mountain time was not enough.
At five, I met one of the employees, Daniele, who had promised to drive me to the local bed and breakfast. Along the way, he invited me out with his friend for pizza. How could I say no? The three of us and Daniele’s dog climbed up a snow covered mountain path to see his cottage (a relic of the second world war) and later were treated by him in a really nice local restaurant. The whole time, I kept up in Italian conversation and felt so fortunate to have met such hospital Italians. Daniele’s friend gave me a jar of honey for my trip. Oh man!
The next day, I woke up to a fairly typical Italian breakfast and sense of hospitality from the bed and breakfast’s host Franca. I asked her if I could leave my luggage in my room while I went to go ski, and also if she could look up the times when I could take a train to Geneva later that evening, and her response, as so often was, was “Come vuoi” (As you want). I passed through Les Arnault (the village just outside Bardonecchia) on my way to the ski lifts, and in no time was back on the slopes.
The day passed by rather quickly, despite the fact that I took many breaks to eat and rest. By the end of my runs, I had completed nearly half the runs on one side of the resort. I finished my time there indulging in a little pie, and consequentially meeting Daniele once again. He had been apparently working in the machine shop the entire day, which would explain why I didn’t see him until then. He drove me back to the bed and breakfast around 5:30pm.
When I got there, Franca told me that there was no train that evening that would get me to Geneva, but I wasn’t convinced, so together the two of us went into town trying to find other options. I didn’t want to miss going to Geneva or the auto show, which was to end the next day. It turned out that my best option was to wait for the next morning and take a train into France to get to Geneva in the afternoon, giving me more or less 2 hours at the auto show. Not ideal, but better than nothing.
So, instead of getting ready to travel that evening, I spent it chatting and eating in the bed and breakfast, and later with Daniele, his wife and some of their friends in a pizzeria on top of a mountain. It was a good time, and I once again impressed myself with how well I could keep up in Italian. Who knew?
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On Sunday, I caught the morning train bound for Chambery, France. Because I had originally thought I could somehow cut across the Italian Alps into Switzerland, I didn’t plan on spending any extra money on train tickets from Bardonecchia onwards, since I had bought a EuroRail ticket for a trip that didn’t include France. Now that I was passing through France (like everything else in Europe) I had to pay an arm and a leg for it. Once I made it to Chambery, I needed to change trains, and with the quick help of a pair of Lithuanian girls, I managed to buy a ticket for Geneva and board the train just as the last train controller was finishing his last platform check. Talk about timing.
By noon, I made it to Amberieu, where I had to change trains again, but had an hour and a half to do it, so I went exploring. Being a Sunday, I ended up at a church where I took pictures of people and their lent leaves (or whatever they’re called). It took a while for 1:30 to arrive, but when it did, I was finally off to Geneva.
When I got to the main train station in the Geneva, something immediately felt different. I thought maybe it was the buildings, but I wasn’t exactly sure. Arriving in a different country of course meant passing through a kind of quick customs inspection. Luckily, no x-rays or long lines though. With the help of a friendly staff person, I found the right train to make it to the Geneva Palexpo, site of the Geneva Auto Show. I didn’t know how to get my ticket, but since I thought I only had two hours to see the show, the last thing I wanted to do was spend more time on something as trivial as that. So, I took a chance. After talking with some train service people, I managed to get on board the eating car free of charge. In light of the quasi-confusing state that I was in, I was introduced to a big black guy who I assume was the head of that car. It turns out that he was a French-Canadian who had lived in Switzerland for ten years, Africa for two and finally decided to call Geneva his second home. He said he was also heading to the Palexpo that day, so we went there together. We got along instantly, and despite having little interest in cars and having never been to the Auto Show, he said he would come by later on. It was pretty cool. Another Canadian, just like that.
The show was pretty much as big as I imagined, with content dwarfed by extravagance. Most makes, from Rolls-Royce to Pinifarina, and Tata (from India) to Brilliance (from China) were there. And of course, being consistent with the theme of sustainability that has been tooted around the industry for the past 10 years or so, the alternatives (from Smart to the no-name electrics) were there as well. Oddly enough though, my fascination about the show wasn’t so much in the cars as in the display booths. Perhaps this was an influence from my masters course, but I really did find them fascinating. BMW had a two floor showcase and a VIP bar and lounge. Smart had their entire booth on a slant. Maybach and Rolls-Royce had hidden display areas. Fiat had a huge Cinquecento shaped room. Audi and VW played with lines on the floor and the ceiling. And Mini had a DJ booth. It was a pretty crazy competition for attention. The big black guy joined me after some time, and we made our run through the show together.
He said he wanted show me around the city and have dinner with his family afterwards, but after news of private matters, I was left on my own. He did recommend I visit an area near the railway station though, where I could try some “real” poulet. So, I made my way there, but ended up looking for one of the two hostels I had researched online, getting “the last bed in Geneva”, eating McDonald’s with one of two Chinese academic researchers there for an international conference on meteorology, and walking through the red light district (which wasn’t as impressive or as scary as I imagined it might be).
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The next morning, I woke up as early as I could to catch the first train to Basel, Switzerland, and subsequentially, the trains from Basel to Frankfurt, Frankfurt to Dortmund, and Dortmund to Muenster. Total time in transit, including waiting: almost 11 hours. Not quite Shanghai to Chengdu, and nothing like the Maglev to the Pudong International Airport, but it gave me time to think and sleep.
Once I got to Muenster, although it wasn’t raining like in Geneva, it was cold. I exited the train station from the back, where I was welcomed by a thousand parked bicycles. This was definitely the other western Europe I had hoped to see since I started researching sustainable mobility. I was picked up by one of my aunts and made it to her apartment in time for dinner.
From Tuesday, March 18th to Thursday, March 20th, I spent time with my aunt, and one of my cousins and his family. It had been many years since I had last seen both of them in Germany, but it was good to get reacquainted. It was my first time meeting my nephews. Loud and demanding, they weren’t too far off from my better-halves in Milan. Good practice for the future is the way I look at it now though. We said our goodbyes that Thursday, and by four o’clock, I was on my first train bound for the Netherlands.
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I had to change trains twice to get to Delft (a small university town near The Haag), and once I got there the rain that had begun earlier that trip, accompanied by the cold that had been following me since Bardonecchia really brought me back to winter in Edmonton. It was late evening by that time, and the ground was soaking, the grass like moss and the wind like that I’d imagine on the high seas. And on top of that, finding my Indonesian friend’s door to her student residence (the girl who had moved to the Netherlands for an alternate masters program) was like walking through a maze in the dark. It was a terrible entrance into yet another country. That night, I had dinner with my friend, her roommate, and another one of their friends- all Indonesian. Forgetting that I was in someone else’s home, I started to ask questions (that addressed my immediate personal needs one would normally assume would have already been taken care of (like bringing toothpaste, a razor, of which I had forgotten back in Milan)). That sort of set the tone of that portion of my journey with my new temporary roommates, on par with the weather.
On Good Friday, three of us traveled together to Amsterdam to meet some fellow classmates from the masters program in Milan and another friend from Italy. Together, the six of us went site-seeing, visiting churches, museums, and of course, the red light district (not so impressive either, but better than Geneva). Late in the evening, I finally decided to look for a place to sleep. I originally had hoped to stay in my friend’s place the entire time that I was in the Netherlands, but because I planned this trip largely based on assumptions (remember what I said about assumptions!?!), I wasn’t prepared for this (not to mention the order in which I planned this trip, touring the Netherlands during the Easter weekend instead of spending that time with my family in Muenster). But, that’s how it goes.
After finding no vacancy in all the hostels on one of the main tourist streets, I sat in an Irish pub, thinking to just pass the night there. It didn’t take me long to just get up and look for another place to stay. With little effort, I ended up finding what I think was a one star hotel, and stayed there for twenty euros. My room was in the shape of a triangle, on the top floor of the building with questionable security, pretty dirty conditions, and a bed next to a guy from Somalia who didn’t really speak English and snored really loudly. It was a different kind of night, but I was happy to have what I’m sure was “the last bed in Amsterdam”.
The next morning, I woke up to an emergency call from my Indonesian friend who had said that one of our other friends had lost her luggage in the train station. When I got there, the luggage situation had apparently already been worked out, but we could only get the luggage later that afternoon. So, we each went our own way touring the city until we met there once again. We had a kind of Easter lunch celebration in an Argentinean restaurant, and then returned to Delft. In the evening, I got to witness my first Dutch Easter mass. The Dutch language as far as I’ve come to understand, although uses some German words and similar expressions, is nothing at all like it. On the way back to my friend’s place, I felt like I was somehow “in the wrong”, so I started to apologize for my difficulty, thinking once again it was based on culture. As it turns out, the problem had more to do with my lack of focus, conciseness and hesitation when I speak. In other words, the “test” of my Anyway blog. I guess I did fail after all.
The next day was relatively slow and easy. In the morning, I had a great conversation with the classmate who had almost lost her luggage about life and relationships. I can’t summarize it here, but the main message was pretty much what my philosophy professor gymmate at the university used to say to me every time we would finish our conversations: “Keep smiling Tim”. I’ll never forget that.
I toured the main square of Delft with the same classmate and then caught a train to Rotterdam where I ended up in a nice “theme room” hostel, prepared myself for another day of site-seeing, and took in a bit of the night life. I returned to the hostel around two in the morning to find a guy from Spain in my bed. Apparently, he and five of his fellow Spaniards had occupied that half of the room. It took a bit of time to finally come to an agreement as to where I would be sleeping that night, and bit longer until all the commotion stopped and I could finally sleep.
The next morning, I took my time to decide what it was that I wanted to do that day, but once I remembered that I still had to write a summary report for my work, I knew it couldn’t be much. So, I spent the rest of the morning and the early afternoon touring the riverside near the hostel and eating lunch at the Hotel New York (the site from which many of the first Europeans left from to immigrate to America). Rotterdam today reminds me of Shanghai - a port city with a lot of new architecture screaming “look at me”. The rest of the day was spent largely on the computer in the hostel lounge area. Just before I left, I was bombarded with concerns and questions about learning Italian by an Australian guy who assumed I was Italian. That was really unexpected. When I finally returned to my friend’s apartment in Delft, the two of us and her roommate ate KFC and engaged in a discussion about the NHL (don’t ask).
The next day, I got up at eight to finally go to TU Delft – one of Europe’s most reputable technical universities and the main reason I wanted to come to the Netherlands in the first place. It had been raining since I came to the Netherlands, but this was the first day that there was snow on the ground. I toured the Industrial Design Engineering faculty on my own and talked to the International Students Advisor. If I wasn’t supposed to be in an MBA program, then this is where is should have been. TU Delft also has the same masters program as Milan, but in opinion, of a much higher level.
Feeling a bit disappointed with my decision to study in Milan, apart from the many other bad decisions I had made on my journey, I walked to the bus stop ready to leave. It was there that I met a Greek girl who couldn’t stop smiling. It was so strange to meet her then. Not saying much, apart from answering whatever questions she asked of me, I was taken by surprise by a seemingly innocent statement, “Wow, you are lucky to see snow in the Netherlands”. I smiled and the bus arrived soon after that.
I boarded a train bound for Eindhoven about half an hour later and arrived in the central Netherlands city an hour and a half after that. There I met another student from the Netherlands that I had originally met through the publishing of “The Possibility of Shanghai”. He took me on a short tour of his university and later shared our stories of academia, business and China in the city center. It was great to finally meet him. In the evening, I made it to my last hostel of this trip.
The next day, I got up as early as I could, did a bit of work on the computer, had my breakfast, and started the last leg of my Easter journey. After missing a bus, getting on the wrong train and getting caught between a closing door, I was on my way to Aachen, Germany to look at one last university before taking the night train back to Milan.
Aachen, as I discovered, is not just a “university town”, it IS a university. While there is a sort of a central campus and main building, the various departments and their respective buildings are all over the city. Finding out where the design department was, was a challenge in itself, but I made it there an hour before closing time and had whatever questions I had answered. Another road not taken, but in this case, I think it’s better I didn’t. I left Aachen that evening on the night train.
When I arrived in Milan the next morning, it was Thursday and I was a day late for our class’ new workshop, but on-time for a new semester of Italian classes (I jumped one level. Woo-hoo!). Returning to the apartment was like seeing, to use the earlier metaphor, the remains of a volcanic eruption.
Fortunately, the last weekend of March saw a lot of restocking and renewing for Spring. The park in Affori had a display of hand-made children games and a horse riding event. The weather was warm, and the normally quiet town atmosphere had changed into that of a street market and fair. It was nice way to welcome the season. In the evening, I made dinner for my roommates and a friend.
Thanks to one of my Lativan roommates, and an evening of alcohol and “ambience” music last Wednesday, a fragile peace has since been established between my Chilean roommate and I. I hope it lasts. On the Thursday, our other Latvian roommate came back from her trip to Latvia, and we all spent the day cleaning the apartment from top to bottom. What an effort and way to reconnect.
The past week was also a lot of organizing for work (I’m now officially in the “just get those sketches done” phase. My Chilean roommate has offered to help me with concept development, as he wants me to become a “real designer” among other things.), school (This new workshop has proved to be a bit of let down despite the high-caliber firm we are supposed to be doing work for. Eg. Last Friday’s class ended with a false promise that the company would be giving a short presentation, and was instead some guy selling yoga classes. Yeah, I know. On the plus side, my group seems to be working well together despite the abstract criteria we’ve been given on which to base our work. I feel like I’m learning a lot from them, once again. This time the lessons are mostly in effective communication and proactivity.), and my next trip: Paris.
