Another transit day ... to be honest, dear reader, I have just spent the last half an hour trying to work out why my keyboard kept typing 'TO' when I hit shift 'a'. As always a restart solved the problem, but in my dotage, I can't remember how I was going to begin this post. Except it began with 'A'.
Also, I have no photos specific to this day, so I have substituted some unpublished photos of lakeside towns.
Alora, we did the usual things, packed and tried to eat the left over food so we didn't have to transport things to Milan. We vacated at the appointed time and I returned the keys to the Varenna Holidays office and suggested a couple of things that might be attended to before the next guests arrived. They made notes. Whatever.
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| First light. San Giorgio in Varenna piazza. |
It was still an hour before our train to Milan, so we thought we would burn 5 minutes having an overpriced tourist caffé. It was better than the last espresso we had there. A minor win. With an hour to go before the train, we gathered our luggage and commenced the very brief walk to the station.
Platform 2, from where our train was leaving, was packed with people and luggage. In part because, although there are two platforms, it seems the trains all arrive at and leave from the same platform, regardless of direction.
As we were deciding whether to stay on our side for a while, the train from Milan to Torino arrived. Best use the lift down to the tunnel now, we thought. Once in the tunnel the passengers had commenced flooding down the opposite stairs and occupied the full width of the tunnel. There was no going forward. We shrugged our shoulders, leant against the wall and waited. How long could it take to clear the crowd and we had plenty of time to waste?
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| The last flowering azaleas at Villa Melzi, Bellagio. |
The answer to my previous question was an astounding 10 minutes. So many people. It was a spectator sport, watching people walk towards us and needing to make a decision left or right. In the end, it mattered not, you were delivered to Platform 1. The indecision was delicious and the absolute inability of some to choose was captivating. How do they decide what to wear in the morning?
As the last of the day trippers trickled past, we made our way to the platform. And yes, dear reader, that brings us to today's title, Day Tripper by The Beatles from 1966.
The crowd had only thinned slightly because people were waiting for the Milan train. We moved down towards what would be the back of the train. Jayne scored a seat on the bench next to an Australian from Torquay. The Milano Centrale train arrived (late) and the magically we were left almost alone. The lady from Torquay was replaced by one from Brisbane. Interestingly, we have heard few Australian accents in comparison with other other countries. The English and Americans dominate the tourist numbers.
A Facetime call from home managed to occupy the last of the waiting time, extended because the 11:35am to Milano Centrale also arrived late. As I was heading to board the train, two American women asked me in broken Italian/English where the train was headed. I replied in Italian. How hard was it to say Milano Centrale? One said thank you, the other grazie, to which I replied, prego. I was vastly amused. Yesterday, I was asked for directions to the stazione by a couple of Spanish people. I must be assimilating with my 6 words of Italian.
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| The church at Vezio. It too was closed. |
It was only 4 stops to Milan and we secured a good spot for the bags so it was a relaxing journey. Once disembarked, we located the Freccia desk to inquire, once again, about the published national train strike that is scheduled for October 2, the day we are supposed to be transiting from Milan to Bologna. Once again, our inquiry was met with a puzzled/surprised face. The Freccia lady quickly consulted with her colleague after we explained what we knew via the National Infrastructure Site (clearly we are the only ones who ever look at it). We were assured that any action would only affect regional trains, not the high speed ones so there would be no issue for us,. Come Friday. I guess we will see.
Then, after having been to Milan Central 3 previous times, we finally set foot outside the train station and sailed off to find a luggage store to buy a replacement for my battered, dying suitcase. After a 10 minute walk, once we mastered Google maps, I was in possession of a new bag; not the one I wanted, but it is a Samsonite. Then it was straight down the same street, back past the station to our apartment hotel, Torre Galfa Milano Luxury Apartments.
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| An infinity fountain, Villa Monastero. |
Reception is underground, sort of. From the street level, you descend to an atrium and reception. Carlo welcomed us, completed the required paperwork and hit us up for the tourist tax. It's a thing over here so I don't understand why the Murdoch media carry on a treat when such a tax is proposed in Australia.
Our apartment wasn't ready so we were directed to a restaurant around the corner. It turned out to be around the corner and well down the street. Il Tavolino was emptying of lunch time diners as we arrived. They were most welcoming and we were soon seated enjoying the coperto before our beers and bruschettone arrived.
Three o'clock check-in arrived and we returned to the hotel. The apartment is probably a comparable size to home if we drop the second bedroom. It is spacious and from the 14th floor there is an expansive view of parts of Milano and floor to ceiling windows. There is a kitchen with most things you would require except a sharp knife and chopping board. And until housekeeping remedy the situation, wineglasses.
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| Rose, Villa Monastero. |
While I'll miss the balcony overlooking Lake Como and the chaos of the ferry terminal, I won't miss the tourist prices down there. We have an Aldi across the road where decent wine can be purchased for less than €2. If you wanted to go big you could pay €5. Our afternoon excursion was to Aldi to stock up on things for dinner and happy hour - sometimes one is the same as the other.
As the sun stained the clouds pink and the strobe lights on the high rise made their presence felt, we enjoyed a light dinner of ciabatta, tomato, cheese and a selection of cold meats. Perhaps there was also wine. OK, there was wine. I'm not going to bang on about the freshness of food or how much tastier and sweeter tomatoes are, take it as read. I don't know what we do to our produce in Australia, but by comparison with most countries I have visited in Europe, our food is bland.
And another transit day was negotiated with relative ease. Tomorrow, The Last Supper. Da Vinci's not mine. And we are meeting a Greeter. More on that later.
Alla prossima.
