-         I will miss post dinner caffe
-         Culturally accurate stereotypes are awesome, e.g. Italians saying ‘Mamma mia!’ and French guys wearing berets
-         I saw the same number of squat toilets in Italy as I did in India
-         Ranking of international company cafeterias (in a couple of years maybe I add the company building a nuclear power plant in China?):
1. Ringhals
2. Saipem
-         After sitting in the side by side, row by row desks, I will not complain about cubicle farms ever again
-         It takes more than a month to get used to European keyboards
-         Belgium should be famous for things other than child abuse and chocolate
-         Jet lag sucks
-         I’ve been home for seven days and have frozen my balls off each of those days.

Well, Poon on the Road shuts down until the next time.  And I promise, there will be a next time.

Before the re-emergence of what I’m told is a typical Milan winter, I went out to Como, a town in the mountains about an hour away from Milan.  I’m told it’s a favorite summer destination for the people of Milan looking to escape the heat.  It’s a pretty little town, although it would be nicer if the trees weren’t all dead.

Como is also the birthplace of Alessandro Volta.  Nerd me rejoices.  As the more astute of you may have guessed, the electrical unit ‘volt’ is named after him.  I swear I did not know the historical significance to electrical engineering this town held before I started planning the trip, but once I found out, I had to go pay my respects at his temple.

Volta...not Mars, Alessandro

The nerdiness continued on Sunday when I went to the da Vinci Museum of Science.  It was pretty cool, but standard museum fare, so there’s really no need to go into detail.  Except laughing at these old cell phones.

Motorola StarTac!

One more week.

Random bits and pieces, continued:

-         one of the engineers here asked me who my project lead is in Calgary.  After I told him, a look that can only be described as saying ‘You poor bastard’ – in English – was given to me.  I decided to explore this reaction.  He told me he had never seen my lead smile.  I countered that I saw him smile.  Once.  My lead also kinda looks like Anthony Hopkins in ‘The Silence of the Lambs’, so I don’t know if that’s a good smile or not.

-         I accidently sat in first class on the train ride back from Como and was politely asked to move to second class.  I sat in a seat that was exactly the same as the one I exited, so I don’t know what the difference between the two classes are.

-         Two words that are written the same way in English as they are in Italian, but mean completely different things: camera and piano.

So I showed him my passport and he asked me if I had been smoking up.  I told him I hadn’t and he asked me to empty my pockets and hand him my passport.  As I passed my money clip and passport, I realized I hadn’t taken a very close look at the badge and this could turn the wrong way at any second.

And then he smelled my passport.

Is that how the police in Italy test if someone has been tokin’ the herb?  Don’t talk to me or take a look at my eyes, no, smell my passport and money clip.

Then he did a really crappy search of my bag and asked if I had any Canadian money.  Was this slang for B.C. bud I had never heard before?  In any case, the answer was no, I got all my stuff back, I checked my bag to make sure he wasn’t trying to do me dirty by planting something there, and I continued on my way into Milan.

I can understand how the Mafia became all powerful if that’s the competency level of the police.

Random bits and pieces

-         Today was the first day I took notice of the nutritional information at the workplace canteen.  I’ve probably been downing at least a thousand calories for lunch and an equal amount for dinner over the past two weeks, along with assorted chocolate and pastries.  Uh-oh.

-         To celebrate this knowledge, I had a pizza that was more cheese than crust for dinner.

-         When you don’t speak the local language, all you ever catch in a conversation are words you know.  Some of my colleagues were talking about movies the other day, and I knew that because I heard ‘Borat’ and ‘Bruno’ and ‘film’.  And they were talking about the attractive, if someone older, ladies behind us at the canteen because I heard the word ‘MILF’.

-         Following that train of thought, Milan is rife with MILFs.

-         I saw some models while shopping in Milan today.  I knew they were models because they were tall, thin and looked like bitches.

-         French accents are hot.

First, though, I went to check out the street market on Viale Papiniano.  It’s pretty much what you’d expect – one section for fresh fruit, vegetables and fish, and one for clothes and assorted crap.  I did spy an awesome pair of yellow Puma, but they were a half size too large.

And guys, remember, nothing says ‘You’re my special lady’ like slutty lingerie bought off the street.

that's sexy

After that, I wandered up the streets until I got to the Duomo di Milano.

nice

It is a breathtaking building from the outside, totally dominating the square where it sits.  It looks like something out of a postcard.  But that’s nothing compared to stepping inside.  It is truly awe inspiring, with stained glass windows filtering in the light and the cavernous space soaring above your head.  Paintings hang along the aisles.  Building of the church started over 500 years ago, and it’s incredible to think what was done without modern machinery.

One of the more intriguing areas was the Golden Quadrilateral.  It’s intriguing because I find it hard to believe people will spend that much money on clothes.  Prada, D&G, Armani, Gucci, Zegna, Tiffany & Co., Hermes – all those big name, big price labels have a store in these few blocks and it’s crazy how much the clothes is.  I didn’t even bother going into a store because, let’s face it, what’s the point of browsing when there’s no way you’re going to buy anything?

how many bags have been sold because of those words?

All and all, it was quite a good weekend.  I walked kilometers, but that just gave me an excuse to eat amazing meals.  That’s a pretty fair trade.

And some of the more perceptive of you may have noticed the jump in the Mamma Mia Meter.  It was a good weekend for that.

I’m not an art lover.  I don’t ‘get’ art.  I just know what I think looks good and what I think looks like ass.  That being said, I’m in the same city as da Vinci’s masterpiece, made even more famous by that steaming pile of book ‘The da Vinci Code’, so why would I not go see it?

Pro-tip: it’s best to book a ticket in advance.  Well in advance.  If you try to walk up and buy one, you’ll probably be out of luck.

Walking into the refectory is an interesting experience.  To preserve the condition of ‘The Last Supper’ air temperature and humidity is strictly controlled.  Entering the refectory requires walking up to a closed set of glass doors, waiting for them to open and walking into a small room and up to another set of closed doors.  The doors you just passed through close, the set in front of you open, and you get to do it one more time before actually stepping into the refectory.

It is incredible that something painted over 500 years ago still exists in the condition that it’s in.  Yes, a lot of detail has been lost and the colours are not as bright as they once were, but can you think of something created in this decade that will still be around in half a millennia?  Yeah, neither could I.

All in all, it was something to be in that kind of history.  Also, there was a smaller plaster version for the visually impaired to touch, so they could get an idea of what the painting looked like.  I thought that was kinda cool.

Checked off the list.

I went out to dinner three of the Italians in the training course with me, to a restaurant I went to when I first got into town.  That first time I ordered from the part of the menu I could read, i.e. the section with English.  This time, however, I ordered with help from one of the Italians from the front section, which was only in Italian.  And damn if the food wasn’t a hundred times better.  But the kicker?  The Italians declared the food ‘satisfactory’.  That means there’s better out there.  I’m so screwed.

Oh yeah, I’ve spent $180 on food in the five days I’ve been here.  I think I’m going to get in trouble when I submit my expense report.

Other bits and pieces…I wore a short sleeved shirt out to dinner last night, and when I took of my jacket the Italians just started laughing.  It’s apparently ‘very cold’ right now.  It’s not.  In the same vein, the following announcement was made on my flight to Brussels: ‘The weather is quite nice in Bruxelles, but it is very cold’.

I waited, since I know my definition of very cold and the European definition of very cold is vastly different.

‘It will be minus 3 when we land.’

I started laughing out loud, I couldn’t help it.  While in Brussels, I went out to a bar that wasn’t very busy.  Bianca’s sister commented that it may be because it was so cold.  Before I could say anything, one of the Russians said, ‘It’s not cold’ and I finally stopped feeling like I came from the North fucking Pole.

Four or five different people have stopped me and asked me…something.  I, of course, have no clue what they’re saying and always reply with ‘Non parlo Italiano’.  Today on the way home from work, I got stopped by two tourists.  From China.  How awesome would it have been if I busted out some Mandarin and managed to tell them how to get to the hotel?  Alas, I was forced to listen to their broken English, but I managed to get them where they needed to go.

typical winter day in milan

One of the fantastic things about Europe is the fact you can get to so many places for cheap.  My flight to Brussels ran about $110 CAD, and it was only that ‘expensive’ because I booked relatively late – only two weeks before I went.  If I had booked for next weekend (the first weekend of February), it would have been about $30 CAD.

The airline offering this low fare was Ryanair, and after boarding the plane at Milano Bergamo and deplaning an hour and a half later at Brussels Charleroi, I finally came up with a way to describe the airline – Ryanair is to airlines as informercials are to TV.  They’re cheesy, you’re not sure if it’s a hundred percent legit, and they’re really trying to sell you something.

The first thing to know about Ryanair is that there is no assigned seating.  You line up at the boarding gate, go to the plane, and take any available seat.  You’re also only allowed to take one carry on bag.  As we boarded, classical music played over the plane’s speakers.  I don’t know if it was supposed to keep people calm or add a touch of class to a discount airline, but all it succeeded in doing was make me scratch my head.

During the flight, there was the option to buy something to drink or eat.  There was also the option to buy phone cards or lottery tickets.  Yeah.

It wasn’t a full flight, so I had the entire row myself, making the hour and a half ride quite tolerable.  And for all the things I found strange about Ryanair, up to and including the feeling that the flight attendants were the farm team for a real airline, it was cheap, efficient and got you where you were going.

And why was I going to Brussels?  Bianca, a friend I made while working in Sweden is from Belgium and offered to show me around.  I don’t know about you, but Belgium isn’t one of those countries I would go to unless I had a reason (I told this to my friend and she wasn’t happy, especially when I said the same thing about Sweden, where she lived for several years.  I pretty much insulted all the countries she’s lived in.  That’s how I do).  But with the offer made, there was no way I could turn the chance to catch up with a friend and see a country not many people journey to.

I did a little bit of site seeing: I saw the King’s Palace and learned Belgium had a King.  I also learned that he’s a little stressed right now because Belgium doesn’t have a ruling government party.  That’s right, no laws are being made, no budgets are being passed.  So if you want to take over a European nation…

Brussels was a lot like most European cities: lots of beautiful old buildings and narrow and bustling streets.  One of the famous landmarks is a statue of a peeing boy.  I don’t know the significance and neither did Bianca.  Some Wikipedia research will need to be done.  There are also waffle shops.

Hell, yeah.

After getting a Verhaeghe beer from a cool bar named Delerium, which was super busy for six o’clock , we met up with Bianca’s sister and one of her friends who was visiting from Moscow with another Russian in tow for dinner.  After eating, we hopped to a couple of different places for drinks, including one lounge called ‘The Flat’, which was laid out like an apartment, complete with bathtub.

Sunday morning, Bianca and I headed off to Bruges.  It’s a picturesque little town, which is the only way I can really describe it.  It’s a great place for a day trip, but I don’t know if there’s anything that is necessarily a must see.  We did have lunch at a great restaurant and then visited the chocolate museum.  Maybe that’s one of the must sees.

One thing I noticed around Brussels is there’s a chocolate shop called Leonidas.  When I first saw it, I thought, ‘Isn’t that the name of the King of the Spartans, a la 300?’  I thought it was a funny name for a Belgian chocolate shop, but in the chocolate museum, I learned that Leonidas was started by a man of Greek descent, and everything made sense.

The more you know.

Oh yeah, airport waffle.

Backing up to how the day started, I went into the office for a little to meet the people I’d be working with and take a look around.  The Milan office is actually a little depressing, drab and gray – much like San Donato.  Everyone also works in one open room, no offices or cubicles.  I never thought a cubicle would be desirable.

I didn’t have a lot to do, but I did stick around long enough to go to lunch with a bunch of people I don’t know.  I decided on the pizza and expected to get a normal slice, the size you’d get at any fast food pizza place.  A quarter of the damn thing (equal to the size of an 8 or 10 inch pizza) ended up on my plate.  I’m now realizing that my diet in Milan is going to be incredibly carb heavy if I’m not careful.  I also had a couple of espressos since, as one person in the office explained to me, a coffee break isn’t just a coffee break, it’s part of the culture.  Side note: the automated espresso machines in the Milan office kick the shit out of the LaVazza machines in the Calgary office.  I also got yelled at by a security guard for going out the wrong door.

I took off early and decided to go into Milan for a little bit.  After checking out Milan Centrale Stazione, where I’m catching a shuttle bus to the airport tomorrow morning, I got off at the Duomo station just to look around, as I plan to do some serious site seeing next weekend.  I ended up just walking for the next four hours, with no particular goal in mind other than to see what I saw.   I had to have a snack, of course, the first of many.

Up next – Brussels for the weekend.

My luggage came in at a shade under 50 lbs, which is good.  This is the beginning of my trip, which means I have souvenirs to bring home, which is bad.  It looks like I’ll have to throw some stuff out in Italy.  Damn the fact I needed to pack two pairs of shoes (bear with me and don’t call me a girl – one pair of runners because I do intend to keep working out, otherwise 4 weeks in Italy will make me look like my high school self, and a pair of dress shoes because I need to go into the head office).

A pleasant surprise, though, was that the flight to Frankfurt was only half full.  Of course, I ended up seated beside a tall German and I know we were both thinking the same thing: ‘All these empty seats and I have to be crammed in next to this guy?’  But as soon the flight started, I moved a few rows back and stretched out.  I even managed to sleep a few hours.  And watch ‘Takers’.  T.I. should really stick to music, because he can’t act worth shit.

Best thing I saw at the Frankfurt airport?  Camel Zone smoking centers – basically a glass box where people can smoke.  They’re on display, like animals at a zoo.

Because I was pretty beat, I didn’t take the train into Milan (I’m staying in San Donato Milanese, which is just outside of Milan).  I did take a stroll down the street for my first true Italian meal of the trip.  Prima pasta – gnocchi with gorgonzola and cream sauce, and a main of grilled fillet of sole.  All in all, pretty tasty.

I also walked by a Chinese restaurant, but I didn’t fly all this damn way to have Chinese food.  I’m sure I’ll try it one of these days, but not as a first meal.

Speaking of Asians, I saw a surprising amount.  It wasn’t like in Sweden where I swear there were only ten slanty eyed people in the country, half of them my co-workers.  Wikipedia did say Milan was one of the most diverse cities in Europe, and as we all know, Wikipedia doesn’t lie.

Oh, and you may have noticed the ‘Mamma Mia Meter’ under the header.  It is exactly what you think – a meter to count how many times I hear someone say ‘Mamma mia’ while I’m in Italy.  I heard the first one at dinner.

But 77 days.  It was the last thing I expected when this year started.  And, for the most part, it was a pretty good 77 days.  Some memories, in list form:

-    Copenhagen, Stockholm and Oslo.
-    Working sixteen hours a day and being warned about it.
-    Remembering what it was like to actually want to go to work.
-    Hearing Rolf the German say on the phone, ‘Fucking boy!  Come down here!’
-    The Crazy Lady in Varberg.
-    The hair salon girls in Varberg.
-    Crayfish party and Dudefest 2009
-    The last name ‘Gzym’  (no, it’s not pronounced ‘jism’).
-    Joe disappearing and passing out in the car.
-    Duncan getting drunk after coming off night shift.
-    SEL hockey.
-    Some of the friendliest people I’ve ever worked with.
-    Swedish girls at bars.
-    Swedish girls at work.
-    Hostels.
-    Red Room, Harry’s, Cheers & Beers (the last one is racist).
-    Hating Phil Malanchuk.
-    Seeing how much some people, including me, changed.