We arrived in Milano to rain (by the way, the Italian airport shuttle was cheap and completely fine–I officially hate the French). Oh and a message to the Italian guy trying to hustle me for “ticket money”: Jackass, look at me. I’m wearing my old Paris-dirt-covered jeans and carrying my life in a pack. Do I look like I have money to give to your lazy ass? Va fan culo.
We finally found our hostel after some bus trouble and sleepily made plans to see the city, the city that the entire world had warned us away from. It usually went something like this: “Why are you going to Milano? It’s ugly, boo.”
However, I beg to disagree. The city was more industrial than much of Italy, but gorgeous nonetheless. We wound through a ton of clothes shops, Rae drooling as always. We found a place where the clothes are priced by weight. Unfortunately, they were still overpriced and ugly. However, the Duomo was amazingly huge and gorgeous. I also made new friends with the bored security guards who were convinced I was Spanish. The fact that I answered them in Spanish, saying “no probably just confused them.
We then made pasta for dinner, with our perpetual mozzarella (it’s yummy and cheap!). Rae attempted to open our wine but (according to her) the corkscrew was damaged, from overuse. Luckily a friendly American wino helped us out and joined our dinner, drinking his 2 bottles while we shared 1. I must also quote his Eurotrip philosophy because it’s so practical: “Every 2€ I save is another bottle of wine.”
And on that note we went to bed, completely crashing out.