Arrival in Milan

Rome has been a trip... in both senses of the word.

I arrived at Barajas with the feelings of anticipation and apprehension which usually accompany any adventures of this importance.  "This is my recluse from the stress of teenagers, constant movement, separation from my family, and tedious planning...I'm going to make it count!"

Darting to the terminal T1 I was immediately confused. Ryanair, the cheap company with which I usually fly, has a "visa-check station" next to a security entrance to the gates. Easyjet had a long checkin line and no helpful signs. I met some nice English people in line and mulled over the confusion of the airport.

At the front of the line, finally, I asked the worker if I could check in. He politely informed me in Spanish and in English that the type of ticket that I had should go directly through security. The screen showed my gate: C41. Peacefully, I wanderd around the gates and stopped to talk to a nice saleswoman who tried to give me a credit card.

Then came more confusion. The flight was at 21:15 and the gate closed at 20:45. 20:50 came and there was no change in the movement of the line. Then they said something in Spanish that I didn't hear clearly. Half the line moved quickly and the other half stood still. Then they said it in English, I still couldn't hear it, and the other hal.f started moving. So I simply followed in anticipation of a change in planes.

Not only was it a change in planes but also the farthest distance that the change could have gone. I ended up running and then asked someone in line "is this the flight to Milan?"

She answered "yes it is." That's when I met my first contact on the trip. We chatted a long time about nothing and everything in Italy. Forebodings, sob stories, and ominous warnings were the majority of the information that she shared with me.

On the plane, finally, I met a creepy little Philipino man who was very smiley. We talked for over 2 hours before the plane took off. He asked me "how old are you?" I said, a little irritated at the fact that we had been talking less than 5 minutes before he asked that, "guess!" He replied "no, seriously, tell me your age."

This past year has taught me a lot of things about meeting someone. Don't ask their name before they ask yours...because it doesn't matter. Don't ever ask age...if you're really curious about something (if they're legally an adult or over 21) tell a story or ask an oblique question. For instance with one person we were talking about gun violence and he brought up September 11th. Curious about his age I said "man...I was in 6th grade when that happened and it was terrifying!" He replied "I was in the university and they..." that gave me an idea that he was at least 6 years older than I.
Another thing I've learned is that once a conversation is broken it's hard to bring it back.

So we kept it going until the plane took off. 2 hours late.

When I arrived in Milan, a city some view as particularly dangerous, it was dark. Having based my directions on the metro route I was disheartened to learn that, being 1:30 a.m., the metro was closed.  Waiting for tourists outside the station there was a group of grizzly homeless Italian beggars and a few people drinking beer while sitting in circles. One got up, approached, and asked me "where you go?" I replied pointing in a direction - "That way. No thank you." Luckily, there was a British man walking his girlfriend to the station. He let me use his phone for a map and I trekked toward my hostel: the Black and White.

By the time I got there nothing was open but I was exhausted from the stress of walking a mile with my luggage. My own shadow scared me on parts of this walk...because I had over 500 euro on me in cash.