European Vacation 2019

Travelogue: en route to Rome.

Landed in Milan, at Malpensa Apt, which is 1.5 hours away from Milan, so not in Milan at all. The "express train" is 45 minutes and not cheap. It is a tranfer airport, quite austere except for the pornographic duty free shop in the international departures wing.

Wandered to the transfer point, where there was a considerably long line, and one security station open, processing one person at a very slow time on an ancient scanner that looked like it was being cranked by a circus monkey. Some locals on their way to Palermo thought that due to their flights leaving sooner (not true for all in the line) that they should be allowed to budge. They have children, they have bad hips, they don't want to walk fast, it's hot, their mothers are waiting for them. My ears tingle on the last one, for if an Italian man is going home to a mom, he is likely single.

If you have ever seen an Italian car accident or even a heavy traffic jam, you may know what ensued. Why are people from Palermo more important than everyone else? My mother was from Palermo, I wait like the others. If you were from Firenze/Bologna/Insert Italian town, you would be healthier and not have bad hips. If the food in Palermo was better, you would have more energy.

Then, of course, the retorts. The gestures. The vulgarities causing mothers to cover the ears of the young and cluck at the men.

Security, and eventually the Polizia showed up.  It was a complete stand still as all the customs officials had to get involved. I believe some showed up from other gates.

I am drinking gin. Thank you Priority Pass lounges.

Bonus blog material:

I flew Air Italy, out of Pearson. Security and boarding were a snap, in fact our plane was loaded so efficiently that we sat for 35 minutes as we were early.

We were handed moist towelettes as compensation for the lack of air con. Children were screaming.

No one was in first class, and I was seriously thinking about bribing the purser to let me sneak up there, just so I could sleep.

Dinner came rapidly after reaching cruising altitude, a menu with choices  of Chicken Velouté or Tomato Pasta, with potatoes and mixed veg, lemon mousse, one drink and tea or coffee at the end.

I urge you to look up Velouté, if you don't know what it is, and please know, this was no Velouté. This was melted  butter floating sulkily, unsalted, in milk. The veg were steamed to death. The Lemon Mousse reminded me of cool whip with lemon juice vaguely spritzed on it by passerby. The wine was cold. That was the highlight. 

I am now suffering the consequences  of being too hungry to refuse the refuse, and must now quell the churning with free pouring gin and tonic.

Xtina out.