Letters from Italy, Pt. 2
Next stop… Milano Centrale
Words and Photos by Danielle Gabriella Contributor
Last week, Danielle shared what was going through her mind and what she first encountered as she first stepped foot in Italy. She set off with a charged phone, overpacked bags and a will to find Florence.
This week, we continue the adventure as she makes her way to Milano Centrale on her way to Florence. She is lost in a foreign country and doesn’t speak the language. Let’s find out what happens next…
I started walking around the airport, stumbling over myself with my three bags, looking for a sign with anything that said “Milano Centrale”. A stranger wound up approaching me and said “scusi” offering to help.
Without hesitation, he took my luggage out of my hand and began loading it onto a cart. I didn’t refuse. I was exhausted, tired and just wanted to get on the damn train.
I began to follow him as he led me downstairs into the station and unloaded my things onto a subway train.
He then put out his hand in a gesture to give him money. It was clear that helping me out wasn’t out of the kindness of his own heart, but to make a quick buck off of a foolish tourist.
I politely responded, “how much?” It was a stupid question to ask. He wanted 10 euros, so I pulled out my wallet and handed him the money. And just like that, within my first hour of landing I had already been hustled.
I didn’t mind, as long as I was on the right track to get to where I was going.
The time was 11 a.m. when I finally arrived at Milano Centrale — the Milan train station that would take me to Florence. The place was huge. It was like a two story mall with hundreds of people walking around with nothing but the stench of cigarettes and nicotine filling the air.
My anxiety hit again. Now I had to figure out how to buy a ticket to get to Florence. There were multiple machines around but I couldn’t figure out what they said.
I spent the next two hours walking around trying to figure out how to buy my ticket until older gentleman walked up to me. He was strongly insistent in trying to help me.
I couldn’t shake him; he was persistent. He inputted the info in the machine for me and printed out my boarding ticket. Just as I expected, a minute later, he put out his hand and I was hustled for another five euros.
I struggled to stay awake on the train. I knew that I couldn’t fall asleep because lord forbid if I missed my exit, I’d end up in Naples or somewhere in the south of Italy.
So I put on my headphones and looked out the window, enjoying the scenery. I was finally relaxed. “Almost there,” I told myself.
At 3 p.m., I had arrived in Florence. Immediately as I got off the train, I went straight to a taxi because I couldn’t stand another minute of lugging around my three suitcases — why on earth I decided to pack three bags I’ll never know.
I showed the taxi driver the WhatsApp message of Antonio’s address, and he dropped me off. As I waited outside of the apartment for Antonio to arrive, I began to imagine in my head what he would look like.
Was he going to be tall? short? What was he going to sound like? Was his accent going be thick? Did he look like his profile pic? More importantly, what was he going to think when he saw me? So many thoughts racing through my head… and then he walked up.
Meeting him in person for the first time was interesting, I think it was pretty much clear for the both of us that we weren’t going to be each other’s type based off of first impressions alone.
He was about 5’7, skinny, with a baby face. He had a presence about him that gave off this vibe that image mattered — the complete opposite of myself.
Although I had originally chosen to board with him because of his appearance, it was never my intention to start some type of romantic relationship with him.
The strategy I went in with when choosing someone to board with on Airbnb was to pick someone close to my age range, who didn’t look like a total creeper that I could get along with, make friends, and kick it with for a month.
In fact, one of my main goals was to meet his friends and hopefully hit it off with one of them.
“Ciao, Daniella” he told me, as he began kissing both my cheeks welcoming me to Italy. I giggled inside, my first two cheek kiss.
“This is legit,” I told myself.
He opened the door and we walked inside…
