I'd been feeling a bit stressed recently so thought it would be a nice idea to book a cheap, relaxing long weekend in Milan with Tamara.
The flight itself was fine. Not even a minute's delay, no turbulence and I even slept the whole way. To be honest, the flight went far too well for my liking. I should have realised then that it could have only gone downhill from there.
Landed at Milan airport and had to sit on a bus for an hour to reach the city centre. Thought we'd probably be able to walk to the hotel from the central bus terminal, so asked a taxi driver for directions the The Hub Hotel.
'It's a long way', the driver replied.
'How long?' I asked.
'About 50 minutes out of town'.
Great! Fuming, we both got in the back of the taxi. Now, what annoys me most isn't the fact that we spent nearly an hour driving to the hotel. It's the audacity of the hotel to call itself The Hub. It's an insult to the Oxford English Dictionary, which defines a 'hub' as 'a centre or focal point of activity'. This hotel isn't the centre of anything apart from a remote, industrial ghetto.
Even the driver couldn't believe where he was taking us.
'You know, this is really not a good area', he said in a serious tone. 'Don't walk around here at night. Very dangerous. Very bad.'
It wasn't the most reassuring piece of advice I've received. As we drove deeper and deeper into the industrial estate, the driver kept turning right round and staring quizzically into my eyes as if to ask, 'Are you sure you don't want me to turn around?'
The entire area didn't even deserve the title of being called a dump and, if I didn't know any better, I'd say it may well be the birthplace of graffiti. Come to think of it, it sounds Italian, so I wouldn't be surprised.
Finally got to the hotel and realised that every time we wanted to go to the city centre the return journey would cost us an absolute fortune and about two hours of our precious lives.
I'd like to say that the hotel was worth the journey. It really wasn't. If I had to contribute a line for Lonely Planet or Trip Advisor, it would be something like, 'So remote, sterile and soulless is this hotel, you'll wonder what you did wrong in a previous life.'
By some sort of miracle, the receptionist couldn't find our booking on the system. In fact, it turns out the money never even left my account. We were free. Free from the shackles of the industrial outskirts of Milan.
Despite the fact that the receptionist managed to find an available room (and even a free upgrade to a superior room), Tamara and I had already decided that we would find another hotel. Have you ever sat in a hotel lobby for two hours trying to book another hotel, whilst the receptionist stares at you with a look of pure evil? I can assure you, it's quite awkward.
It's not easy finding a hotel room last minute...in the centre of Milan...for a reasonable price...during Milan Fashion Week. I could tell at this point that Tamara was beginning to get a bit upset and was blaming herself for the situation. I'm not saying she's to blame. All I'm saying is, I had nothing to do with choosing this hotel. Anyway, I reassured her that despite the fact that the supposedly cheap holiday was already costing me an arm and a leg, the crisis was now over and we could now relax and enjoy ourselves.
Now, if that were true, this post would finish right about now.
The new hotel was stunningly average at best. What it did have in its favour, however, was that it was right in the centre of the city. In fact, it was a two minute walk from the Duomo - a huge cathedral - and quite possibly the only thing worth seeing in Milan. There really is nothing else to do in Milan. Yes, there are loads of luxury shops, but when you have no interest in shopping whatsoever, and your girlfriend has the income of a tramp, there really is no point going inside.
Walked around the city centre for a few minutes before deciding to go back to the hotel room. We were tired, irritable and just needed to lie down. Fell asleep for about two hours. It was honestly the highlight of the holiday. For those two hours, I was unconscious and didn't have to deal with the situation. I was actually annoyed that I couldn't stay asleep for the rest of the holiday.
Made a reservation for a restaurant called Paper Moon. Marc had recommended it to us, claiming that they had the best veal Milanese he's ever had. At this point, it was the only thing I had to look forward to. Walked around in the pissing rain for half an hour and got completely lost, despite having a map in my hand. Eventually found the restaurant. Unfortunately, they couldn't find our booking on the system and refused to give us a table despite the restaurant being half empty.
Having been virtually kicked out of the restaurant, we walked around for nearly an hour in the torrential rain looking for another restaurant. We passed hundreds and hundreds of clothes shops, including four Dolce & Gabbana stores, but not one restaurant. In this end, we cut our losses, got in a taxi and went straight back to the hotel.
Asked our receptionist to tell us where I could find somewhere that did a nice veal Milanese. She recommended a restaurant nearby, where I got completely ripped off for what was essentially a schnitzel and a bottle of water.
By the time we got back to the hotel, I'd almost lost the will to live. Spent an hour in the hotel lobby looking to see how much it would cost to get the next flight home. Unfortunately, it was far too expensive.
Went back to the room. Sat up in bed pondering the irony of the situation. I'd tried to book a cheap, relaxing holiday in Milan, yet I'd spent a fortune and was more stressed than ever. I errupted into laughter that was so deranged and so psychotic, that it scared Tamara, who then cried herself to sleep...
...that was Day 1.
Woke up and spent the entire morning (and most of the afternoon) in the hotel room playing Monopoly on the iPad, fully aware at all times that we could have been doing this for free in the comfort of my own bedroom. Despite the fact that it was still pouring with rain, we thought it would be a good idea to go out and have a late lunch.
Found what looked to be quite a nice restaurant overlooking the Duomo. The waiter gave us a basket of bread before taking our order. I asked for a club sandwich, and also if we could have some oil and balsamic vinegar for the bread. Well, he did bring the oil and vinegar, but didn't think it was necessary to also bring over a plate to pour it into. What did this man expect me to do? Wrap my lips around the nozzle and drink it directly from the bottle?
A few moments later, the club sandwich arrived.
'Er, what's this?' I asked the waiter, pointing between the slices of bread.
'This is salad', he replied.
'No, this! I said, pointing to the short, curly pube that was balancing delicately on the edge of a leaf of lettuce. Without even an apology, the waiter took the club sandwich and headed back to the kitchen.
About ten minutes later, he returned with a replacement club sandwich. I've never seen such a miserable, pathetic looking sandwich in my life. I mean, look at it!
There's so little chicken inside, it's practically suitable for vegetarians. Now, I'm not a particularly fussy eater and, as I write this, I can only think of two occasions where I have point blank refused to eat what's on my plate. One of them when I was served a donkey's penis and hairy balls in Vietnam. The other was today. Ironically, both meals contained pubes.
I couldn't just send the meal back without an explanation. More importantly, I couldn't let this chef continue to make these sandwiches. I owed it to future customers to put an end to this. I couldn't let the people of Milan or future tourists suffer as I had suffered. I marched into the kitchen and asked to speak to the chef. He didn't speak a word of English but, fortunately, his colleague was on hand to translate every word of my complaint. Did you know that 'pubic hair' in Italian is 'peli pubici'?
Waking up on the third and final day, knowing that I was going home was magical. Even Nelson Mandela didn't feel this happy when he left prison. I've genuinely never been so excited for a holiday to end.
So all in all, it was a great trip and I can't wait to go back.
