Flight to Milan reached the Milan airport at 11 plus pm. I figured I would put the night in the airport. In norway, I have slept in 2 different airports and it was fine. Moreover, at 11 plus pm, getting into the city of Milan would end up after midnight, and the Italian streets are pretty dangerous. It would not be wise, looking for a hostel, in streets and signs that has no english. So I put the night in Milan airport.
The aiport is a crazy mess. People all over, sitting a black row of concrete bench in the middle. The whole place didnt look safe to me. Italians look hostile and dangerous. So I decided to put the night lock in the toilet, which smelt like crap. After scouting for a bigger cubicle, I was delighted to find one for mothers to do their baby stuff. It had a small bed, and it was clean and didnt smell like crap. Perfect I thought. And I could charge my hp there.

So I slept there, but couldnt get to sleep at all, because the noise from the ceiling that sounded like luggage shifting, was too loud. Halfway through, someone tried to open and knock on the door, but I refuse to open. At 230am, when I was half-asleep, I heard the keys and the door opened. To my horror, a policeman had opened the door. Angry and hostile looking. WTF I thought. He yelled at me to get the shit out. I didnt know what to expect, and was prepared to be deported back. So I followed him out, in my socks and sleepwear. He pointed at my bag and said "out". So I packed my stuff and when I went out, he pointed at the row of sleepers on the floor. I tried to ask him some stuff, but realise, he could not understand nor speak anymore english. Hence, I put the night beside the throng of people sleeping on the floor. It was to my surprised that there were so many people sleeping there, like a slum. As I put the floor, I had to endure gazes from others. Worried that my things might get stolen, I tied everything to my body and slept. At 330am, the police came again, and got all of us out of the floor. WTF I thought. You said on the floor, now no floor. It seems to me like the rest already knew what to expect. Most of them werent sleeping on the floor in the first place. They were just resting and chatting. And the minute before the police came, they were off the floor already. So I was left confused, being the last person on the floor, I packed my bag again, and tried to look for a place to sleep. The concrete bench by now, was packed with people, and I recognised that some of them were those who put the floor amongst me. I found a seat and sat there, and saw that most people were trying to sleep as well. However, to prevent people from sleeping there, the Milano airport had metal grates that makes it impossible to lie down, only for sitting. Nevertheless, I was too tired and no matter how uncomfortably painful, I slept.
Woke up the next morning, and bought a bus ticket to the Milan city. Bus ticket costs 8 euros, one way. Which was pretty expensive. And when I found the bus and boarded the bus, I realised I was the only one on the bus, and hence, the driver actually drove me only, 1.5 hours into the city. Which made me think that they actually factored in the possibility of driving only 1 passenger into the cost. 8 euro it seems, still profitted them much.
Eventually, I reached the Milano Centrale (Milan Central). I had already booked a hostel near the train station, but when I reached there, I realised it was harder to find than I thought. North, South, East or West? No Italians on the streets spoke English. I decided to ask the train station staff, but observed that they neither spoke english as well. I asked a White woman, who was a foreigner as well. She didnt know, because she wasnt local. Feeling increasingly lost, I walked the streets and asked an Asian mending a roadside stall. He didnt speak english either. "God save me". Before I came to Italy, I knew these people dont speak much English and was mentally prepared. But being mentally prepared and the reality itself can be so different. The immense pressure went straight into my mind. I felt.. felt.. like an alien. When I look up to heaven, it seems as if, even the skies could not understand me. An utter sense of isolation. An atmosphere of alientaion. Every molecule in the air seems to say to me "Stranger stranger stranger" - nothing else. I tried to ask God "what is going on? how to i get there" But for the first time in my life, the sheer atmosphere alone is so overwhelming, it felt like God didnt understand what I was saying as well, and ignored me completely, like everyone else on the streets did. I could not believe it. That the omnipotent God couldnt tell you what to do, how to get there, because nothing is in english, and everyone looks at u like an alien, and nobody bother could know what you are saying. The feeling of loneliness was never never greater. The sense of being alone awakens every cell in me. ALONE ALONE ALONE ALONE ALONE. Seems to drill in my mind. STRANGER, ALONE. For a moment, I hallucinated that a Malaysian friend was there. And I smiled at him. And he said "bro what are we gonna do" I smiled & replied "dunno sia". Moments later, I realised, I was hallucinating. I realised that the repercussions of this loneliness is greater than what I thought. Being the only child, I am used to being alone. In Singapore, many times, I prefer to be alone. Friends would know that I have no problems eating alone in the canteen, eating alone in the hawker. I do it very often, several times a week and actually enjoys doing it. But this... this... this is driving me insane. Every second that passes, confusion grows and my mind starts to hurt literally, exponentially. I look around, but all I see is signs that I could not understand. Passerbys brush pass, some bumping into me and staring at me, uttered in what I could not understand. Soon, they all start to look like aliens to me.
It was maybe only 30mins. But it felt like the longest period of my life. longest ever. Every minute felt like I am banished into eternity. Lost eternity. Soon, I realise I had to get my mind back and walk. Walk. In whichever direction. So I walked. Walked. Walked. Walked. The mail says "200 metres behind the train station" "It couldnt be so hard" - I tell myself. For once, I am glad, that I picked an expensive hostel with good location. Usually, I would prefer further cheaper ones. Problem now is, which is the front and back of the train station? There are 2 entrances. So I walk. Walk walk. 45mins later, I was lost. Standing at a traffic junction, I hallucinated that a friend was there to help me look for it. By now, I realised that this friend wasnt really there. I walk more, and it rained. Soon, I saw a man and asked "Do you speak English?"
Him "Yes, some"
Me (SO HAPPY) "Can you tell me where this street is"
Him "Im not from Milano. Im a foreigner. You can ask the hotel staff"
So I went in, and was glad that the hotel receptionist spoke English. He gave me a map and showed me the way.
I reached that street. Raining. For 1 hour, I walk up and down that street, unable to find that building. Non of them looked like a hostel to me. I walked up to the end of the street, asked a woman. Soon, I realised non of them speaks English. So I simply had to point the name of the street on a paper and they point the direction to me. Problem is, they could not tell me how far, how long, or if I needed to turn left or turn after this junction. They can only point the direction to me. Another problem is, the Italians seems to give different directions. All of them point different directions to me. Even those shop owners who work in that street was unable to tell me where that building was. Moreover, they didnt like me asking them directions. All of them, were very impatient and replied to me in bad tone. And when I asked for clarifications, they soon give up, shrug their shoulder and give me the "its not my problem if u cant find it" look. Soon, I give up.

(That street. Via Luguinie)
Sick of that street in the rain, I decided to cross the road. There I stood, opposite the street and looked back. "That building looks kinda familiar" And I realised, it could be one of the many hostels that I saw on the internet. So I walked near that building and standing at its door, I saw the number. Number 4. Yes the correct one. And to my horror as well, the numbers are all faded, and camoflouged to the building colour, which explains why, I thought this street had no building number.
The building door could not open. So I pressed every button on the door until one of them opens the door for me. I went in. A guy greeted me in Italian. He pointed a door to me. I went in. An Asian girl came out. As usual, I assume that all Asians abroad spoke English. But no. She didnt. I asked her for a spoon for my meal and she didnt understand at all. Even sign language was tough. Next, she said "No breakfast".
Me "What! It says on the net there's breakfast."
She "No breakfast"
Me "You have to explain this. I paid 25 euro inclusive of the breakfast"
She "No breakfast"
.....
After a few other sentences that I speak, she only replied "no breakfast"
Soon, I realise, she could not understand what Im saying in english.
I went into the room. Ate my pre-packed lunch box with a plastic stick, and was prepared to spend the whole day in the room. What could I do? No one, not even the bus or train staff understand english. How to buy ticket even.
Reminding myself that God loves me, I composed myself and ate, as slowly as I could to pass time.

View from hostel
Then came some voices from outside. It was the reception. It sounded familiar. It sounded, sounded, sounded..... like...... Mandarin!!!! I felt a sense of joy, but was wary not to get my hopes up too high. So I continued eating and peered my ear to listen. Yes, it was Mandarin. Im 70% sure. Finishing half the pack, and keeping the other half for dinner, I walked out to the reception. I stood in front of her and said "你会讲中文?" (u can speak Mandarin?). She looked surprised and happy "ah"
Me "简单多了" (much simpler)
"我刚才是要汤匙" (I wanted a spoon just now)
And we carried on talking and talking and talking.
She told me where to visit in Milan, how to get ticket.
She said the only way to buy transport ticket is from cigarette store near the train station. I WOULD SERIOUSLY NEVER HAVE FIGURED THAT OUT MYSELF.
We talked and talked, and me especially much, because this sense of being able to communicate was overwhelming. Being able to communicate has been so taken for granted, as a human being in Singapore.
Soon I took my way to the train station.

The road to the train station. It was horribly dirty and smelly with huge puddles of water - Testament to how uneven the road is. Few times, I almost sprained my ankle. Once, I was 3 metres away from the road, a car went by, and the water splashed onto my face. Also, See carefully how the cars are parked. On the concrete pavement, straight or diagonally. They simply drive their car up to onto the pavement wherever there's space, whichever orientation. Click on the picture and notice that some metal railings (the one foremost left in the picture) have been knocked bent pressumably by the car (what else can u think of?). I could not even walk straight properly on this street.

Train station. Milano Centrale.
tbc
The aiport is a crazy mess. People all over, sitting a black row of concrete bench in the middle. The whole place didnt look safe to me. Italians look hostile and dangerous. So I decided to put the night lock in the toilet, which smelt like crap. After scouting for a bigger cubicle, I was delighted to find one for mothers to do their baby stuff. It had a small bed, and it was clean and didnt smell like crap. Perfect I thought. And I could charge my hp there.
So I slept there, but couldnt get to sleep at all, because the noise from the ceiling that sounded like luggage shifting, was too loud. Halfway through, someone tried to open and knock on the door, but I refuse to open. At 230am, when I was half-asleep, I heard the keys and the door opened. To my horror, a policeman had opened the door. Angry and hostile looking. WTF I thought. He yelled at me to get the shit out. I didnt know what to expect, and was prepared to be deported back. So I followed him out, in my socks and sleepwear. He pointed at my bag and said "out". So I packed my stuff and when I went out, he pointed at the row of sleepers on the floor. I tried to ask him some stuff, but realise, he could not understand nor speak anymore english. Hence, I put the night beside the throng of people sleeping on the floor. It was to my surprised that there were so many people sleeping there, like a slum. As I put the floor, I had to endure gazes from others. Worried that my things might get stolen, I tied everything to my body and slept. At 330am, the police came again, and got all of us out of the floor. WTF I thought. You said on the floor, now no floor. It seems to me like the rest already knew what to expect. Most of them werent sleeping on the floor in the first place. They were just resting and chatting. And the minute before the police came, they were off the floor already. So I was left confused, being the last person on the floor, I packed my bag again, and tried to look for a place to sleep. The concrete bench by now, was packed with people, and I recognised that some of them were those who put the floor amongst me. I found a seat and sat there, and saw that most people were trying to sleep as well. However, to prevent people from sleeping there, the Milano airport had metal grates that makes it impossible to lie down, only for sitting. Nevertheless, I was too tired and no matter how uncomfortably painful, I slept.
Woke up the next morning, and bought a bus ticket to the Milan city. Bus ticket costs 8 euros, one way. Which was pretty expensive. And when I found the bus and boarded the bus, I realised I was the only one on the bus, and hence, the driver actually drove me only, 1.5 hours into the city. Which made me think that they actually factored in the possibility of driving only 1 passenger into the cost. 8 euro it seems, still profitted them much.
Eventually, I reached the Milano Centrale (Milan Central). I had already booked a hostel near the train station, but when I reached there, I realised it was harder to find than I thought. North, South, East or West? No Italians on the streets spoke English. I decided to ask the train station staff, but observed that they neither spoke english as well. I asked a White woman, who was a foreigner as well. She didnt know, because she wasnt local. Feeling increasingly lost, I walked the streets and asked an Asian mending a roadside stall. He didnt speak english either. "God save me". Before I came to Italy, I knew these people dont speak much English and was mentally prepared. But being mentally prepared and the reality itself can be so different. The immense pressure went straight into my mind. I felt.. felt.. like an alien. When I look up to heaven, it seems as if, even the skies could not understand me. An utter sense of isolation. An atmosphere of alientaion. Every molecule in the air seems to say to me "Stranger stranger stranger" - nothing else. I tried to ask God "what is going on? how to i get there" But for the first time in my life, the sheer atmosphere alone is so overwhelming, it felt like God didnt understand what I was saying as well, and ignored me completely, like everyone else on the streets did. I could not believe it. That the omnipotent God couldnt tell you what to do, how to get there, because nothing is in english, and everyone looks at u like an alien, and nobody bother could know what you are saying. The feeling of loneliness was never never greater. The sense of being alone awakens every cell in me. ALONE ALONE ALONE ALONE ALONE. Seems to drill in my mind. STRANGER, ALONE. For a moment, I hallucinated that a Malaysian friend was there. And I smiled at him. And he said "bro what are we gonna do" I smiled & replied "dunno sia". Moments later, I realised, I was hallucinating. I realised that the repercussions of this loneliness is greater than what I thought. Being the only child, I am used to being alone. In Singapore, many times, I prefer to be alone. Friends would know that I have no problems eating alone in the canteen, eating alone in the hawker. I do it very often, several times a week and actually enjoys doing it. But this... this... this is driving me insane. Every second that passes, confusion grows and my mind starts to hurt literally, exponentially. I look around, but all I see is signs that I could not understand. Passerbys brush pass, some bumping into me and staring at me, uttered in what I could not understand. Soon, they all start to look like aliens to me.
It was maybe only 30mins. But it felt like the longest period of my life. longest ever. Every minute felt like I am banished into eternity. Lost eternity. Soon, I realise I had to get my mind back and walk. Walk. In whichever direction. So I walked. Walked. Walked. Walked. The mail says "200 metres behind the train station" "It couldnt be so hard" - I tell myself. For once, I am glad, that I picked an expensive hostel with good location. Usually, I would prefer further cheaper ones. Problem now is, which is the front and back of the train station? There are 2 entrances. So I walk. Walk walk. 45mins later, I was lost. Standing at a traffic junction, I hallucinated that a friend was there to help me look for it. By now, I realised that this friend wasnt really there. I walk more, and it rained. Soon, I saw a man and asked "Do you speak English?"
Him "Yes, some"
Me (SO HAPPY) "Can you tell me where this street is"
Him "Im not from Milano. Im a foreigner. You can ask the hotel staff"
So I went in, and was glad that the hotel receptionist spoke English. He gave me a map and showed me the way.
I reached that street. Raining. For 1 hour, I walk up and down that street, unable to find that building. Non of them looked like a hostel to me. I walked up to the end of the street, asked a woman. Soon, I realised non of them speaks English. So I simply had to point the name of the street on a paper and they point the direction to me. Problem is, they could not tell me how far, how long, or if I needed to turn left or turn after this junction. They can only point the direction to me. Another problem is, the Italians seems to give different directions. All of them point different directions to me. Even those shop owners who work in that street was unable to tell me where that building was. Moreover, they didnt like me asking them directions. All of them, were very impatient and replied to me in bad tone. And when I asked for clarifications, they soon give up, shrug their shoulder and give me the "its not my problem if u cant find it" look. Soon, I give up.
(That street. Via Luguinie)
Sick of that street in the rain, I decided to cross the road. There I stood, opposite the street and looked back. "That building looks kinda familiar" And I realised, it could be one of the many hostels that I saw on the internet. So I walked near that building and standing at its door, I saw the number. Number 4. Yes the correct one. And to my horror as well, the numbers are all faded, and camoflouged to the building colour, which explains why, I thought this street had no building number.
The building door could not open. So I pressed every button on the door until one of them opens the door for me. I went in. A guy greeted me in Italian. He pointed a door to me. I went in. An Asian girl came out. As usual, I assume that all Asians abroad spoke English. But no. She didnt. I asked her for a spoon for my meal and she didnt understand at all. Even sign language was tough. Next, she said "No breakfast".
Me "What! It says on the net there's breakfast."
She "No breakfast"
Me "You have to explain this. I paid 25 euro inclusive of the breakfast"
She "No breakfast"
.....
After a few other sentences that I speak, she only replied "no breakfast"
Soon, I realise, she could not understand what Im saying in english.
I went into the room. Ate my pre-packed lunch box with a plastic stick, and was prepared to spend the whole day in the room. What could I do? No one, not even the bus or train staff understand english. How to buy ticket even.
Reminding myself that God loves me, I composed myself and ate, as slowly as I could to pass time.
View from hostel
Then came some voices from outside. It was the reception. It sounded familiar. It sounded, sounded, sounded..... like...... Mandarin!!!! I felt a sense of joy, but was wary not to get my hopes up too high. So I continued eating and peered my ear to listen. Yes, it was Mandarin. Im 70% sure. Finishing half the pack, and keeping the other half for dinner, I walked out to the reception. I stood in front of her and said "你会讲中文?" (u can speak Mandarin?). She looked surprised and happy "ah"
Me "简单多了" (much simpler)
"我刚才是要汤匙" (I wanted a spoon just now)
And we carried on talking and talking and talking.
She told me where to visit in Milan, how to get ticket.
She said the only way to buy transport ticket is from cigarette store near the train station. I WOULD SERIOUSLY NEVER HAVE FIGURED THAT OUT MYSELF.
We talked and talked, and me especially much, because this sense of being able to communicate was overwhelming. Being able to communicate has been so taken for granted, as a human being in Singapore.
Soon I took my way to the train station.
The road to the train station. It was horribly dirty and smelly with huge puddles of water - Testament to how uneven the road is. Few times, I almost sprained my ankle. Once, I was 3 metres away from the road, a car went by, and the water splashed onto my face. Also, See carefully how the cars are parked. On the concrete pavement, straight or diagonally. They simply drive their car up to onto the pavement wherever there's space, whichever orientation. Click on the picture and notice that some metal railings (the one foremost left in the picture) have been knocked bent pressumably by the car (what else can u think of?). I could not even walk straight properly on this street.
Train station. Milano Centrale.
tbc
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