From Milan to Venice to Florence. I am now in florence. Will leave tmr morning for Rome.
Milan was a culture shock. Nobody in Milan speaks English. I was at the train station, queued up for 40 mins. Then, all the counter staff said "No English", the moment I opened my mouth.
At the hostel, I could not ask for anything. It was so bad. I almost thought I should just shut myself up in the Milan hostel. Eating my packed lunch, and taking my own time, I heard some Mandarin. To my utter relieve, the hostel receptionist was actually an Italian Chinese. So she helped me solve my ticket problem, and told me how to get around Milan. Some other places I thought of going, but then since no one speaks English here, and its raining heavily, I decided not to. Lest I dont make it back to the hostel.
Venice - better forgotten instead really. Update next time.
Florence. Florence was good, because I had a good host.
Next stop is rome. I kinda dont feel like going. Bcos florence, I finally had proper food, GOOD food to say the least, to eat. And a good place to return to, with quite good company. Then again, I know that Im done with Florence already. And the faster I get to rome, the faster I learn the ropes and cheap ways there. So I should get to rome, tmr morning, and spend one day, looking for a supermarket, and learning the transport system. And just planning my days from thurs to sun.
I hope to get to Pisa, then back to Oslo. Im done with Italy already. Italy is an ugly country. Dirty, rubbish all over the floor, bad roads, bad streets, full of gangs here and there. Full of beggars and poor people. Its just the old relics that draws thousands of visitors every day.
Ok Damn tired. Need to sleep. Nite.
Tuesday
Friday
Milan, Italy - the culture shock of culture shocks
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
Thursday
Milan, going around
At the train station, I could not find where to buy the tickets. I could not even find the metro. I searched and searched. It was huge. I asked 2 person. But as soon as I start talking, they replied "No English". I wonder how they even know that I am speaking english if they could not understand. I give up. I searched, I failed again. Soon, I saw a young girl. Looks like a uni student to me. And I remembered that Vallentina, a Italian exchange student in oslo, was able to speak basic english to me. So I approached that girl, and to my delight, she says she speaks a little english. However, her directions were to good. She points right and says turn left. Eventually, I was to find out that her directions brought me to nowhere, even after I tried turning both left and right. So I walked walked walked to a queue that looks like people are asking for information. I got a map of the metro from the hostel. And finally, I asked the staff, who also could not speak english. Hence, I showed him the map and he pointed outside the door and below the ground. So its an escalator outside the door to the underground. Yes, I found it. The only escalator that goes underground.
Underground, I was in for more culture shock. It was so busy, so many people. So many stalls. But everyone is queueing at a yellow cigarette store and the boss is so busy shouting. I figured this must be the queue to buy ticket. I queued. Behind me queued a few China middle woman who spoke in Mandarin. I heard them say this is the queue. And clarified. As usual, Asians always look shock when you talk to them, like you are some bad guy. I bought my ticket. Didnt know which to buy, so I bought the cheapest for 1 euro. For the first time in my life, I was to learn that the ticket was only valid for 1 metro trip. For buses, you can take more trip within 90mins. Well, I did manage to get to the right stop, after enduring the warm, stuffy, smelly, dirty, packed train, while clutching to my bag tightly for fear of robbers.
I alighted. And tried to get to my place, but didnt know where to exit. I wanted to ask, but figured that I would not start a sentence with english, because they would just ignore me. So I approached a stall owner at the metro and said "San Siro?" while pointing at a random direction. He replied "San Siro _ _ _ _ " and pointed somewhere else. I followed that direction. Glad, I realised that not opening a sentence with English helps.
Along the way, I did the same.
The walk to San Siro, internet tip says follow the row of trees.
After 20 mins of walking, I stopped at a junction. A woman saw me and asked me "where are you going?" I was shocked. But at the same time, I was really careful of being approached on the streets. Too many real stories of friends of friends who got robbed because they trusted the strangers who approach them and let their guard down.
And after 30 mins of walking, I saw San Siro.
But nearest to me, was a horse-racing stadium. I could not help but notice the huge horse.
Had to do this shot.
Burnt down buildings beside San Siro.
San Siro - home to AC Milan and Inter Milan.
He took this shot for me. The buldge on the side is my waist pouch, hidden inside my jacket to prevent pickpockets and robbers. It might seem exaggerated, but its Milan. No joke at all.
At this point, I realised that the rain had gotten into my camera lens, hence the blur.
I walked in, only to realise that it costs 12.50 euro. As I hesitated, the counter was pissed and shouted at me to hurry up. I thought it was so rude to be pissed at a customer. They offered me a discounted price of 10 euro because they thought I was the Malaysian couple's son & I was under-18. (Nevertheless, student ticket should cost 10 euros anw). So I bought it.
You have to give credit to his wife. He's the obsessed soccer fan, she isnt. And she has followed him from Manchester, liverpool (both in England) to Madrid, Barcelona (both in Spain) to Milan, Italy - just to fulfill his dream and take pictures + video of him alone.
Going into the dressing rooms
Inter Milan's dressing room.
Quite a lousy equipped dressing room. No wonder got wacked by Man Utd.
AC Milan's dressing room.
The guide and I. He's a fan of AC, not inter.
One of the many seats for the AC players. Each has their own. The crowd was quiet most of the time, until David Beckham's name is mentioned, and then lots of commotion among the teens. All in Italian, but I assume they are talking about Beckham. (I wonder how he find this city & live here without Italian)
His name is Jalul. A Malaysian banker. At the AC Milan team talk table.
The store. This you must see. Look at how angry the counter woman (right) is? Staring at me and folding her arms, just because Im trying to take a shot. I really must say, Italians are not the most hospitable people on planet earth. This is a visitor place, where photos are expected. Imagine what kind of hard treatment I suffered at less touristy places. Sometimes, I wonder whether Im seeing true blue b@rbar|an5, or it@lian5 are simply their descendants. Undeveloped in their mind, behaviour, attitude, manners, streets, buildings, city.
After San Siro, Jalul's plan was the same as mine. We wanted to visit Duomo. However, our methods of getting there was different. Jalul wanted to take cab, because he says he has no time. After talking to him, I realise he had been using cab as his mode of transport, neglecting the cost completely. Since he offered to pay, I decided to help him get a cab. However, we crossed the streets countless times and countless cabs passed without stopping. Tomorrow I was to discover on a tourist newspaper, that it is impossible to get a cab off the streets in Milan, because their drivers weirdly (whats new) refuse to stop on the road side (how to do business like that? no wonder undev3loped & poor lah)
Hence, we give up and decided to take the tram there. Jalul met an old Italian man on the tram stop, who talked to him. Surprised that he spoke english, we were to discover that the old man travelled to Malaysia before. We could not buy ticket as there was no cigarette store nearby. The old man offered to sell us tickets. I wonder why he had so many extras. Jalul bought 3 from him, 1 for me. I didnt like it, because I had intended to hop onto the tram for free. But since he bought it already, and spent another 1 euro.
Jalul and wife.
We alighted, Jalul got hungry and decided to eat at Macs. Being Muslim, the only Halal food in italy is mac's fish burger.
At macs, I would receive another culture shock. They needed to pay for their ketchup and chilla sauce. And it costs too much for a sauce. We chatted. They thought I was "brave" (I interpret it as crazy) to go to Italy alone. I know, it was unwise and I regret it. After that, we walked to Duomo.
Inside Duomo
Inside Duomo
After that, we went to the arcade shopping beside Duomo. It looks really great.
At the center of the shopping arcade. There are 4 shops that face the center, the most prime position, which should also be the most expensive. And rightly so, when I saw Prada and Louis Vuitton.
When I saw this I was laughing like shit. The top 4 most expensive shops include McDonalds. Looks like Macs is on the bar with Prada and Louis Vuitton.
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