14 June: Milan to Venice
Getting ourselves going and to the train station was a breeze. We had plenty of time before the train left to grab some breakfast and coffee. Pam tried to get some Pokemon cards, but that wasn't in... the cards.
One thing I've learned about Italian train stations: platforms aren't posted until 10-15 minutes before departure. We were about 30 minutes out when we checked the board anyway and, against all odds, found our train already listed with a platform. Small victory. We got on and settled in.
The three-hour ride had a lot of stops along the way, which I didn't mind one bit. The countryside rolling by was genuinely enchanting. At one point the Alps appeared in the distance. At another, granite hillsides being harvested for countertops. It was the kind of scenery that makes you forget your feet hurt.
Then we arrived, and the joy of the last three hours was promptly replaced with the usual travel day chaos.
I was following Google Maps toward the bus that would take us to the Airbnb near Marco Polo Airport. When we got to the bus station, we tried to find our bus number. 10? 15? I honestly don't remember. Whatever it was, it wasn't there. I pulled up the destination on Google Maps and showed the ticket agent. She misread my phone and sent us to a completely different airport north of the city. An hour away. On a bus with no stops.
This wasn't a city bus. You couldn't just hop off and regroup. No, you ride it to the end and think about what you've done.
The bus was incredibly hot, bags on laps, no room to breathe. When we finally arrived at the wrong airport, we got new tickets back to square one. This bus had better air conditioning, which was a comfort right up until Pam noticed the check engine light flashing on the dashboard. We hadn't even made it to a stoplight before the bus simply refused to move. Parking brake malfunction was my best guess. The driver, to his credit, kept the engine running so we wouldn't become the human equivalent of lasagna in an oven. A replacement bus arrived about 30 minutes later.
The replacement also had its check engine light on. I looked at it, looked out the window at rural Italy passing by, and decided some things are simply not worth knowing. I could control watching terrain and rural Italy go by. I could not control whatever was causing the flashing check engine light to flash.
Back at the original bus station, we bought a ticket for the correct airport. That 15-minute trip was uneventful and, naturally, had the best air conditioning of the three.
From the airport we set off on foot toward the Airbnb. Navigating out of an airport as a pedestrian is its own puzzle. Pam gently suggested a taxi. I acquiesced. 20 euros. The whole leg from train station to Airbnb was supposed to cost 1.50 euros. We ended up spending 85. An education is never cheap.
Still, we made it. Three nights here. We were starving, so we walked to the nearest place to eat and put away two pizzas that were way too big, a bottle of rose, and dessert. Travel day: survived.
