Day 1 | Not A Moment's Rest

Blind as the Lady Justice, a journey begins. A journey to a continent unknown, a culture undiscovered a palate untasted; Italy. As I leave my family behind at Chicago O'Hare Interntional Airport - Terminal 3, they stand also as a metaphor for all I leave behind. No matter how far the travel, one always has the pride of their home, their family. I leave behind not only family, but a community of colleagues, friends, lovers, employees, and enemies.  All of whom have fueled the possibility of this journey. Whether through encouragement or discouragement, they have been the wings which allow me to fly; without which I would be merely a penguin waddling around the arctic.
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As I passed the TSA checkpoint, and wavee one final goodbye to my parents and sister, the journey had begun. One year abroad, studying the culture and communication of food, at the Universita degli Studi di Scienze Gastronomiche. How does one who studies food begin such a journey, but to eat.

The impending hunger, and hangover from the night before, had left me vying for a decent place to eat, in an airport (of all places).  As I walked past Tortas Fronterra, It sruck me that in the year and a half that I had been living in Chicagoland, I had neglected to try once a Bayless restaurant. In an effort to remit the impending ridicule, I stopped in to order a Pepito and classic lime agua fresca.  The torta turned out to be quite flavorful, casting shame on the Wolfgang Puck pizza and other airport fast food choices I've had the 'pleasure' of tasting at O'Hare.  While the sandwich was indeed flavorful, highlighted by the balance of pickled jalapeños and chihuahua cheese, the pork ribs were dry and salty.  This had me grabbing for the lime-aid, to quench my thirst.

 No sooner did I finish my meal did I spot a similar face.  It was the kind lady who patiently waited with me for over an hour while we waited for the Iberia Airlines check-in counter to open on the
other side of the TSA checkpoint.  In travel, I'm amazed at how more quickly friendships strike up.

The humanity of the fellow traveller says that we're in this together, and we may as well enjoy it together. It turns out that she was a fellow passenger on Iberia Airlines 6274 to MAD. We made the long walk to gate K19 together, and found seats nearest the boarding desk, settling in for the next two and a half hours. I had pulled out the latest issue of Lucky Peach, prepared to read an article written by journalist Michael Pollan.  Instead, I was entrapped in that stereotypical fellow traveller talk. The one where you talk about where you've been and where you'd like to travel.  This usually leads to you being humbled by the other's experience, and leaves you yearning to discover what they have, if but for a bit of jealousy.  After sharing our professions (she was a retired social worker) and family stories (she has four kids, moved up from Mexico to marry her husband from Chicago, and is now hoping to have her daughter and handicapped son-in law return to the US from Spain), the boarding call was made.  The time seemed to move so quickly in the company of a fellow traveller's story.  We parted exchanging e-mails, with an open promise of crossing paths with our travels again sometime in the future.

Aboard the Airbus A340-600, named for the late Isaac Albéniz, a Spanish pianist/guitarist/composer, I found my seat in 45D.  With a look to my right, it was apparent that the entire row was empty, a luxury which served well, in a desperate need of rest.  Three crosswords and a viewing of 'Hitchcock' later, we landed in Madrid-Barajas.  A baggage check, passport stamp, and boarding pass signature later, we were back in the air to Milan-Malpanesa.

Landing in Milan, and picking up luggage, I panically looked around for the customs checkpoint.  The blood chilled through my body as I began mentally beating myself up for not taking that second Italian class before I left Chicago.  Having not found a checkpoint, I resorted to the uscita.  Surely the   police man would stop me and point me in the direction of the customs desk. He did stop me, asked me for my passaporto, and gave me a benvenuti a Italia.  A bit perplexed at how easy entry was, I pressed on, for I had three trains to catch.

The first two trains Milan-Malpanesa to Milan-Centro travelled just fine, if but a little late.  It was the third train which created a hurdle in an otherwise seamless travel thus far.  The second train had put us in a five minute difference between trains.  Hurried quickly out of the train I ran as fast as possible  to the next train.  It hadn't arrived yet.  What also hadn't arrived is the third piece of luggage I thought was on my left shoulder.  Hurriedly I ran back to the pervious train, only to catch it driving off.  Back at the third trains platform it was instant des ja vous, the train was on its way to Bra.  Panicked, I attempted to call the University liaison who was to pick me up at the Bra station, but no luck.

An hour later another train arrived, headed for Bra.  So upset at myself for losing my luggage, I didn't take the time to enjoy the natural beauty all around me on the train ride to Bra.  Having arrived in Bra, I have never felt less connected to the world.  No wi-if, no coins for public phones, no confidence in the Italian language.  Lucky for me, I walked past the public phone and overheard an Irish woman calling for a cab to the university.  We got in the Mercedes-Benz taxi can together, headed for Pollenzo.  In just enough time to explain that she was a professor for the university, and I mumble through my travel story, we were at the university.

At last, a wi-if connection.  I e-mailed the University liaison scheduled to pick me up, and she was able to send me to Paolo, a university administrator who would take me back to the university owned apartment in Bra.

Once at the apartment, I was kindly welcomed by my flat mates with a stiff drink.  Twenty minutes thereafter, a room full of my soonto be classmates had arrived.  Without even a moment to change clothes or freshen up, the party had begun.