Day 1 - Part 1

All the planning was done. It was time to go. My beautiful new suitcase was all packed and waiting in the hallway. Just before leaving, I received a phone call and had to take care of just one more thing at the office. I rushed back upstairs, grabbed my suitcase and headed for the car. The first snowflakes of the season were falling as a snow squall pushed through. I loaded my bag and we were off with Fr. Benedict at the wheel.

Loading the car with snow

 Traffic was a little slow, especially on Rt. 24, but fortunately, we had left more than early enough for my flight. We pulled up to Terminal C and I grabbed my bag from the back, said good-bye and headed inside. As I began printing my baggage claim, I looked around for my shoulder bag. “Where was it?” I wondered. Then my heart sank. I must have left it in the car. Ben couldn’t have gotten far, so I called him and asked him to look for the bag so that could he bring it. I hung up. A few minutes later, he called back. “It’s not in the car.”  I then realized what had happened. When the phone call came and distracted me, I forgot to go back into my room. That’s where the bag was. In it were my laptop, my Kindle and my meds. I could live without the first two items, but not having the third for 8 days was a little more problematic. Ben graciously agreed to drive back to Morristown, retrieve the bag and return to the airport. A quick calculation suggested that there was just enough time to do that.

I sat down in the baggage check area and thought about all the other things that could go wrong now. This trip was not off to a good start. Then my phone rang. I was Fr. Benedict. “I’m stuck in traffic on 78. I don’t think I’ll make it.” “S..t”, I thought. Then he continued. “I called Br. William. He’s going to your room right now to get the bag and will leave immediately for Newark.” “Yes”, I thought, “tag team. This could work.” Within minutes, I had a text from William saying that he was on his way. The next 45 minutes were among the longest of my life. Then my phone buzzed. It was William. “I’m close” he said, “come outside.” The next thing I knew, he was there in front of me. He handed me the bag through the open window. I thanked him profusely. He waved me off and disappeared into the stream of cars circling the airport. Catastrophe averted.

I passed through security with remarkable ease and I was at the gate in plenty of time. Soon we were boarding, but I was surprised that there was no special call for Premium Economy passengers. I thought that was part of the deal when you ponied up for the extra services. At this point, I didn’t care. I just wanted to get on the plane and get the flight over with. When I got to my seat, that, too, was a bit of a disappointment. It certainly did not look much bigger, but at least there were only two side-by-side. Again, oh well. At least the lavatory is right there. Then the business class flight attendant emerged to announce that she had 45 passengers in business class and these two lavatories were exclusively for their use. Everybody else, including Premium Economy, needed to use the other two lavatories in the back. My seatmate says, “So the other 200 of us have to use two toilets?” She just turned and walked away. Well, at least we had real silverware to eat the crappy food.

Resigned to my situation, I made myself as comfortable as I could. I read for a while and was growing a little drowsy when they shut the cabin light off. I shut off my Kindle, pulled the blanket up around me and tried to sleep. I must have eventually fallen fast asleep, but I woke because I needed to go. No one was looking, so I snuck into the forbidden lavatory. What were they going to do?  -Throw me off the plane? I made it back safely to my seat just when the cabin lights came on. Thank God. We would be landing shortly. Soon enough we were flying over the Alps just as the first rays of the sun were hitting the tops of the peaks. In less than an hour, we were on Italian soil. The good part was ready to begin.

A beautiful morning in Milan

Getting through passport control and luggage claim went very smoothly. Then it was off to find the train from the airport into Milan. Finding the train was relatively easy. Getting the ticket a little less so. As usual, there were a number of vending machines, several of which were out of order. I finally found one that worked and got my ticket. Of course, then the machine that you are supposed to use to validate the ticket before boarding wasn’t working. Welcome to Italy! I joined a crowd of people waiting on the tracks. It was pretty cold down there. Fortunately, the train came quickly. I stowed my suitcase and sat down. I had the infamous shoulder bag on my lap with the Delbarton “D” in full view. A young man sat down across from me and, after the train started moving, we made eye contact and he asked, “Dartmouth?” in English. I said, “No. Delbarton School. Our swag looks very similar. Do you go to Dartmouth? “Yes”, he said. “I’m in the MBA program.” I asked if he were doing some kind of study abroad, but he was actually just on vacation like me. The train into Milan takes about 45 minutes and we ended up having a great conversation. He went to Notre Dame as an undergraduate and spent a year in Rome, so we had lots to talk about. When we reached Milan, we shook hands and wished each other “Buona permanenza”, which means, “Have a nice stay!”

Waiting for the train to Milan

Milano Centrale is one of those great 19^th century train stations. I just love them! My first task was to get a ticket. Fortunately’ I found a machine right away that was working. I got my ticket and figured out that my train was in about a half hour. That meant that I finally had time for a cappuccino. One of my rituals is that I always have a cappuccino as soon as possible after landing. I could have had one at the airport, but the place wasn’t very appealing. Lucky for me, there was one right near the ticket machine. I popped inside, had my cappuccino and a pastry. Now I was ready for Parma.

Waiting in Milan

I waited with a crowd of people waiting for the track number to be posted. My train was going from one end of Italy in the north, Milan, to the far reaches of the south, Taranto. Parma was the first stop of many! The track listing finally appeared and we all started to move. I had bought a business class ticket, so my car was towards the front. I climbed on board and found my seat. Departure set for 11:05, then it was 11:15, finally we pulled out of the station at 11:20. This was a high-speed train and it was a bit scary to see the actual speed posted on the monitor. We were in Parma in under an hour. I exited the station and eventually found a taxi to bring me to the restaurant, Angiol D’or (the Golden Angel) where I was to meet my host.

Parma - that wasn't even very fast