Milan, Day 1

My flight lands at Malpensa, which sits on the northwest side of Milan and is the larger of the city's two airports. I walk to baggage claim and immediately notice a couple of really hot women. Then I notice a few more. And some more.

Women in Italy are HOT. Hot in a way the Italian women living outside Italy are not. It must be lifestyle rather than genetics: constant walking, the availability of local fresh fruits and vegetables, very little meat/fat in the diet. Women -- and men too -- tend to be healthful. This combination of fitness and the proclivity to dress stylishly makes for some serious whiplash :)

I catch the Malpensa Shuttle to Linate, the smaller of Milan's two airports. Linate is very close to my hotel and to the IBM site. I doze for most of the hour-long ride. I wake as we near Linate and see that this airport is quite small compared to Malpensa. As I wheel my bags toward the taxi stand I am accosted by four different men who promise to take me to my destination for the great low rate of just €35, which even I recognize as robbery. I say to the real taxi driver: "Ciao. Vado a questo indirrizzo, [Hello. I am staying at this address]" and hold up my Blackberry so he can read the hotel's address.

Total cost of the ride: €6. That's more like it.

The hotel is about the size of a two-story Holiday Inn, but somewhat nicer. And cleaner. It is about 9:30 pm and I have not eaten yet. I walk down the corridor to the hotel restaurant. Hmmm... I grow a bit concerned. It looks about a step up from a cafeteria, but with tablecloths, but there is NOTHING else around. "Un tavola por uno per favore" (a table for one, please). Despite a nearly empty dining room they seat me next to the kitchen door. My consternation grows. I scan the menu... hmmm... actually this looks like a nice selection. I order the rare tuna medallions, a salad, and a glass of wine.

Ten minutes later the food arrives. It looks incredible. The salad is sporting a fistful of halved cherry tomatoes of the deepest red I have ever seen. The waiter adds salt, pepper, oil and a bit of a viscous balsamic vinegar. The medallions look perfect. The waiter drizzles a bit of olive oil on them.

One bite, and my entire outlook on this restaurant changes. The food is fresh and prepared perfectly. PERFECTLY. Later I would learn that I am eating in a four-star restaurant.

Hot women and awesome food. I think I am going to like Italy.

After dinner I realize that I still need to iron my clothes for the next day (Tuesday), when once again I will be teaching IBM software. My room doesn't have an iron. I ask the front desk for a "ferro de estillo" [steam iron]. Can't give me one, the manager says, but he can give me access to one. He hands me a key and directs me to a spare room used by housekeeping.

An hour later I lie in bed in the dark, repeating in my head Italian phrases from my Berlitz booklet while falling asleep.

To be continued...