Milano

Up early to get the plane from Santander to Bergamo airport, near Milan, to visit my friends Kate, in Milan, and Jack, in Bologna. I'd been warned to take warm clothes - the temperature hadn't been much above 1 degree all week and snow was forecast. As a result, the entirety of my hold luggage - minus my camera - was woolens.

I think that it must have been 'ryanair grump day', because the gate staff and cabin crew were the most grumpy people I've met flying yet. They had particular problem with one guy, who's bag was a smidgen too big - and refused him on the plane until he'd sorted it out. Fair enough, you might say - but they hadn't asked anyone else to check, and the woman in the queue in front of me had a huge handbag poorly hidden under her fur coat that they didn't bat an eyelash. I'm weary in saying that it was racially motivated, but the Spanish have a poor reputation on this point, and the facts were clear - they hadn't any problem where the rest of us were breaking rules.

The view as we flew along the Pyrenees an the Alps was fantastic - and I spent the entirety of the flight with my nose pressed against the window.

After an hours bus ride to Milan, I was met at Centrale (pronounced chentralé) by Kate and two of her work mates, who'd driven from work to pick me up, and too me out to lunch at a chineese - there were no good Italian restaurants around the station, they said.

After food (a bit weird but nice) they took me back to Kate's house, in Bovisa, and I dumped my stuff before catching the train in to walk about Milan with my camera before Kate finished work.

Tube to the Duomo, then priotities - find a coffee. Italian coffee. It was calling me, after months of the spanish shite, and I was practically shaking at the thought of my next fix. After about 15 minutes of wondering down narrow lanes and navigating the trams that would shoot past, I found a café, and settled to have a cappucino and espresso, so I could saver the flavour of the steamed milk (non existent in Spain) and coffee at the same time. I had a chat with the bar guy, in Spanish, about the similarities of the two languages.

For the next 3 caffeine fuelled hours I wondered the streets, following my nose, to the castle and around the side streets and quirky shopping districts to the east of the castle. Eventually, my legs gave in, and I searched out a cup of tea, where I stayed in the warm, waiting for Kate to come and meet me.

After settling the bill - a hefty, central city 4 euros for a cup of tea - we set off to the canals, a 10 minute tube journey away. These were beautifully lit with strings of white bulbs, and we wondered about them before getting aperitivo at a café by the water.

Once sufficiently stuffed, we rolled out onto the street, and wondered some more before setting off home.

The tubes were cancelled.

We got on a tram, back to Centrale, were the trains to Bovisa were cancelled.

Italian trains suck.