Don't care what teachers say: Gonna be supermodel.

Trip Start Sep 27, 2005
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Trip End Oct 26, 2005


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Flag of Italy  ,
Friday, October 21, 2005

Birds. Like bicycles in Amsterdam, birds must be the most likely cause of death in Milan. Not because of bird flu though. And not everywhere in Milan. In fact, just at the Duomo. And not all birds. Just pigeons.
But there are a lot of them, and they thirst for human blood.
Don't say I didn't warn you.
I know all this from a few minutes waiting at the Duomo with Egyptian fellas who kept handing me seed because the birds engulfing me did make for quite the spectacle. Finally through the hurricane of feathers and pigeon-talons emerged Christine who was to be my host in Milan. Great seeing her again, and if anyone is to show you Milan it would have to be Tine who is just about made for it, it being the fashion capital of the world and all.
We struck out on the town, the most important stop being to buy me just one piece of fashionable clothing in my life. After much debate we settled on an olive ribbed sweater. But not just any olive ribbed sweater: This bad boy zips up the side!
Later we met up with her roommates and friend Keith to hit the aperitivo circuit. Greatest idea ever but would never work in America because frankly we eat too much. The way it works is you go to the place and order a drink for like €5-6. But that's not all. You also get as many swipes as you want at the buffet, which actually has some pretty decent food. I'm sure you see why it wouldn't be a financially viable proposition in the States :)
After an outing to the bars that evening, we managed to somehow rack 3 people across the short side of a mattress and futon frame like shrimp.
Next day we set out to find George Clooney. Unlikely, you might say. Somewhat more likely, however, when we move the search to Lake Como where he bought a house so now it's like the Italian cat's pajamas. One hour on the train and a few pops later, we were off to hang out with a few Italian kids, paddle the lake in search of George, laugh about shoes and Dixie Cups, play minigolf, and get a ride back to the train station from a "dancer".
The club Tine took me to that night was so exclusive that, no joke, there was a bouncer for the men's bathroom. I was afraid that if I don't look sharp enough, slip the guy a fifty, or have some good-looking girls with me, maybe I've got to hold it all night outside the door!
I ended up staying up all night, because after a discussion of UK parliamentary politics over pizza that I swear had ketchup instead of sauce with Tine and 2 random British guys on a corner café at 4AM, there wasn't a whole lot of reason for me to nap before my 6AM train. I was to be traveling all the next day and get to Prague by late that next night for the last stop on my whirlwind tour.

Moral of the story: George Clooney wasn't there. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.
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