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Milan -- oh dear! What a trip! Actually the "fun" we had on this weekend would in another context be classified as torture. And I didn't even do Lausanne on Friday, which I am told I should have. Dammit, I should have! Reportedly the club was nice and unexcited with best views -- which definitely can't be said of Milan's Billy Club. But then Lausanne isn't in Italy. Italians! LOL
Do I have to add that I am in no way inclined to nationalistic "tagging" of entire peoples? I try to look at every person individually and couldn't care less where they come from. Well, don't get me wrong, but I do get my prejudices confirmed again and again when it comes to the Italian "character". What is it with them?! But they are just so LOUD -- so totally pointlessly loud as if the whole country were acoustically challenged. And everything is so complicated! Everything has to be done in this over-the-top, time-consuming and nerve-wreckingly complicated way. Even simply standing is done in a somehow complicated way: Always in the middle of the doorway, and preferably with loads of Prada handbags, fur coats and Panettone parcels to efficiently block other people's path.

On my flight to Milan I had the double pleasure of being seated in the middle of a crowd of 50 over-excited teenagers -- Italian teenagers, plus one incompetent cow of teacher. I had to wear earplugs all the way because of the screaming. Totally pointless teenager screaming directly into my ear. And of course a lot of seat-swapping, mobile-phone handling and sugary-sweet eating was going on. I am so intolerant of young people! LOL

Inconsiderate. That's the word that comes to my mind. I find Italians (not YOU, I mean generically speaking!!) very inconsiderate. I'm sure they do not mean to be, I'm sure they are all full of warm-hearted, sincerely-felt love towards their fellow passengers. Only they express it in a funny way. You always hear people talk about the Italian temperament. They are just temperamental! -- No, they're not. They are loud and inconsiderate. I find the 'Mamma Mia!' attitude not charming at all -- just about as charming as having somebody knock over your pint in the pub or vomit on your shoes.

The journey on Saturday started off a bit hastily on which I'd rather not comment. It had to do with the fact that I must have thought it a good idea on Friday night not to set my alarm clock and not to pack... I woke up at 6:45 and my bus went at 7:30. Of course I didn't have much time to pamper myself so I did an exciting new thing at Heathrow: I took a shower! I had always wanted to know what those public shower signs referred to. And what a great service it is at 3£!!

Milan is quite a big place with 2 airports. I arrived at the closer one, Linate, and departed from Malpensa (50km from the city centre). I took the shuttle from the airport, walked to the duomo -- which looks very impressive -- and took the metro to our hotel, which was OK by the way. The girls were already there, and the lovely Chinese hotel owners were puzzled -- as people tend to be -- by our international mix and strange sightseeing hours.

We decided to make a move for the club at 11:30 to still be able to use the public transport. Unfortunately we ended up taking a wrong turn and then opted for a taxi from the centre. But we had to wait for almost an hour! By the time we arrived at the club it was already about 1AM. The shock! The horror! There was a queue of about 1km long and 6 persons wide! However, it moved along quickly because they didn't charge at the entrance. Everything was handled via vouchers (cloakroom, entrance fee, drinks...), payable at one (1!) central cash point inside the club. (Talk about putting inconvenience into practice...)

Kristine managed to check her 50-kg hand luggage at the cloakroom. She had to leave the club at 5:30AM to stand any chance of catching her 7ish Malpensa flight. I won't comment on the fact that she was also determined not to miss one single second of the gig, neglected to make a dash to the cloakroom before 5000 clubbers started crowding the desk and fighting for their coats after the lights went on, and that she was still at the club at 6:30AM...

The voucher system might have worked if they had had more than one cash point, or even had explained how the system worked in the first place! We were lost, but this voucher thing is obviously an Italian common practice that everybody happily went along with. It made it nearly impossible to buy drinks, but drink did not seem to feature high on those clubbers' list anyway. Most of them were clearly out of their heads on Ecstasy -- the only way they could have tolerated that completely overcrowded, hot, nerve-wrecking place!! LOL The club didn't even have toilets! Well, it did have two male toilets, but they were impossible to use because each urinal was occupied by about 20 men.
There were about 5000 people in the club. 4991 men, the rest women. Half-naked men to be precise.
It was so packed that it took us about 30 minutes to find the DJ booth!
They had conveniently covered the aquarium-like glass box in huge golden polystyrene letters and naked dancers. Hence no pictures: the glass made flash photography impossible.

We had to wait until 4 before George came on, so Paul hadn't lied. The club people kept insisting that they would close at 5AM, but George was on until 6. I guess it must have had something to do with people not having changed the clocks to summer time?!

George was in a good mood and chatted a lot with the club "reps" and Guy Williams who had been DJing before him. I ran into Paul and his wife who looked like they were on their way out and apparently did not stay to enjoy the gig. LOL Paul only returned at 6 to pick up the records.

After the gig it took us about 30 minutes to struggle to the bloody cloakroom which was conveniently located in a cul-de-sac-style corridor.
Kristine got lucky by finding a taxi in front of the club and even made her flight. She did miss her connection in London however, due to the long security lines at Heathrow.

Sybille and I went back to the hotel and still got about 12 minutes of sleep. Sybille left at 10, I at 11 -- after realising that Malpensa was indeed quite a trip from the city centre, so I skipped the duomo. It would probably have been closed to tourists anyway because it was Palm Sunday. And it had also started to rain...
No stalking incidents to report on my flight back.
I landed in London in a snowstorm, killed another 4 hours until my bus left, and am now back with my brain apparently working again.

Il duomo di Milano

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