I, Jen, have survived a trip to Milan. A city full of angry Italians who have very little patience for tourists and their inability to speak the language. Armed with Lawrence and my phone, we braved the narrow streets and went exploring.
Day one:
I endured a flight on a Ryanair plane. That, in itself, is quite the achievement considering I’m quite small, hate confrontation and do not have sharp elbows. We also landed in a strange airport that resembled a dodgy 80s arcade. Pretty sure if I’d hung around there for too long, I’d have been sold onto some rich family as their personal slave.
The pizza. Oh. My. Gosh. A lot of it was consumed. I swear I’ll never look at Domino’s in the same way again. Scum bags and pizza liars.
Day two:
The day we discovered dinosaurs in the middle of Milan and that Italians will stare at people with white hair.
Day three:
Guess what? Italy is a very, very Catholic country. And yes, I did know that but my brain wasn’t working. It turns out you can’t walk up to the Duomo Cathedral with skin coloured tights on and not expect to get yelled at by the army men who guard the doors.
“For you, it’s free. For you! You look at the sign. You want in? YOU COVER YOUR LEGS!“
And with that, I glanced at the sign and then at my legs. Technically I wasn’t wearing shorts as depicted in the sign but I didn’t fancy taking on the wrath of Jesus and his minions that day. Change of plan then… And with that we hopped on a tour bus, plugged in our flimsy earphones, exchanged smiles with those around us and activated super tourist mode.
Day Four:
The day I covered my legs, entered the Duomo and climbed 250 stairs.
Day five:
Alarm clocks are nasty things. Its ear piercing siren went off at 6:50am to summon us to get up. It was also the day I discovered how loud 6 Italians on a small, flying tin can could be.
And finally, here’s Lawrence with a giant strawberry that just so happens to have a bum:
