My Induction to Solo Overseas Travel

By now I would say that I’m a veteran domestic traveler. I’ve been “flying solo” for over a dozen years and I’m quite comfortable doing so. But this trip would mark only my second attempt at solo international travel. And it didn’t go as smoothly as I would have hoped. All three of my flights went fine. I was a bit worried about my 50 minute connection in Washington (Would I make it on time?) and my 4 hour layover in Germany (What would I do with myself for that long?) but both were easy. It wasn’t until I landed in Milan that the trouble started.

According to all my paperwork, there was supposed to be a shuttle bus that ran from the airport directly to the tradeshow where Karlo was working. All I had to do was find that bus. Easy, right? Wrong! Nobody spoke English at the airport (and that pretty much set the scene for most of this trip) and there was no signage anywhere for the show. I had a printout of the fairgrounds and showed this to somebody at the bus stand. I bought a ticket for more money than my paperwork indicated and that should have been my first clue that something wasn’t right. I tried to ask the bus driver if I was in the right place, but he hurried me along and brushed me off just as quick as he could. I got onboard and hoped for the best. About 30 minutes later the jam-packed bus stops in the middle of a crowded city street and the bus driver calls out “MilanoFeiroCity.” Positively nobody moves and I had the feeling he was making this stop just for me. That was supposedly the name of the fairgrounds, but I knew it just didn’t look right. What else could I do but get off the bus?

So here I am with my big suitcase, my heavy backpack, in brand new shoes and a turtleneck sweater in the middle of a bustling city where there was positively no sign of the trade show. I walked and walked in search of help, all the while lugging my bags. It was dreadful. After walking about a half mile in the wrong direction I found somebody that could speak a speck of English. Together we figured out that I was in the OLD fairgrounds (with the same name) and at least 15-20 km away from the new fairgrounds where the show was. I was ready to cry. Finding a taxi was terrifying as Karlo told me that his fare from the airport to the hotel cost . . . get this . . . 115 Euros, which is like $150. There was no way I was chancing that nightmare. So I pulled , carried, and dragged my bags over another kilometer through the city to find the metro station. Boy was I happy to see that big M sign and impressed that I found it.

Now I had to contend with the huge flight of stairs to get down to the station, figuring out how to buy a ticket and then which train to get on. No stress there I tell you! By some miracle I bought the right ticket and then managed to get my big pink suitcase completely stuck in the turn style. Great, just what I needed. I had to go find a very rude Italian worker to help me. He was not the slightest bit amused by my dilemma, but I thought it was pretty funny. I made it to the tracks just as a train pulled in. I had a 50/50 chance that it was going in the right direction, but I hopped on anyway. At this point not much was going to faze me and luckily it was the right one. It was about 100 degrees on that train (don’t forget about my turtleneck sweater) and all the seats were taken. I endured what seemed like an eternity in Hell before the train finally stopped at the correct fairgrounds. I made it at last . . .

Not so fast. Now I still had to find Karlo. I had the booth number and was very accustomed to trade shows so how bad could that be? Well, nearly one mile later I almost gave up. I was in so much pain with my hurting, stress-induced shoulder and there wasn’t a speck of foot skin that was blister free. I just wasn’t sure how I would press on. But I did and I was never so happy to see a Mastercam logo or Karlo’s face in my life.