For our last day on Lake Como we decided to see the area by boat. We boarded a tourist ferry in the morning and rode to the tip of the lake and the town of Como. On the way we passed numerous beautiful villas, including George Clooney's vacation home. Or rather - George Clooney's vacation compound, because we couldn't even see the house surrounded by trees.
Como is a cute little Italian town and we spent the afternoon walking its narrow cobbled streets. We ate lunch at a church plaza and tried the local gelato before boarding the last return boat of the afternoon.
The next day we rose early and prepared our bags to leave. We had our usual breakfast, then
lingered on the terasse for a while, taking in the view. I peeled a clementine and shared it with the house myna bird, Robino. We took a last, longing look at The Best Hotel View Ever, then checked out and settled back into the car for the drive.
Once in Milan, we bade farewell to the trusty Ford Mondeo at the Avis office and set out on foot, luggage in tow. We checked into our hotel, which was located on a noisy, traffic-clogged road - a far cry from the tranquility of Lake Como.
With the rest of our day we visited the Milan Cathedral, the beautiful Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II, and The Last Supper.
Only by chance I learned that The Last Supper was located in Milan - I saw it noted on a tourist map - and I didn't relent until David agreed to go see it with me. David's a sport when it comes to art.
Two things I previously didn't know about Leonardo's The Last Supper:
1. It's painted directly on a wall
2. It's huge. More than lifesized huge.
The room - the former dining hall of the Santa Maria delle Grazie church - is completely controlled; climate controlled, tourist controlled (we were only allowed to enter in groups of 20 or so), photography controlled (that is, photography prohibited). But well worth it to see one of the world's great masterpieces.
I saw everything I was interested in seeing in Milan.
The next morning was a stressed flurry of cramming everything into train-travel friendly luggage (which is not as severe as plane-travel luggage, but a lot more serious than the loose overspill of road-trip bags), hotel breakfast, and checking out.
We experienced just a small setback after we squeezed into the tiny elevator with our luggage.
The doors closed, we descended a few feet, and the elevator stopped. We waited a few minutes, and nothing happened. My mind raced with the bitter irony of the situation - on the way to catch our train, all of our luggage in this metal box - why now? Then I mentally counted the number of stories we would plummet when the cable broke (Hollywood movies do this to us)
while David tried to pry the doors apart. Not a good idea, he finally decided.
Then we had the brilliant idea to push the alarm button on the elevator, and soon enough a bored hotel employee was off to flip the circuit breaker. Apparently this happens a lot.
Once safely on the ground, we tugged our bags to the nearby train station, then boarded the stinkiest, dirtiest TGV train we've ever seen. This for our longest train ride to date - seven hours. Soon we learned that five of the six bathrooms on board didn't have running water, and our car didn't have air conditioning. We grabbed our bags and dragged them up a few cars before finding more comfortable seats for the journey.
The train pulled into Paris late that night and we groggily pulled ourselves together to get ready for the train transfers home. We would have to leave Gare de Lyon and take metros up to Gare du Nord, from where we normally take suburban trains back to Conflans Sainte Honorine. However, by the time we debarked the train in Gare de Lyon, we knew we would miss the last train of the night back to Conflans. Stranded in Paris in the middle of the night.
Plan B was quickly devised to take an RER train to a station in the other side of Conflans. From there we could take a cab home, which would surely be cheaper than taking a cab all the way from Paris.
The RER trains run later than the suburban trains, and we had no problem getting ourselves to the opposite side of Conflans. By then it was well past midnight, and we stepped into the night air shivering. This was certainly not the same balmy France we'd left behind in the south.
Over at the taxi stand in front of the station, there were no cars waiting. We looked both ways on the deserted street and cursed. I pulled out my cell phone and called the number on the taxi stand sign.
And of course - this being France - no one answered the phone. Stranded in Conflans in the middle of the night. I was tired and cranky - now what?
David came up with the wild solution. He threw open our suitcase on the floor of the train station, pulled out his running shoes, and said "I'll be right back".
Dave, I whined. It's clear on the other side of town. It's the middle of the night. Don't be foolish.
Do you have a better idea?
No.
Fine then. I'll be right back.
I pulled on a sweatshirt, sank into a bench, and sulked. Why does this country have to be so difficult?
Twenty short minutes later, our little C2 wheeled up in front of the station.
Thirty minutes after that, we were in bed, Oliver was nuzzled between us, and we were finally home.
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