Paint It Black

The weekend didn’t turn out as planned. Shortly after I sent my brief newsletter last Friday, my dad called to say that he and Ruth both had a bad flu and I shouldn’t come for the planned visit to them in England, lest I catch it.

Not a dead loss – the weather at home was finally warming up, and I was itching to get to work on my garden, which I did so much on Saturday that my back and knees were aching Saturday night.

Sunday more of the same. I was just coming back into the taverna (our ground/basement floor family room) from the garden when the phone rang. It was my dad, to tell me that my aunt Rosie had died.

It wasn’t unexpected – in fact, when he called Friday, his dolorous tone had me convinced for a moment that he was about to tell me that. Rosie had been in the hospital for about a week this time, with a high fever and at least three different infections. But death, even when expected, comes as a shock. I probably sounded strange and cold to my dad. I hung up the phone, walked towards the door, then crouched on the floor. The most extraordinary sounds started coming out of me. Howls, I guess. I didn’t know I could make noises like that. Even while I was making them, some detached part of my brain was thinking: “Well, at least I still know how to grieve. I guess that’s good.”

I’m still in shock. Sometime later I will explain just why and how Rosie was so important in my life. But I had to deal with practicalities like plane tickets. Which was so frustrating that at some point I said to Enrico: “All this is apparently designed to piss me off and distract me from the pain I’m in.” (I had drafted an article about KLM’s wonderful attention to their customers; as of today, that is due for some radical revision.)

Ross and I will arrive in Austin late Wednesday, the funeral will be held in Taylor on Saturday, and we leave again early Monday morning. Rosie’s daughter Casey and I are looking for a jazz band to play “When the Saints Go Marching In” (Rosie’s request). Casey says the funeral will not be held in the church, “because we wouldn’t be able to have any fun.” And fun, to celebrate a life such as Rosie’s, is absolutely necessary. She was an extraordinary woman, and I owe to her a lot of who I am.

How to Use the Milan Metro

updated Oct 18, 2006 – prices could well be out of date by now!

The Milan metro is moving to a smart card system for local passengers with monthly or annual passes. This is fine for the locals, but the authorities, in their infinite wisdom, have also removed the old ticket machines from most metro stations. The new orange machines can only be used for smart card refills, and to buy single tickets for INTRA-urban (within city) trips – which, unfortunately, leaves out the new fair/expo complex at Rho. Most of the machines to stamp paper tickets at the turnstiles have also been replaced by smart card readers.

For Business Travellers to Rho/Fiera

The new regime has created a problem, particularly at Milan’s Central Station where many business travellers arrive. You can buy paper tickets from the big edicola (newsstand) in the middle of the mezzanine floor in the metro station (and maybe in the edicole in the railway station itself).

The prices for Rho are:

  • 2 euros – single trip
  • 5.50 euros – 24 hours’ unlimited use
  • 9.70 euros – pass good for a week

During big expos, the edicola in the metro has three ticket windows operating, but there can still be very long lines.

If you walk around the corner to the right of the edicola, you will find a few of the old ticket machines which still sell all kinds of tickets – when they work, and IF you can figure out (in Italian) how to use them (the options seem immensely complex). These machines issue old-fashioned paper tickets which must be stamped in one of the few remaining ticket stampers – look for the little yellow boxes perched on top of the turnstiles nearest to the operator booth in the center of the concourse.

During fair times I also see people lined up at the new orange machines. I don’t know what happens if you buy one of the new intra-urban tickets and then travel all the way to Rho. In any case, if you buy one of these tickets, you slide it into the little slot on the front of the turnstile.

Your best bet is to try to get tickets BEFORE you get to Milan’s Central Station; many other newstands and tabaccai (tobacco shops) supply them – be sure to specify that you’re going to the fiera [FYAIR-ah] in Rho.

If you are staying out of town and commuting into Milan, it is often possible to buy Milan metro tickets at outlying railway stations; ask in the edicola at the station.

Getting to the Fair

Once you’ve got your ticket, go through the turnstiles to the left of the information booth. Immediately after you’ll see a staircase going down on your right. This takes you to the green line (Linea 2) of the metro going in the direction of Abbiategrasso.

Take this line five stops to Cadorna.

Change to the red line (Linea 1) in the direction of Rho/Fiera (obviously), which is the end of the line, so you can’t miss your stop.

See below for instructions on finding the right platform and train.

For Travelers Within Milan City

If you’re going to be using Milan’s public transit system (metro and/or buses and/or trams) more than three times on a given day, buy a day pass (3 euros, last time I looked). If you’re going to be using the system for multiple days but only twice a day, you can buy a ten-ride ticket from the orange machines.

Single and multiple tickets are good for 75 minutes throughout the system – run the ticket through the machine the first time you get on a bus or tram AND the first time you go into the metro. The ticket is good throughout the metro system as long as you stay underground (don’t pass the turnstiles), but once you have exited the metro you’ll need to use another ticket to re-enter, even if your original ticket still has time on it. However, you can keep riding on the buses and trams until your time’s up.

Figuring Out Which Train to Take

There are three metro lines – red, green, and yellow, aka Linea 1, 2 and 3.

The red line runs from Sesto (aka Sesto San Giovanni, a suburb of Milan) – Primo Maggio in the north, through the city center (Duomo) and out of the city again to the west. It splits at Pagano, with one line going northwest to Rho/Fiera (the new expo) and the other southwest to Bisceglie. So, if you’re heading west past Pagano, make sure you choose the right train! The final destination of the next train will be shown on the lighted display above the platform as the train pulls in, and also on signs on the front and sides of the train itself.

The green line runs from Abbiategrasso, south of Milan, passing through the city center and the Central Station. Heading east, the line splits at Cascina Gobba and goes to either Cologno Nord or Gessate. If you will be going east past Cascina Gobba, make sure you choose the right train!

If you do make a mistake and board the wrong train, get off as soon as you realize it. If you haven’t passed the station where the line splits, you can simply wait on the same platform for a train going to the right place, which is usually (but not always!) the next train to come along. If you have passed the split, you’ll need to go back the way you came until the split, then take the correct train.

The yellow line runs from Maciachini in the north to San Donato in the south, with no splits.

The lines intersect as follows:

  • red and green: at Loreto and Cadorna
  • green and yellow: at Stazione Centrale
  • red and yellow: at Duomo

You can change trains (using the same ticket) at any of these intersections.

How to Find the Right Train

As you enter the metro station, look for signs overhead pointing to the train in the direction you want to go, which will be identified by the name of the station at the end of the line.

Then look for a sign like the one above. This example is a sign at the Montenapoleone station on the yellow line, showing the stops remaining in the northward direction to Maciachini. There are six stops remaining, and the yellow line will intersect with the green line at Centrale FS (the Central Station).

add your own Milan metro tips below!

La Buona Educazione: Good Manners in Italy

Italy has four or five of those freebie newspapers, you probably have them in your city as well. The one I read regularly is Metro, partly because it’s the best of a bad lot, partly because it’s the only one distributed at the Lecco railway station. It’s not serious news, just enough to keep up on showbiz silliness (Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie will get married on Lake Como next week – wait, no, they didn’t), and the letters page is a glimpse into what’s on the collective Italian mind.

Every now and then they publish a flurry of letters about manners, usually started by a woman complaining that no one, and especially no man, ever offers her a seat on the bus or subway – even when she’s visibly pregnant. Other women chime in with similar experiences, then the men recount how no one ever gave them a seat, even when they were on crutches, or how some women are snappishly offended to be classified as old enough to need such courtesies.

How well I remember traversing the city every day to daycare, standing with a heavy two-year-old Rossella in my arms because, if I put her down, she was likely to get stepped on or bashed in the head with someone’s heavy bag.

Once she asked, in a loud, clear voice: “Why won’t anyone let us sit down?” (This was during the phase when she only spoke Italian, so everyone understood it.)

“Because,” I answered equally loudly, and in Italian, “no one is civil enough to notice that there’s a mother here with a child in her arms who needs to sit down.”

That finally got us a seat.

During my recent visit to Texas, I was startled that men kept leaping ahead to open doors for me. This reminded me of a fellow Woodstocker who had attended the University of Texas at the same time I did. He was Bangladeshi, and had some cultural adjustment difficulties. He said to me mournfully: “I never know what to do at a door. If I don’t open a door for a girl, she gives me a dirty look. If I do, she calls me a chauvinist pig.” (I told him that he should do what was right for him, and if someone called him a pig for his good manners, she was seriously lacking in manners herself.)

The nagging problem on trains is many passengers’ failure to close the compartment doors. On a typical commuter train, each carriage divided into three sections, with two entry platforms, plus doors on each end into the next carriage. The entry platforms are not heated, so in winter it’s important to close the doors between the compartments and the entryways. (They should theoretically close by themselves, but the trains are so old that they often need a push.)

But lots of people go charging through the train, leaving a string of open doors behind them, and other passengers shouting irately after them: “Ehi! Porta!” (“Hey! Door!”) – usually ignored, because someone who is rude in the first place is rarely going to acknowledge the fact and correct his error.

I habitually sit near the door, so am often the one to get up and close it. A few times I have commented to a nearby passenger: “Tutti nati in stalla,” from the American: “Were you born in a barn?” This phrase isn’t used in Italy, so Italians find it very funny; Ross’ boyfriend doubled up laughing the first time he heard it.

Deirdré Straughan on Italy, India, the Internet, the world, and now Australia