Mick O’Dwyer, famous Gaelic footballer and manager; Ted Walshe, distinguished racehorse trainer; and Father Corrigan, ex-parish priest from Navan (map), were just some of the celebrities in Dublin airport on the morning that I was flying to Milan. The ground hostess had checked me into Premier Class, so boarding the plane I was positioned in seat 1A.
The flight lasted around two and a half hours but I was being pampered by the air-hostesses. I ate a magnificent meal and read the Irish Independent and landed in Milan, the home of Linate airport. Alighted into the fresh Italian air and made it through customs and passport control before progressing to the arrivals gate.
Spotted Shane O’Driscoll (Corky) who was waiting for me with a big bear-hug. Corky was studying Politics in the beautiful Tuscanian town of Siena.
Searching for the S.T.A.M. bus into the city centre Shane paid the 5,000 Lire and we found seats beside each other. Acquainted this other Irish guy who was spending a few days in Milan with friends. Every few minutes our conversation was interrupted by the unambiguous ring of mobile phones.
We arrived at the Milano Centrale (the main train station) and deposited the bags in left-luggage. Then the pair of us escaped from the train terminal and explored the centre of Milan. I couldn’t help noticing that the females in the city all had marvelous figures, were exclusively dressed in very small micro-mini-skirts and everyone donned a pair of
Georgio Armani sunglasses.
The Piazza del Duomo (Square of the ‘House of God’) was a fantastic sight covered by natives announcing that their political party was the best ever. The Duomo (House of God) was a stupendous cathedral, of which I had never seen the likes of before. Unmistakably Gothic in
style, the Duomo covered nearly twice the size of a football pitch and was absolutely breathtaking.
Inside the cathedral, the ornateness astounded me. We walked in unison, eyes forever drawn upwards at the marvelous ornamented roof. Seemingly, there are 4,400 statues which decorate the cathedral. Corky went on his own trip around the Duomo and after saying a few prayers I joined
him as we sat out on the Piazza. I brought Corky up-to-date with what has been happening in Ireland and told a few jokes under the spray of the Piazza’s fountain.
Following a cappuccino, we headed back to Milano Centrale in time for the train which would take us through Venice (at night) and into the capital city of Austria. The train was underpopulated but we were joined just before setting off by an elderly Italian couple. We made small-talk and then a pair of arrogant Italian stallions familiarised themselves with us.
The two blokes then started arguing with the elderly man who was obviously well-educated because I could sense, even though my Italian has never been the best, that he was winning every altercation. Then the boys turned to myself and Shane and started to joke about the Irish.
The Corkman was trying his best, in Italian, to elevate his country and was doing a fine job. The debate was dying out, obviously because Shane was overpowering these wimps, when I was struck with a brainwave. I immediately shouted out “One Nil, One Nil….”, gesticulating with my
fingers that Ireland had hockeyed Italy 1-0 in the World Cup Finals in America. Roberto and Dickheadio were like two dogs with their tails between their legs. Sickened!
The stallions left us and the old couple disembarked in Verona (the city used by Shakespeare as the backdrop to Romeo and Juliet). I treated Shane to some of my super songs and at about 1:30am we arrived in Venice. Changing trains, we arranged the seats into beds by pulling down the head-rests to find some slumber.
No sooner had I started dreaming of beautiful Scottish women when we were viciously awoken by the passport control officer. The uniformed guy
burst into the cabin, without knocking, and sent me flying into the air with fright. He checked our credentials and left abruptly. At 4am another uniform flung open the cabin door demanding “PASSPORTA, PASSPORTA!”. Unimpressed with our papers, he marked our passports with an Austrian stamp and left without closing the door or turning out the light.
I screamed after him that he was a “Langer-Boy” but he pretended not to hear me or simply didn’t understand my Cork accent. Our journey took us through such exotic places as Udine, Villach, Klagenfurt, Unzmarkt and Bruck.
Read all eight parts of Seven Capital Cities in Seven Days
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
Part Seven
Part Eight
