The stop for our connecting flight could not have been any better. It was the fashion capital of the world; the birthplace of the latest styles and new trends. It was the beautiful Milan, Italy. Malpensa airport was bustling with commotion. People of all different shapes and sizes spoke in Italian, English, Spanish, and every other language imaginable. It was as if the world had gathered in one place. The white tile walls surrounding me were decorated with elaborate posters advertising American products in Italian. Busy restaurants, cafés, and duty free shops lined the corridors. My parents led me to the information desk to exchange our American dollars to European Euros. The pretty lady behind the counter kindly handed us the large rectangular bills. We headed for the exit, put our coats on, and stepped outside. The crisp morning air brushed against my warm, rosy cheeks. As my big brown eyes skimmed my surroundings, I realized that I was ready to explore the magnificent city of Milan, Italy.
My hands grasped onto my mother’s sleeve as we patiently stood on the sidewalk to catch the next bus. We were on our way to Central Station, the gateway to Milan. At last, the giant blue bus arrived. My red ballet flats quietly danced up the steps of the bus as my caring mother paid for the tickets and saved a seat for me. The bus had a large monitor that displayed the current time in military style. My observations proved that it was very early in the morning, because people were silently sleeping on the dark purple seats of the bus. The bus’ large windows allowed me to see the hundreds of small cars lined up one after the other near the sidewalks as if they were stuck in traffic. After twenty long minutes, we finally reached Central Station. We exited the bus and scurried to the station to catch the train. The bustling station was filled with people scampering in all directions. My head turned while my eyes were searching the ceiling for signs to direct me. Suddenly, two people approached us. A short, curly-haired, middle-aged lady and her tall husband kindly asked if they could tag along with us. We were all going to Duomo, a popular tourist area. Finally, we arrived at the Yellow line train stop, purchased the tickets, and jumped onto the clean, packed train. Maps lined the train’s walls along with bright and colorful advertisements. We stepped out of the train when the conductor said, “Duomo.”
My hand grasped to the cold banister as everyone dashed up the stairs. As I was approaching the top of the stairs, a beautiful castle-like church that sat on the brick road caught my attention and seemed to hypnotize me. My mouth opened in awe at the white church’s magnificence. After we took pictures, we waved goodbye to the tourists that tagged along and my father led us to an indoor shopping area. The area was lined with classy stores like Louis Vuitton, Gucci, Prada, and many other famous Italian brands. Along with the stores, restaurants sat next to each other competing for customers. We could hear the sound of birds chirping as we approached the end of the indoor shopping area. Statues of Leonardo da Vinci and of a beautiful European woman stood tall in the center of a small plaza. Everyone was hungry, so we decided to stop at a small Italian restaurant nearby. My mother and father searched the restaurant’s menu, made their decision, and ordered a pizza margherita. When the smiling waitress brought the medium-sized pizza to our table, we looked like hungry lions waiting to attack our prey. The aroma of fresh cut basil, sweet tomato sauce, and the melting mozzarella cheese filled the air. We all salivated just by looking at the pizza and it tasted as good as we had imagined. The slice of pizza margherita was like heaven in my mouth. After having the best pizza we ever had, we wandered around the city of Milan. Italian flags hung proudly from buildings and flew as the wind brushed past them. My feet thumped on the brick roads as my family approached a large fountain. The fountain was the size of a swimming pool and the water in it would shoot up into the air every ten minutes. People sat on the smooth marble edges of the fountain and stuck their feet into the cool water. My parents sat on a wooden bench and watched as my shoes slipped off and my feet drowned into the ice-cold water. Time flew by, as it always does, and unfortunately, we had to leave.
Central Station was as busy as it was the first time we arrived. Voices echoed in the large room as we waited for the yellow train. The train arrived, brought us to the bus station, and left us for the last time. My heart became heavy at the thought that my experience in Milan was ending. The large bus with purple seats brought us to the airport and we sleepwalked to terminal three. A lady’s voice reverberated throughout the airport’s speakers, “The plane in terminal three is now departing.” Fortunately, the journey was not over yet, Syria was our next stop!