| The disaster which is, Italian Public Transportation. |
| Written by Seth Borkowski | |||
| Monday, 03 January 2011 03:40 | |||
 I’ll never forget, as I was relaxing in the grasshopper coffee shop in Amsterdam, I struck up a conversation with the girl working behind the marijuana counter. It’s so weird, casually throwing that concept in a sentence. Anyway, when I told her I was from New York City she laughed as she remarked, “Ah New York City, the yellow taxi cab, you guys are crazy.” She was right, we are crazy. It was 5 in the morning as we scoured the streets looking for a cab. After standing at the “Taxi,” stop for 30 minutes, we figured no one was coming. Business isn’t exactly booming when 90% of Milan is sleeping. Simply put, public transportation in Milan, Italy blows. Everything stops running SO early if your trying to party. Trains- 11pm Metro Aka Subway- 12:15am (that’s post midnight for you misinformed skeptics) Bus- 2am the latest, but almost all the lines close significantly earlier. Tram- Also 2am, but its mainly intended to take people short distances. No matter how lame your social life, these times just don’t cut it when your trying to get laid, I mean, party, in Milan. When we first started going out we would leave really early to catch aperitivo. Aperitivo, is a popular tradition here in Milan, in which one goes into a bar, buys a drink and receives free food; usually a free buffet. So, we would head out around 8pm, catch aperitivo and go out to a bar afterwards. Most of the time however, we’d catch aperitivo, have a couple drinks and head home. Public transportation was our biggest concern. Although, it wasn’t long before we adapted to Milan’s transportation. Soon it became obvious that if we went out on a Friday night, we wouldn’t be returning home. We’d either be taking a cab or sleeping out. One of my first weekends in Milan, 14 of us got together for a pregame and we got wasted. In fact, public transportation had shut down by the time we left, and we were forced to take a cab to our destination; a club called Karma. We called 4 cabs and when they showed up, I watched in confusion as everyone ferociously fought to get into a cab. I was laughing, as I let everyone go in front of me, thinking “what’s the rush?” The 4th cab came down to myself and a native from Uganda, Africa. His English was awful and I couldn’t understand him when he told me his name. It was awkward. The second the cab left the curb the meter shot to 7 euros, which is like $9.50 American. I sprang out of my seat and said something to the cab driver in English, however, he responded “No Capito”. AKA- I don’t understand. I thought to myself, “OH that’s right, I’m in ITALY.” For the next ten minutes, I watched the meter in pure agony. Literally, every 3 seconds it would significantly increase and as we ran into traffic and red lights, the price was skyrocketing. Now I understood why everyone was so adamant on getting into the cabs first. Apparently, I hadn’t gotten the memo, cabs in Milan are absurdly expensive. Upon arriving at the club, the meter had reached 40 euros. Sadly, I was relieved. At the rate it was increasing I envisioned dropping close to 50 euros for a cab ride. The Ugandan nonchalantly threw his 20 as I contemplated suicide, handing the cabdriver my share. After that moment I vowed to never take a cab again. SO, it was 5 in the morning. On this particular night we had finally decided to go out late and planned to take the 6:22am train home. Our first stop was a popular club in Milan called Le Banque (The Bank). When we got there, the line was ridiculously long and we waited for about 30 minutes, before deciding the standstill was no longer worth it. We decided to leave with some of our friends, from Norway and Holland, who we had met on a previous trip to Florence. Later we found out that students studying abroad can simply walk past the entire line and if they say the word “Erasmus,” they are granted immediate access. The monopoly erasmus students have on the nightclub industry in Milan is shocking. Just to clear Erasmus up, its a word signifying that you are an exchange student studying in Italy. Our next stop was another monopolized Erasmus club called Queen. From the outside, Queen looks like a strip club with its flashing pink lights, however, it was actually really cool. Dark lights offset dozens of white fluorescent couches and a wide open dance floor was accompanied with an appropriately placed stripper pole. A pole that was 100% drunk girl occupied. Also, there were tons of disco balls moving in slow motion which gave an almost trippy affect to the place as multi-colored spotted lights traced along the white couches, the dance floor and everyone’s faces. After staying in the club for a couple hours, I was over it. For starters, I hate clubs. I’m white, so I can’t dance and the DJ was playing NOTHING, but techno. Not to mention, I was no longer drunk, if anything, I felt like my hangover was already starting to kick in. I checked my watch and it was only 3 in the morning. Pure misery. I could not stand another second inside that club so I went outside to chill. For the next two hours I sat outside talking with random erasmus students. The entire time I was more than willing to spend a lot of money on a cab, however, my friends were actually enjoying themselves, so I had to stay behind. Naturally, I wasn’t willing to spend the money alone. By the time 5 rolled around, we knew the buses were running again and we decided to leave. Unfortunately, our bus line, runs to a very specific part of the city, mainly the ABSOLUTE outskirts, and we were deep within the heart of the main city. Our closest stop was miles away. Of course, we don’t live in Italy, so we found that out the hard way, as we aimlessly walked for miles. After awhile, we gave up and walked to the train station. There we took naps and waited for the 622 am train. We got home at 637 in the morning and I immediately passed out. I didn’t wake up till 5pm. By that time, it was already dark. I vowed I would never pull an all-nighter in Milan again. The next weekend, I broke my promise when we decided to attend an AC Milan game. After witnessing an energy filled victory, we went to a bar and grabbed a couple beers to celebrate. Time got the best of us because once we left all transportation, but the buses, were shut down. Unfortunately, the bus stop was a couple miles away and as the rain started to pour, we began or journey. When we finally reached the bus stop, to no one’s surprise, the line went nowhere near our house. However, we were so cold, we decided to hop on anyway. For the next couple hours, my friends and I rode bus after bus, taking naps. Awaiting the time when we could take a train back to our place. In the midst of a nap, sadly, we were kicked off of one of the bus because it had reached the end of the line. It was weird; I had never felt homeless before. Once we got off the bus, we were hit by the cold and all of us were shivering like madmen. I checked my watch and it was only 430 in the morning. We needed to find warmth immediately. Across the street, we noticed a tram and we sprinted after it. For the remaining two hours, I slept on the tram. Occasionally, I would wake up, completely mystified and peer outside the window to surroundings that weren’t even remotely familiar. Long story short, we didn’t make it home till 8am and once again, I slept straight through to darkness. We were stubborn, there was no denying that. Cabs were certainly an option in avoiding these disastrous nights, but cabs are also not meant for broke college students trying to save their funds for traveling. That’s where the beauty of NYC comes in. Well, maybe it’s unfair to call anything about taxi cabs in NYC beautiful, other than the cabdrivers, but there cheap, aren’t they?! Whenever I visit my buddy in the city, who lives pretty far uptown, I always take a cab to his place from Penn Station, and the ride never costs more than 10 to 15 dollars. Of course, we’ll sit in some traffic, it’s New York City, we may even come to a stand still, it’s New York City, but there’s never a feeling of distress because I know it couldn’t possibly end up costing 80 dollars; or even 20 for that matter. Not to mention, I can speak English and if there’s as problem, it can easily be solved. Granted they speak English of course. The aspect of NYC cabs that are madness, as we all know, are the drivers of. Every time you step foot into a cab, you are risking your life. Yet for some reason, New Yorkers, instill absurd confidence in their drivers. Personally, I never feel more reassured than when I’m being driven by a cab driver. I’ve come to think of them as nothing less than artists on the road. In reality, this type of logic makes no sense. Cab drivers are relentless. They will cut you off, drive too fast and get within centimeters of adjacent cars. However, that’s life on the road in NYC; cutthroat. One has no choice but to adapt. Anyway, one final aspect takes the horror of Italian cabs to a new level. In the beginning of the semester, we were stranded far from home, not after a night of partying, but after a night of confusion and poorly followed directions. Once public transportation closed, we were forced to call a cab and a local Italian was nice enough to assist us. Lord knows, we couldn’t have sifted through the Italian conversation ourselves. Once the phone call was made, we waited for a couple minutes and when the cab showed up my friend remarked, “Listen up guys, act as Italian as possible, so this guy doesn’t look to rip us tourists off.” We hopped in the cab. Pure confusion set in the MOMENT we stepped in, and through our desire to understand what was happening, we immediately reverted to the English language. For whatever reason, the meter was already at 9 euros and 30 cents and no one was happy about it. Later, we would come to learn, that if one calls a cab in Italy, the meter begins the very moment the cab driver leaves to pick you up. Thus, if the cab driver is halfway across Milan, you, the unlucky tourist, will be paying for NOT ONLY that journey, but your own too. Unbelievable! After coming to an understanding on the matter, which extended to, “well we have no other choice,” we drove for what felt like days. I watched the meter like it was television. It was so depressing. Later, we would come to learn that the cab driver, took the LONG way to get to our apartment and sadly, we were too clueless to know. Finally, when we reached our apartment, the cab driver pulled out a laminated piece of paper and pointed to it, saying something none of us understood. We retained the essential piece of information however, which entailed us paying him extra money. Essentially, this guy took out a piece of paper, which could have easily said “Go fuck yourselves you dumb Americans,” 500 times over and we would not have known. Yet, we saw a number and he was able to convey that he wanted it. We didn’t know what else to do, so we paid the extra amount and left. We al walked with our heads down- upset over the absurd amount of money we had just dropped. In the end, it all comes down to personal experience. However, it’s BEYOND safe to say that Italian cabs are an absolute rip off and a joke compared to our “beautiful,” New York City cabs. Pizza was a close battle, but this one isn’t even a competition. Step your game up Italy.
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