Slowly waking early morning mist and moist Milan, breakfast in a bustling cafe at the bus station, a full wall mirror, marble tables with old ladies and a barista so badly cross eyed that it's impossible to tell who he is looking at and consequently who's turn it is to order - Italy refusing any queue system - cappuccino and brioche and these small things that makes this place different from the diluted somewhere-European transits I normally spend my time in. Through stubbornly clinging to a few mundane routines this country have managed to at least partly avoid entropy, deterritorialisation, Americanization? no EU-ificiation.
African immigrants in different waiting poses outside, always waiting, among beer stained stone benches, with small couples of stubborn teenage girls skipping school and smoking cigarettes, staunch Italian mothers with groceries or dogs.
The bus route between Milan and Basel is the best in Europe, €22 for ~5h of incommensurable natural epic.
Chaos as we board the bus and the angry very German driver tells passengers to do this and do that and go there but don’t stand there, while the Italian border official who has taken hold of our passports is visibly embarrassed over the sudden neo-fascist vibe. One hour after scheduled departure our passports return and we’re off. This time they didn’t detain anyone. A few months back on the bus south from Copenhagen we got stopped by German border police who after reviewing passports decided that one young man with a frightened but determined face was not allowed in this particular jurisdiction. He got driven away by big and neutral men, following orders, stern faces, eyes nor empty nor alive. Our bus left with an empty seat, a group of Swedish teenagers en route for coffee shops in Amsterdam discussed the scene, after all agreed on it’s horror one of them blurted “but still, image what an amazing adventure he is on, it’s like living in a movie!” ...