Mia's Life

This past weekend, I took a trip to Milan to catch the Inter Milan vs. Cagliari match—spoiler alert: Inter won 3-1. It ended up being one of my favorite weekends so far.

After a two-hour train ride into Milano Centrale, I met up with Emelia and we headed to Max’s place in Melegnano. We had to navigate a small regional train station that, despite its size, felt like a maze designed specifically to confuse us. You’d think a small station would be easy to figure out, right? Yeah, not for us.

We spent a solid 30 to 45 minutes running around like headless chickens, basically going in circles on a wild goose chase. None of the platforms were clearly numbered, and all we knew was that our train was supposed to arrive at S1. Naturally, we assumed S1 was a platform number—it wasn’t.

We wandered toward what looked like platform one, only to see a sign for S6. Across the tracks, a screen flashed “S1.” So we bolted upstairs to find a way over. We failed. Twice. Each time, somehow, we ended up back at S6, completely disoriented and increasingly frantic.

We asked a sweet couple for help, and though they tried their best to explain, we didn’t understand a single word. We just smiled, said “Grazie,” and kept sprinting around yelling train times at each other. We stopped to check maps, which only confused us more. We even asked a few more people, but most of them just shrugged.

Finally, with four minutes left, we reached the other side—only to see the screen had now changed to S13. And wouldn’t you know it? Our original side was now showing S1. Back upstairs we went, then down again. Back and forth until we somehow ended up at the right spot… two minutes late.

Luckily, the train was delayed. We stumbled on board, out of breath, faces bright red, laughing and shouting, “We did it!” and “How did we do that?” It was pure chaos, and somehow, the perfect tone-setter for all our future travel mishaps.

Wilmer joined us at one of the later train stops, and we finally made it to Melegnano where Max was waiting for us. We didn’t stay long—just enough time to drop off our bags and meet his host mom, who might be the sweetest woman ever. She even got us all socks with little Italian flags on them.

Apparently, she had hosted a student from Pennsylvania before Max, so she’s kind of a pro at this whole hosting thing. Max’s setup there is pretty awesome—he’s got his own room with a balcony, a TV, and a huge private bathroom with a standing shower. Definitely not a bad place to be living.

Not long after, we headed back to the station to make our way to the Duomo. Of course, we stopped for the classic group photos in front of the stunning cathedral—because how could you not? After soaking in the view (and taking way too many pictures), we grabbed a bite at a budget-friendly pizza spot nearby. It was pretty unique—not your typical pizza. They sold it by the slice, let you customize your toppings, and then cut each slice into little square pieces. The crust was incredibly fluffy, almost like focaccia—definitely different, but surprisingly good.

We made our way to this little hill where we each grabbed some drinks and just sat at the top, talking and enjoying the moment. The weather was perfect—sunny, clear skies, and not a cloud in sight. After all the rain we’ve been getting in Padova lately, it felt like such a refreshing change.

Later, we hopped on the metro toward the stadium. We ended up following this kind older man in an Inter Milan shirt—our unspoken guide to the game. Once we arrived, we grabbed a few more drinks and headed to our seats, fully expecting nosebleed territory since we bought the cheapest tickets available. But to our surprise, we weren’t up in the clouds behind rows of heads—we were actually seated just below the highest section, right in the front, with a clear view of the entire field. Total win.

We made a deal to take a shot after Inter Milan scores. So naturally, the first time people started clapping, we assumed it was time—and down went the shot. Spoiler: there was no goal. Just us celebrating absolutely nothing.

We weren’t stumbling-around drunk, just that light, happy buzz where everything feels extra fun. We took what felt like hundreds of random photos—different poses, random angles, some of which we don’t remember actually taking. By the end, we realized we had nearly 700 pictures between us.

The game flew by. Every time we checked the timer, another 20 minutes had passed like it was nothing. I don’t remember the conversations we had during the match; I just remember feeling happy while having them. We even started chatting with random people around us—Wilmer somehow found another Swedish person in the crowd.

After the game, we were on our way to a party by a lake—except we somehow missed the last train of the night. At 11:30 PM, with no other options, we made the spontaneous decision to walk an hour to the party.

The walk turned into its own little concert. We harmonized to Bruno Mars, belted out the Cup Song, and obviously had a full-on performance of Party in the USA.

At the party, a bunch of people were super curious when they found out I was from Texas. I got asked to say “Dallas, Texas” on repeat just so they could hear my accent—and yes, there were a few cowboy questions too. I ended up chatting with a girl who had done an exchange year in Denmark the year before, and honestly, everyone we met was so cool and incredibly friendly.

We originally planned to take a taxi home, but by 2:00 AM, there wasn’t a single one available. Luckily, some guy—who none of us had ever met before—offered us a ride. Not only that, he let us control the AUX, so naturally, we turned the car ride into another sing-along session.

Instead of going straight back, we wandered around town for a bit. Even though it was freezing and we were all in shorts and t-shirts, no one wanted the night to end. Eventually, we made our way back to Max’s place and passed out almost instantly.

The next morning, we were surprisingly up by 8:30. We grabbed breakfast at a cute little café near Max’s place. I went with my go-to combo: a plain croissant and hot chocolate—simple, but unbeatable.

Max had been hyping up this nearby festival, so we decided to check it out afterward. As soon as we walked in, we realized we had made a mistake—it turned out to be some kind of anime convention. Definitely not what we were expecting. But we rolled with it and even ended up taking photos with a few people fully decked out in costumes. Honestly, it made for a hilarious memory.

Right outside the festival were these beautifully arranged fruit markets. No matter how many times I see them, they never get old. There’s just something about the colors and setup that makes them feel like a little piece of art.

We made our way back to the center of Milan, where Emelia blindly let us choose a new charm for her nomination bracelet. After some back-and-forth, we settled on a four-leaf clover. It had a meaning at the time, but honestly, I’ve already forgotten what it was—we just liked it.

We wandered in and out of shops, and on a whim, we stopped by the OD store in search of Dubai chocolate. We weren’t expecting much, but to our surprise, the place was packed—table after table stacked with different brands, flavors, and every variation you could imagine. Emelia and I basically melted into a puddle of joy. We picked out a few to try, and they were just as amazing as they looked.

We attempted to rent scooters to ride around the city, but after a few failed attempts, we gave up and decided to walk to Chinatown instead. We ended up at Gold Bao for lunch—my absolute favorite spot in the area. That lunch was such a highlight. I tried to explain what GT (gifted and talented) is, since it doesn’t exist in their school systems, but I kept mixing up my words. We became those people—the loudest table in the restaurant, laughing so hard it made our stomachs hurt.

Sadly, after lunch, Emelia had to leave. An hour later, the rest of us parted ways too. It was the kind of weekend that felt like it lasted forever and went by in a blink all at once.

I had a 30-minute walk to the train station ahead of me, with no clue how to get there without GPS. My phone was sitting at 10%, I didn’t have a charging cable, and my portable charger was completely dead. And to top it off, I needed my phone to access my train tickets.

Armed with nothing but a heavy backpack and blind faith, I stepped into unfamiliar streets, hoping my phone would hold on just long enough. It felt like a tiny glimpse into a future I dream about: solo backpacking through Southeast Asia.

And as usual, everything worked out. I made it to the station, scanned my ticket, and found my seat—all before my phone finally gave in.

I’ve officially made it to the other side of the WEP trips — the final one wrapped up in Venice. This one felt different compared to Rome and Florence. With so many new students joining for the spring semester, and only a few familiar faces from last semester (most of whom I hadn’t really connected with before), it felt like a fresh start.

Rome was the beginning of it all — everyone was excited, open-minded, eager to meet each other. It was our first real taste of Italy, and the weather still carried that late-summer warmth. Florence felt more like a reunion. We’d all gotten more comfortable, and it was filled with festive energy — Christmas markets, cozy vibes, and swapping stories from our growing list of experiences.

Venice, though, was different. It meant getting to know new people and realizing it was the last of it all.

As soon as we arrived at the hostel, we started getting assigned to our rooms. I lucked out with mine — I was with three girls from last semester: Isa, Vibe, and Paloma. We were also joined by two new girls, Marti from Costa Rica and MJ from Switzerland.

Not long after settling in, we headed to Venice Santa Lucia for a short walking tour with the staff. It wasn’t super in-depth — more of a casual walk-through to get our bearings. When we did stop, we had some free time. A group of us went to a place called Aperol, though ironically, we just ordered sodas and water.

Keeping with WEP tradition, our first dinner was at a pizzeria. Although the place isn’t technically all you can eat, it definitely felt that way. One guy at our table had three whole pizzas to himself, and another nearly made it through two. Just between the six of us, we managed to finish eight pizzas.

Later that night, a bunch of us hung out in Wilmer’s room until the staff eventually found us. After that, we went back to our rooms, and I went through my usual nightly routine. The second I finished, I was out.

The next morning, we set off for a guided tour through Venice. I always feel a little bad for the tour guides—they’re clearly kind and passionate about what they’re sharing, but the reality is… none of us really care. At first, everyone puts in a bit of effort to listen and be respectful, but after about an hour of nonstop talking about statues, bridges, and dates we’ll never remember, most of us zone out completely.

Thankfully, we had free time during lunch and ended up grabbing pizzas again at a cozy little spot. I ordered one out of pure curiosity—topped with pumpkin, sausage, and mushrooms—and surprisingly, it was delicious.

Later that afternoon, we hopped on a large boat set up for our entire group to head to Murano and Burano. In Murano, we watched a man craft a glass vase and a perfectly sculpted horse as if it were nothing. He made it all look effortless, which was honestly kind of mesmerizing.

Burano was next—still as colorful and charming as ever—but, of course, it was raining, just like the last time I visited. At least more shops were open this time. A few of us ducked into a gelato shop, and when I saw they had a Dubai chocolate flavor, I obviously had to get it. (If you haven’t figured it out yet, I’m obsessed with all things Dubai chocolate.) We walked around chatting and hiding under umbrellas, half exploring, half avoiding the weather.

The boat ride back felt like a lullaby—soothing and quiet, gently rocking all of us into a nap. Once we got back, I changed into my comfiest clothes and headed to dinner. Isa and I grabbed a seat at a small back table until the rest of the group joined. That night was karaoke night, and before long, the lobby was filled with all of us belting out peak “white girl music” at the top of our lungs.

Emelia and I had planned to perform “Dancing Queen” by ABBA, but the list of requests was so long that they stopped accepting new ones. I was disappointed. I woke up the next morning basically voiceless. Although raspy voices are cute, so I didn’t care too much.

That night, we waited until all the room checks were done, then packed into Wilmer’s room again—this time with almost everyone. Emelia and I were perched on the top bunk, passing around Wilmer’s Swedish candy to whoever was within reach. Somehow, we stayed up until 3:30 in the morning, just talking and laughing.

By 6:00 AM, I was up again for breakfast. The staff brought us to a terrace overlooking all of Venice, and I honestly can’t believe I’ve ever been to Venice without seeing that view. It was hands down the most beautiful one I’ve seen of the city—completely worth the early wake-up.

For lunch, we searched for the cheapest place we could find. Once we sat down, we realized why it was so cheap: everything tasted like it had just come out of the freezer. We still had time to kill afterward, so we walked around the city a little longer. I ended up taking a train an hour later than planned, just to squeeze out a little more time with everyone.

Looking back, I don’t think I’ll remember every detail of the places we saw or every conversation we had—but I’ll remember the feeling. The laughter echoing through narrow Milan streets, the chaos of missed trains and karaoke nights, the quiet moments sipping hot chocolate, and the way a random hilltop or late-night car ride could turn into something unforgettable. These weekends weren’t just about checking off cities or landmarks. They were about the people, the mishaps, the little surprises we never planned for but wouldn’t trade for anything. These trips, this chapter—it feels like something that’ll stick with me long after I’ve left Italy. And if nothing else, I’ll always remember that somewhere in the middle of all the madness, I was really, truly happy.

“I am no bird; and no net ensnares me: I am a free human being with an independent will.”- Charlotte Bronte