A blonde, a brunette, and a ginger walk off a plane and into Milan. What could go wrong? 

Three amigos

Picture the scene: hot Italian weather, architecturally beautiful Milan streets, hair flowing in the wind as three scooters make their way to Sforzesco Castle. The dream ends there. 

At the grand speed of 2mph, disaster strikes: the traffic lights turn green; the non-dominant foot is used; in a desperate attempt to keep going, Louise switches feet. Skips. Trips. Falls: slow motion. Her newly paid for teeth heading straight for the curb, saved only by her chin that tackles the floor. Blood is everywhere - on her, on me. And Joe, one yellow stick-on acrylic in hand, asks if Louise has lost a nail. Her reponse? To show ten fingers, not one posessing the bright yellow joy they did only minutes ago. Tissues are passed on from a kind samaritan who we can only imagine was cackling at three Brits sprawled on the streets surrounded by blood. 

Somehow still in high spirits, the journey continues to the castle where we desperately look for an establishment that will allow us to clean up the blood. Surprisingly, only the fancy place we could never afford will let us in and we can finally assess the damage to Louise's chin. Maybe they needed some entertainment that day.

Watchful donkey

Complete with the watchful eye of a donkey, we say out damned spot, wash the blood from our arms and despite Louise's doctor friends insisting she needs stitches, our day continues without A&E. A few stick on sutures from the pharmacy and weeks later you can barely tell Louise tried to pick a fight with the concrete. 

The mental image of her falling, however, will last a lifetime!

Make-shift A&E

A Lesson in Bus Money

As you'll come to find from my tales as my backpacking trip continue, this is not a lesson I learnt fast. But learning is all about mistakes and sometimes repeating mistakes. Here is the first of many bus money mistakes.

Having spent the last two days in Milan, happily using our ATM Milano app to get everywhere, the buses in Lake Como took us by surprise. We had started our trip taking a look out at the sparkling water in front of us, eager to find the swim spot we had heard so much about (thanks TikTok!) Which is how we found ourselves at a bus stop with no ticket machines, no ATM and, of course, not a cent to our names. Confused, but assuming we could pay by card on the bus (Louise and Joe are Londoners of course) we continue. No, the bus driver tells us. It is cash only, but he says he will stop the bus for us to get out at an ATM somewhere en route. Bingo!

Crammed in like sardines at the back of the bus, fighting for breath amongst the reams of other tourists, a small part of us hopes he forgets; who doesn't love a free journey when it happens upon them? With bated breath we see an ATM come up at the next stop; our heads are low - surely he will forget! And he does. We find ourselves at Nesso for free. But, as with all slightly dubious acts, comes a consequence. We are now in Nesso, with no ATM, no cash and no feasible way of getting back.

All of these are thoughts that occur to us only hours later after we've jumped and swam to our hearts content. Full of icecream, but eager to go back for some proper food, we try to get the bus and we realise our predicament.

Nesso ice-cream

It's all okay, we think, the bus stop has a transport app we can download and so we do, just to find there is no English option; Italian only. Cross-referencing between the app and the Google translate photo function (best invention ever!) we find ourselves only more confused because a) we don't know where we are and b) we don't know what stop we want. Hesitantly, I buy us three tickets and hope for the best. And of course, on the bus, the tickets are not right. Or, at least, this is what we assume because the driver speaks Italian only; all we know is he did not immediately let us on and we went back and forth - Italian versus English, definitely going in circles. Finally, he relents and lets us on. 

To where I bought those tickets, I do not know, but we were glad to be heading in the right direction to home. Ready to forget all about the incident and still not bring cash for the bus.

Cheap Lidl beers and cringe tram pics

The Runaways

There's an important lesson to be learnt in Italy; as soon as you breathe near a food establishment, you've spent €10. And don't bother trying to sit down, that will cost €50.

This realisation came upon us when we ventured into Navigli Canal, knowing we needed to eat to line our stomachs for a night of drinking, but not feeling hungry enough for a full meal, which is how we happened upon a sushi place. At only €10 a dish, it seemed cheaper than most other places on the canal front we had come across and so we asked for a table. 

Musing the menu as we took turns to violate the bathrooms, the waiter came and asked if we wanted sparkling or still water. Not if we even wanted water, but what kind. This, we would come to realise, would be a key red flag. 

It was only minutes later, that we came across the drinks prices. That still water we hadn't actually asked for but were now sipping? €6. And then came the realisation. The €10 sushi was per piece not per dish. Our banks suddenly panic stricken, we shared a few glances, looked over at the ever hovering waiter who was certainly expecting this moment, and waited for our chance. His back turned talking to another table, we wasted no time in grabbing our stuff and sprinting away from the restaurant, into the crowds that lined the streets. 

A few glances back to make sure we weren't being chased for our €6 water bill and we knew we were in the clear. Ready to make our way to the ever-trusty option when in a foreign country; the Irish bar.

Navigli at night

Now, I know what you are thinking: the M25 isn't in Milan! How did you walk to England in a night? Whilst it might seem impossible, anything is possible when you put your (drunken) minds to it.

But let's go from the start.

After a few too many long island iced teas at the Steam Factory where their psychodelic interior and strong alcohol had us feeling like we'd taken something stronger, we stumbled along the Navigli Canal in search of cheap drinks and a good night out. Where we ended up remains a mystery forever because for love nor money, none of us could tell you where we ended up but enticed by cheap takeaway cocktails, we found ourselves sat in a tiny booth somewhere in Milan. Confidently, we knew we could flirt our way into takeaway price cocktails but still sat inside. With three takeaway sex on the beaches in hand, we were kicked out...

The bartender did leave us with one parting gift, however - the name of a club sure to promise us the night of our lives. The name of this place I can't recall but no need to worry because (spoiler alert!) it doesn't exist, or at least not anymore.

We could put this down to the drunken navigational skills of Louise, but I don't think that is the case! Maybe the bartender was having a laugh, maybe we entered the matrix, or maybe we really did find ourselves in England. We'll never know. All we do know is that this was a long night of walking.

'It's only 20 minutes away,' Louise says. Louise lies. 20 minutes later, we assume we must be close. At which she confesses, no, it's at least another 20 minutes away. Grumbling, but with the good vibes still going, we trudge on. We had made the club ourselves; good tunes blaring from Joe's phone, skipping through parks, and my drink still going (a bit on the strong side given the amount already consumed), we were happy to continue.

And that is exactly what we were doing when nothing but the M25 and a towering building stood before us. 'We're here,' Louise announces. Louise did not lie this time. No club stood before us. It didn't look like the building could have ever hosted a club.

Left with nothing but blurry indecision, we decided to cross the M25, buy more booze, and make our way back to Italy.