Of balls and bearings

I just learnt that you need both balls and bearings to explore the quiet streets of Milan, which were deserted like a ghost town at night. Feeling adventurous and sick of being cooped up in the room earlier at 8.30pm, I consulted the concierge on where to go for dinner and drinks, making sure it was in fact safe to venture out alone at night.

Following his advice, I took a brisk 15mins walk past Via Dante and cut to Via Dell'Orso where I spotted a couple but not the restaurant he recommended. Luckily there was a thriving Pizzeria-Ristorante called Topkapi just around the corner and the menu comprised the standard antipasti buffet laid out in full view, a range of pastas, pizzas and hearty mains.

I had made sure I starved myself in order to enjoy a full dinner and started with a generous plate of handmade trofie pasta (shaped like long tight yarn threads) with cooked rucola, cherry tomatoes and white salted cheese (7,50 euros). It was simply deliciouso - the pasta was perfectly al dente and the combination of ingredients flavourful. The second course of mussels in tomato sauce (7,50 euros) arrived shortly and I finished the 30-odd fresh mussels with my mini carafe of vino blanco and bottle of water.

For those who know me, you could probably tell by now I was red with intoxication (but still sober!) and the Italian gentleman next to me, also dining alone, asked where I was from and where I got my slight sunburnt (it's the wine, you fool!). We chatted in between his slightly heated conversation with the waiter and he was surprised I was travelling in Europe by myself as he admitted he wouldn't be able to do it.

Anyway I could tell he was loaded because:
1. he had stayed at Raffles Hotel a few times and read that it was sold off recently
2. he just spent 1 week sailing at Portofino (he also had an even tan)
3. he would be flying to Athens tomorrow and then transfer by helicopter to a smaller island and
4. he wanted to hurry back to watch his 2 horses compete in a race at Naples (pui, what a show off!)

I left him to his sizzling hot plate of beef fillet and wandered a street down before turning back because the so-called 'nightlife area' was dark quiet, not quite like the Mohammed Sultan I had imagined. Luckily I got good bearings and hurried back along a couple of lonely streets without even looking at the map. Remembering the advice of DJ Tomski we met in London on how to act tough, I puffed up my small shoulders, straightened my spine and swaggered like a Milanese thug back to the hotel! Bravo!