September reminds me of 2018 when my mind was fogged, my senses were fuzzy, and I almost didn't make it to Torino. A health scare had landed me on beta blockers, and the thought of travelling at this time was daunting. I planned to travel with a friend—a professional friend. We'd not yet crossed the threshold into the 'spilling the beans' or 'putting the world to rights' at 4 am over bottles of wine kind of friend. But that was okay; not everyone is meant to be that kind of friend.
We set off with a few of her colleagues from Edinburgh, flying into Milan with plans to spend a night in a youth hostel so we could spend some time there before heading to Torino. I also had a space arranged with my former classmates as part of our final MSc Gastronomy "field trip".
Originally, I had grand plans to spend that summer WOOFing in Italy or elsewhere in Europe. But despite working at a (lovely) pop-up vegan cafe on Victoria Street during the Fringe, I hadn't saved quite enough money to afford a summer working for free in exchange for room and board (the irony of that still stings a little).
Our Edinburgh flight was delayed—significantly delayed. When we landed, it was nearly midnight, and there were no buses or trains to Milan. Our only option was a private taxi, which would cost 100 euros. Panic set in. That was basically my entire budget for the trip. I remember feeling mortified, refusing to pay for the taxi, convinced it was a rip-off! My friend, on a steadier salary, probably didn't fully grasp my panic—maybe she just thought I was being difficult and stubborn.
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