Milano
October 26th 2011 It always starts the same way: you land, you impatiently wait as people block the aisle for what seems like an eternity, you thank the stewards in the wrong language, you shuffle off the plane. The transition has begun. As you walk through the bustling hoards of people you’re weary of the directional signs that are now suddenly written in a different tongue. Unrecognizable words float in and out
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