188. Rituals

I love a good ritual.

Some would say that doing the same thing over and over is a sign of timidity and lack of imagination. I disagree. I feel that those little things you find enjoyable and meaningful are what builds a satisfying life.

One of my favorites is my arrival-in-Italy ritual. The very first thing I do after landing, customs, and fetching my luggage is go to the airport bar (in the Italian meaning of bar where you get coffee, pastries and sandwiches) and have a wonderful Italian cappuccino, unmatched by any found anywhere else in the world. It’s my way of saying, “I’m here.”

So imagine my distress upon landing in Milan yesterday to find that the beautiful Italian bar has been replaced by a Pret A Manger. I am always happy to go to Pret A Manger in London, where they’re based, or even New York, where they are now ubiquitous, but to be the sole option at Malpensa, Milan? Gee whiz!

Okay, calm down, I told myself. We’ll be on the autostrada in no time, and can do my next favorite arrival ritual: stopping at the Autogrill for lunch. You know you are a country that takes its food seriously when its highway rest stops serve the best sandwiches in the world.

But wait, what? Burger King? To my horror, the Autogrill was sharing its space with Burger King, and worse, there were actual Italians in line there. Only Italians, in fact.

I am not naive. Everywhere you go here, you see English words and American brands. And yes, I was still able to get a terrific sandwich — mortadella, pistachios, and melted cheese — but messing with such a great national institution and making us eat under that big red and yellow sign took away some of the special zing.

It’s been all good from there. And some of my favorite rituals remain pristine — my early morning run while a town is waking up and starting its day, the hotel breakfast, the aperitivo that inexplicably always comes with a little dish of potato chips — so I’m truly not complaining. Just mourning a little bit.