Confession: I’m writing this week’s letter from an airport deli outside Italy, where I just ate a Sad Layover Pasta Salad. Imagine biting into the color beige, if that were possible, and I think you’ll have a solid idea of how it tasted. 

At Florence’s main railway station, seasoned passengers and business commuters come and go. The more timid travelers squint to read marquees. Helpers (and hecklers) intervene. 

At Florence’s main railway station, seasoned passengers and business commuters come and go. The more timid travelers squint to read marquees. Helpers (and hecklers) intervene. 

Picture Milan: Italy’s no-nonsense industrial capital. Sure, it’s got art and apericene aplenty. But probe nearly any transplant to the city about why they moved there, and work opportunities will trump whimsy every time. Enter Porta Ticinese, the shabby-chic district offering an antidote to all that pragmatism. This week, Faith Katunga takes us through some highlights of this quietly bohemian quartiere.