It is fashion week in Milan. That is synonymous of total chaos. It means the traffic, which is already pretty bad here, is horrendous. It means scooters, bikes and pedestrians weaving dangerously in and out of the aforementioned traffic. It means stressed out people everywhere ready to snap. It means bored looking models invading the city. It means double and triple parked Ferraris and Maseratis and papparazzi scurrying around photographing "It people". It also means me desperately trying to get from work in the smack center of Milan to pre-school and back faster than the hours it seems to be taking each way. Because each time I ride my bike down the pedestrian roads of the center I get stuck for about a half hour in the hordes of people craning their necks to catch a glimpse of the catwalk behind the 6-foot tall bouncers in sleek suits and sunglasses they built about 100m from my office. It also means that I will never in a 100 years get a reservation in that restaurant I am planning to go to for my birthday.
