I headed for H&M. Everything in Milan is expensive, but H&M seems to be less so. I found a white hooded sweatshirt that would do well to compliment my deficient closet and proceeded to the checkout. The checkout was closed and another man faced with the same dilemma spoke a few words in Italian to me before promptly switching to English.

That brief encounter led to an invitation for lunch and to an entirely spontaneous and magnificent afternoon.

The man I met, Nicola, gathered his friend, Alessandro, from the fitting room. We went by metro to Nicola's apartment in the suburbs and chatted while he prepared an eggplant tomato sauce with thick penne for the first pasta dish. We had the pasta with a flavourful bottle of red wine. For the second dish, the carne (meat), Nicola had only planned on cooking for two, so he extended the two pieces of meat with mozzarella.

Mozzarella here, at least the kind I had, is not a hard block of cheese you grate on pizza, but a soft cheese. The best way to describe it is as a soggy white blob. It comes in a sealed tub in a milky liquid. The outer skin of medium thickness yields to the knife to reveal a spongy inside. This big blob of cheese goes on the plate unmodified as the "carne" part of the dish. Alessandro had meat, Nicola had mozzarella, and I was served both!

We finished the meal with some fruit, then coffee - Italian style - which we call espresso, then a strong liqueur made from some type of flower which I thought tasted like anise.

While chatting after dinner with Alessandro who is from Bologna, I made the shocking discovery that the world famous dish "Spaghetti Bolognese", does not even exist in Bologna! Judging from his description, I also think the meat we call "Bologna" is completely different from the "Bologna" here.

We went later to an Irish style pub. Ubiquitous American pop music droned from the speaker system. Not too loud to occlude conversation, but loud enough to ensure the clientele would speak in raised voices. Most of the patrons were young.

In Japan, displays of affection are never public save for the occasional holding of hands. Italy adopts the opposite extreme. Lip-locked couples at many of the other tables tuned out the environment, and their present company, to appreciate each other in a way even Canadians - liberal by Japanese standards - would normally reserve for the bedroom.

I took the long metro ride home feeling that even if modelling turned out bust, cultural experience made this trip worthwhile.