Day 06 Milan to Monaco Train Strike

When we arrived in Milan two days earlier, our Airbnb host Livia sent me a quiet warning text: there might be a national train strike on Friday from 9:00 AM to 9:00 PM.
We already had tickets to leave Milan at 11:10 AM and arrive in Monaco around 3:00 PM. Donna was tired, and I was confident I’d figure it out, so I kept this little nugget of potential chaos to myself until the next day. Livia later sent me an alternate schedule that almost worked — which, in strike conditions, is as good as it gets.

On Friday, November 28, Italy’s national rail strike kicked in. During these strikes, trains may be delayed, canceled, or simply not run at all, with only a few early “guaranteed” services operating before the 9:00 AM cutoff. Translation: if you weren’t already on a train before 9:00, you were likely going nowhere.

We were impacted.

The night before, we packed everything so we could wake up and go. Alarms were set for 4:30 AM. Breakfast consisted of deli meats and bread — survival food. We grabbed an Uber to Milano Centrale with one goal: get on a train before the strike clock started.

My plan was to hit customer service and secure tickets for the 6:10 AM train toward Ventimiglia. Of course, customer service didn’t open until 6:15 AM. Perfect.

With help from a kind local, I managed to buy tickets machine anyway. Only later did I realize I’d selected Ventimiglia, Italy, not France — a subtle but important distinction when your final destination is Monaco.

Still, we were moving.

We boarded the train from Milan to Genova, arriving with less than 15 minutes to find the next platform and catch a train to Savona. Genova’s station is a maze on a good day. On a strike day? It’s an obstacle course. If not for a generous Italian local who literally ran with us across the station, we never would have made it. Good Karma will find him — I’m sure of it.

We reached Savona before 9:00 AM and set our sights on the 8:55 AM train to Ventimiglia.

In big red capital letters next to our train: CANCELLED.

Ugggh.
Plan B had long since passed. We were somewhere around Plan G.

Outside the station, we found a taxi stand. One driver was willing to take us to Ventimiglia. I showed him the ticket price — €230. When I made it clear we actually needed to get to Monaco, €230 quickly became €280. There was a bit of a language dance around Imperia, Ventimiglia, and France, but he understood the destination.

Quick bathroom stop. Sodas and snacks. Then we were off in a VW taxi driven by someone who may very well be Mario Andretti’s long-lost cousin.

The drive was… energetic.
He zigged and zagged, cussed at trucks, and attacked curves with confidence. Donna pinches my leg when she’s uneasy. The bruises lasted for days. Still, we made it into Monaco in what we’re fairly certain was record time.

Monaco’s streets are unlike anywhere else in the world — and for good reason. The country is built vertically on steep cliffs along the Mediterranean, with roads carved into rock, stacked in layers, and threaded through tunnels and switchbacks. Entire neighborhoods are terraced, reclaimed from the sea, or engineered into the mountainside. The result is a maze of one-way streets, hairpin turns, and roads that feel more like racetracks than city streets — which explains why the Monaco Grand Prix looks less like a race and more like controlled chaos.

Our driver found the drop-off point — or almost did. One-way streets forced him to let us out a few blocks away. I got my bearings, and we started the final walk, stressed, exhausted, dragging our rolling luggage over cobblestones.

Then it happened.

The handle on Donna’s carry-on snapped clean in two.

Perfect timing.

Somehow, we managed. And just when we needed it most, our Airbnb host Andrea was waiting outside the building. We’d been in touch via WhatsApp all along the way. His smile was the soft landing after a very hard day.

We thought the elevator in Milan was small.
The one in Monaco was even smaller.
But we made it up in two journeys.

We had arrived earlier than our original train tickets would have — and in the correct city.

Next on the agenda: dinner… and new luggage for Donna.

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