Apologies for the hiatus in our perambulations across Europe, whilst we’ve been diverted by weightier matters closer to home.  But with the Champions League winter break almost behind us, and a trip to Napoli heaving into view, it’s time to re-visit la bella Italia.

With The Special One having joined Internationale following his departure from the Bridge, it was inevitable that we’d meet him in the Champions League, and when the draw for the round of 16 paired the clubs together, a number of hasty telephone calls with a few pals resulted in some fairly cheap flights to Milan, a half-decent hotel next to the station and an early trip to Gatwick to fly out the day before the game. 

It’s worth remembering that Milan is served by two airports, and whilst Linate is the junior partner, it’s certainly more convenient for the city centre (as I discovered last March when my flight to Pisa was diverted to Milan Malpensa when the windscreen in the cockpit cracked whilst flying over the Alps and I was told that it would take nearly as long to get to central Milan as it would to wait for the replacement plane).

Having evaded the squadrons of mini cabs looking for a fare and located the official taxi rank, a 20 minute ride took us to our hotel and following check-in and a meet up with a mate who was in another nearby hotel, we set out to explore the city. One of our party (let’s call her K) had expressed a wish to visit an outlet store in the Via Manzoni where highly desirable designer goods could be purchased at heavily discounted rates, so we decided to call in there.  It was the first in many shopping disappointments for me on this trip.  Nothing worth having, in my book, or hers.  We then decided to head for the famous Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II, packed to the brim with Prada, Gucci, Chanel and other leading designers.  On the way, we passed La Scala, one of the world’s most famous opera houses.  Another disappointment.  It looked incredibly utilitarian and municipal.  I’d been expecting something along the lines of the ROH, where I occasionally patronise the cheap (sic) seats, or the heavily rocco’d Paris Opera.

The Galleria Vittorio Emanuel reminded me of nothing so much as the Great Western Arcade in my native Birmingham, but with shops infinitely out of my price range.  Even K. was heard to mutter in Prada “too expensive” whilst Jimmy M., the sole male member of our party was told by G., “If you bought your wife one of those [£1000] bags, you could have your dinner cooked at 6pm every night for the rest of your life”, to which he replied “at those prices, I’d cook it myself”.

Whilst strolling back towards the Metro, I’d decided to call up a couple of pals who were also over for the game, Mr E. and Dazza A, who’d promised to join us at a dinner in the Porta Rossa for my flatmate, whose birthday it was (see also Travels with the Chels – Stuttgart).  Whilst the phone rang, I looked ahead of me, and to my amazement saw them standing 50 yards away from me.  We firmed up arrangements for dinner, and made our away back to the station and our respective hotels to bathe and change.

The restaurant in Porta Venetia necessitated a cab through the dark streets, however we arrived a little after the appointed time and made our way through an unlovely corridor into what appeared to be an outdoor bar and restaurant protected from the elements by a marquee.  We were shown to our table, where our friends were waiting and proceeded to order.  When it came to the Contorni (side dishes), the waiter was asked about a salad.  He said “this is a beautiful dish.  You have tasted nothing like it”.  Therefore an order was placed for it to share amongst us, together with a more prosaic side of chips.  So the food arrived and the wine flowed.  When the mysterious salad arrived, four or five of us tested it. I thought it was like an extra vinegary coleslaw.  “Be careful”, warned Dazza A. “That could go right through you”.  Prophetic words.

So the meal went on, only threatening to come to a fractious head when the bill arrived for a seemingly extortionate sum, which was resolved by the discovery that we’d been charged for more main courses than we’d had and the fact that the waiter had thought the party at the next table were with us.  With the usual grousing accompanying a large party (“I only had a main course”, “I didn’t drink all that beer”, “I didn’t have a side order) – we settled up and adjourned to the bar for drinks.

By the time 1am arrived, having had a few drinks, I was starting to feel tired.  My tummy was also starting to rumble in an ominous manner, and I decided to go back to the hotel, leaving K and G in the doubtful care of Dazza A.,whom I left outside the restaurant asking a cabbie what sort of low nightclub they could go on to.  I got back to the hotel just in time.  Dazza A’s prophecy came to pass and I spent much of the next two hours firmly clamped to the loo, clutching a packet of Immodium.  By 3am, the sickness had passed, and I crawled into bed just as K and G arrived back, not having much luck in finding a venue with suitably banging tunes.  G curled up in her bed and went to sleep, but K and I spent a most amusing hour playing “Arse versus Elbow”, in which the competitors take a picture of their arms crooked at the elbow, with the wrist pointing down, to see whose arm ends up looking most like arse cheeks.*

In spite of the uproar in my stomach, I slept, only to wake at 8am.  I thought I’d better go and try to have some breakfast but in spite of the tempting array, I could only manage a little toast and coffee and retired back to bed.  We hadn’t formulated any particular plans for the day, but over their breakfast K and G received intelligence of more friends arriving in town, and decided to go off to a bar to meet them.  I simply wasn’t up to sitting in a pub and lay in bed with the window open, praying I wasn’t going to be too ill at the football.  I was also considering the implications of wasting the whole of the day in bed.  Eventually it was too much for me, and I decided that the pub might have been out, but I could do some quiet sightseeing on my own.  I was determined at least to see the Duomo (Milan’s Cathedral), and I’m glad I did.  I’ve visited many of Europe’s great churches now, and there’s no doubt that Milan’s has got to be near the top of any connoisseur’s list.  In spite of the large numbers of visitors, it still maintained an air of peace and holiness that are lacking in others (Florence, for example).  I even managed to attend a mass in a side chapel, where I devoutly prayed for a win against Inter.  As many of the shops were close to the Cathedral, including La Rinascente, Italy’s main department store chain, I paid them a visit (mainly to laugh at the prices), and also went on the City Sightseeing tour in the pleasant winter sun.  I also hoped a light meal of pasta in the restaurant next the hotel would succour my recovering stomach against the night at the San Siro.

Having joined up again with the others, the ladies of the party spent a pleasant hour customising some specially bought Fila y-fronts, in tribute to Ashley Cole’s recent marital problems with the bon mots “Girls Allowed” which we planned to smuggle in past the stewards.  Then we headed to the recommended metro station to meet the buses which would take us to the ground.  Happily ours was full of Chels, but the drive to the ground seemed to take hours, in a huge Milanese traffic jam.  By the time we got to the ground, the game was about to start, and we hoofed up the circular walkways.  Halfway up, I was starting to feel unwell again.  In a throwback to the Old Wembley area, male (natch) fans were starting to use the walkways as a urinal, having been caught short after too much Peroni.  Eventually, we reached the top, only to find the view of the pitch obscured by netting, presumably to stop supporters from the upper tier throwing anything on to those below.  In a state of disbelief we took our seats, just in time to see Diego Milito open the scoring on 3 minutes.  To say we were disgruntled, at this point, would be an understatement.  However, the team dragged themselves back into the game, playing some decent attacking football.  And in spite of Jose Mourinho’s burgeoning reputation as a defensively minded football, Inter looked capable of scoring every time they had the ball.  Just before the interval, we should have had a penalty when Kalou was upended by Walter Samuel, a foul seen by everyone, it seemed, apart from the ref.  Half time saw us still a goal down, but hopeful at such an early stage in the tie. 

Just eight minutes into the second half, a miracle.  An equaliser from Salomon Kalou, following a rampage down the right by Ivanovic.  The decision to drop Joey Cole looked like a good ‘un.  But our dreams of a draw with a crucial away goal were dashed only four minute later when Esteban Cambiasso was the beneficiary of a couple of weak clearances, first by Carvalho and then Terry, and we found ourselves 2-1 down.

Worse was to follow when Petr Cech had to be carried off shortly after in one of those inexplicable turf accidents, to be replaced by Hilario.  Say what you like about Chelsea’s No. 2, he’s never let us down when he’s been called into the fray, and the game ended without us shipping any more goals.  The Inter fans celebrated as if they’d just won the Champions League, never mind about a round of 16 first leg, their joy magnified by a victory over a team now managed by the former boss of their bitter local rivals, AC Milan, the amiable Carlo Ancelotti.

The Chels settled down for the usual inevitable post-match lock-in, but this proved to be probably the most enjoyable part of the evening, save the Kalou equaliser.  The San Siro Wheels of Steel rocked us to the sounds of The Clash, The Jam, Madness, Squeeze and many other favourites.  It’s almost as if they’d done their research.

There was some unpleasantness on the way out as the doors at the bottom of the walkways were blocked by Carabinieri to avoid any potential clash between any Inter Ultras hanging around (of which there were a few) and our fans – the queues backed up unpleasantly and some misguided individuals decided to have an off with the Police; never a good idea in any country, downright foolish anywhere in Italy.  It is purely my opinion, and of course we were probably in the rubbish bit of the ground, but rather like the Stadio Olimpico in Rome, the Giuseppe Meazza looks great on TV, but does not live up to the reality.  Happily I didn’t find it necessary to use the “facilities”, but I’m told there were two loos for 4,000 visiting fans.  Animals would probably be treated better.

However, eventually we got ourselves on a bus and reached the metro in time to take a late train back to our hotel.  The evening concluded with a few drinks (non-alcoholic in my case) in the bar, but with the firm conviction we could still turn the tie around.

The next morning, Jimmy M. met us at our hotel to join the flight home and said that he’d been feeling lousy, and a subsequent conversation with Dazza A. confirmed he’d been ill too.  We all had one thing in common; we’d had the coleslaw salad at dinner on Tuesday evening.  However, conversations with other friends confirmed that the sickness hadn’t just been confirmed to us.  I’ve never heard of so many cases of illness during a European trip and whilst I don’t know what other people were eating, the moral appears to be of the story is whilst in Europe, be a salad dodger!  This is of course something which those off to Naples might want to bear in mind…

Speaking of which, I’m packing my tiny bag for my first European away trip of the season, which hopefully will bring enough stories to furnish a future “Travels”.  In the meantime, you can follow me on Twitter @BlueBaby67

*Readers travelling to Naples may find this a cheap way of filling any empty hours.

Chelsea limply departed European competition last night, knocked out of the UEFA Champions League by Jose Mourinho’s well drilled and tactically excellent Internazionale side, who won 1-0 on the night and 3-1 on aggregate.

Yuri Zhirkov came into the side at left back, whilst a fit again Ricardo Carvalho was only on the bench with Alex preferred. Ross Turnbull was between the sticks in the continued absence of Cech and Hilario.

Ballack and Drogba both had attempts on goal in the first half, which was relatively even until the last five or so minutes. Chelsea didn’t want the half time whistle to blow and when it did, it halted a good period of Chelsea pressure.

The second half started in much the same vain, before Inter knuckled down. Mourinho was in vintage form on the touchline, gesticulating widely as Ancelotti stood, pensieve and emotionless a few metres away.

Joe Cole replaced Ballack and it was Sneider who exploited the sizeable gap left by Ballack’s departure. Pulling the strings now, the Dutchman set up Samuel Eto’o to fire past the previously untested Turnbull.

Cole was woefully ineffective, whilst fellow sub Kalou wasn’t much better. Inter controlled the ball beautifully once they had the lead and in truth, Chelsea never looked like getting the goals they needed.

Didier Drogba was sent off late on for a supposed stamp on Thiago Motta, though the Inter player clearly made a larger deal out of it than was necessary. Eto’o could have iced the cake even later on, but Turnbull distinguished himself by making a fine reaction stop.

In the end though, Ancelotti and more so Ancelotti’s men, were found wanting. Jose Mourinho though, proved why he is still The Special One.

So the special one returns to Stamford Bridge this evening, with fresh digs at Chelsea about how he wins the important games and Chelsea [since his departure] wins something. Nice, okay, but not everybody has been upended by the bluster and forgotten that we didn’t actually win the Champions League under Jose.

We often played appallingly in the group stages, particularly away from home, and came closer under the match maligned Avram Grant. Or the somewhat tame exits from the Carling Cup or the fact that he lost to Inter’s greatest rivals recently. Apart from that, no.

Of course many will be glad to see him back at Stamford Bridge, not least of all the press who will have news to report – Jose ate all the Custard Creams in one sitting, etc. – rather than creating news, and many fans too will be pleased (elated, ecstatic, some might say) to see him back. But just remember, fanboydom makes you blind.

Goes without saying that although he’s much loved, there’s a bit of needle involved in this match and the players will have a point to prove on the pitch. They’d do well to avoid the papers for a few days because if we win it’ll be Jose’s team, if we lose it’ll be Jose the master tactician.

We all have to hope that they get their heads down, get on with the job and, above all, are very patient. If the chances come our way, we must take them but at the same time we must defend well, better than we’ve needed to for a long time. We’ll need to be extra vigilant about the tactics of some of the Inter players, too.

Make no mistake, there will be cheating. Jose knows our history in this competition because he wrote part of it, which means he knows very well the frustration and poor decisions we’ve had to suffer. Don’t think for one moment he won’t use that to his advantage.

We have the away goal, but if Inter score just one we’ll need to score three to prevent extra time. We’re capable of doing that, particularly in the dying minutes of a game, but the pressure would be immense.

Inter don’t travel well, though, with just one win to their name away from home in the last two months, and only two wins from seven home and away. This generally is when Inter dip out of the Champions League, having done so for the last three seasons. Let’s hope that trend continues.

Injury woes continue at Chelsea and tonight we play with our third choice keeper in goal. Far from pointing out his weaknesses, I think the best we can do is wish Ross Turnbull all the very best for this evening, and look to the experience of the players around him to provide the support he’s going to need.

We’ve been here before though. Ambrosio in 2004, and it’s doubtful many will have forgotten Hilario being thrown into the fray against Barcelona after the Reading thugs battered two keepers in one match.

Carvalho returns from injury and is available, so it’s a toss-up between him and Alex, who’s performed well in his last two games, but if Carvalho is truly match fit we can expect him to get the nod for this one.

Fans and players alike will need to be extraordinarily patient, and though most of us would take two or three nil lead after a frenetic 20 minutes of play, how many of us could stand to watch us defend that lead for another 70 minutes? Indeed, none of us.

A match free from controversy and the obvious attentions of Uefa would be nice, but nicer still would be to send Jose home with his tail between his legs so we can get on with our own business, thank you very much.

It’s going to be painful to watch at times. It’s going to be a long match. It’s going to be 3-1 to Chelsea.

Internazionale will travel to Stamford Bridge in just under three weeks with a 2-1 lead to preserve, having defeated Chelsea at the San Siro.

Diego Milito and Esteban Cambiasso scored for Jose Mourinho’s side, whilst Salomon Kalou scored for Chelsea. The Blues also lost Petr Cech to a serious looking injury in the second half.

Florent Malouda was preferred to Juliano Belletti at left back for Chelsea, which mean that Kalou was drafted into the starting line up in Malouda’s usual attacking midfield position.

However, it was Inter that took the lead in just the third minute, Milito drilling home with the first shot of the match. Looking to hit back, Didier Drogba crashed a long range free kick against the bar.

Chelsea should have been awarded a penalty in the last minute of the first half though, when Walter Samuel clearly fouled Kalou who was in on goal. Instead, the referee waived play on and Samuel escaped a red card.

It was Kalou though who equalised, early in the second half. A storming run from Branislav Ivanovic ended with Kalou curling a beautiful finish from outside the area into the far corner. Julio Cesar might have done better, but the placement was perfect from the Ivorian.

Once more, Inter went ahead again in three minutes. Cambiasso’s first shot was blocked by Ivanovic but the Argentine crashed the rebound past Cech to give Inter the lead.

Soon after, the Chelsea keeper picked up a serious looking injury, having caught a cross unchallenged. He immediately signalled to the bench to be subbed and was unable to walk from the field, even assisted.

Hilario was his replacement and could well have a big role to play in the near future, particularly in the return leg with the tie evenly poised at 2-1.

The last 16 of the UEFA Champions League has thrown up an all star clash with Chelsea drawn against Italian giants Internazionale.

More obviously, Carlo Ancelotti, formerly of AC Milan, clashes with former Chelsea coach and favourite, Jose Mourinho in one of the most eagerly anticipated matches in years. The San Siro is the venue for the first leg.

The war of words has started, with Mourinho commenting that the club has gone backwards since he departed and that the players are all but the same as the ones he brought in. Whilst there is an element of truth to this, the pre match bullying tactic is more than familiar.

Injuries have thrown up a problem at left back for Chelsea, with both Ashley Cole and his deputy Yuri Zhirkov out indefinitely through injury.

Paulo Ferreira played there in the second half of the win at Wolves, but he isn’t in Chelsea’s Champions League squad and thus misses out. Ancelotti has named the popular Juliano Belletti as the most likely left back, though Florent Malouda is also an option.

Inter are on top of Serie A and at such a canter that Mourinho is rumoured to be bored with Italian football and seeking a move to somewhere more lively in the summer.

Samuel Eto’o, so often a nemesis for Chelsea whilst at Barcelona, is now at Inter, whilst Wesley Sneijder and former Portsmouth midfielder Sully Muntari will play in midfield.

Ladbrokes have installed Internazionale as slight favourites at 13/8, compared to Chelsea at 9/5. The draw too is favourable, paying 21/10.