Thanksgiving 2025: Day 8, Going Home

I originally thought Day 7 would be the last post of this trip. But, as travel usually does, a few things happened on the way home that felt like they deserved their own chapter.

For the first time since Rome, we finally had a proper hotel breakfast on our last morning. A real European “continental” breakfast: good bread, pastries, cheese, fruit, coffee—the kind that quietly reminds you how much you’ll miss this part of traveling.

We took the Malpensa Express to the airport. I had bought the train tickets the day before from a vending machine at Milano Centrale. There were several types of machines, red and green, and I used the green one (though later I noticed the red machines work the same way). The machine asked me to select a departure time, since the trains run about every 30 minutes, but the time didn’t actually appear on the printed ticket, which left me slightly confused.

I had also watched a YouTube video that said the ticket needed to be validated before boarding. When I asked the staff, though, they told me I could simply get on the train without any validation. So I did.

The ride took about 40 minutes. It was plain, quiet, and comfortable, which was the kind of uneventful ride you want at the very end of a long trip.

But things started to get… complicated at the airport. Some of it may have been because I wasn’t used to their system, but I couldn’t shake out the feeling that Malpensa (MXP) might not be fully ready for Olympic-scale traffic. It felt like a normal international airport on a normal day, even though a global event is just around the corner. We arrived more than three hours before departure. Our return flight was operated by Air Canada. When we reached the check-in counters, the process had just begun, and there was already a long line. It took about an hour just to check in. That part, at least, was manageable.

Then came security. There were two separate security lines: one marked for US and Israel, and another for all other destinations. Our final destination was San Francisco, but our transfer was in Montreal, Canada. Unsure which line applied to us, we asked a staff member. She told us to go to the US line, so we did. When we finally reached the front, another staff member at the gate stopped us and said we should have been in the other line. I explained our situation. We went back and forth for a moment, and eventually he let us through, but the entire process felt unnecessarily confusing.

What exactly was the rule? If the US and Israel required different security procedures, then choosing the US line made sense, especially since our flight would effectively become a US-bound flight after pre-clearance in Montreal. But if it was simply a destination-based split, then we should have been in the other line from the beginning. None of this was clearly explained.

Anyway, we finally cleared security, and the familiar duty-free zone appeared. At that moment, many Asian and American travelers probably think, “The hard part is over.” We spent a little time shopping, relaxed for a moment… and then noticed the sign for passport control. That’s when I learned something important: in many European airports, passport control comes after duty-free, not before, which I had no idea. There were already long lines. Korean and US passport holders could use the expedited lanes, which helped, but it was still a completely unexpected delay. And worse, the walk from passport control to the gate was very long. By then, boarding time was approaching. So we ran, and we reached the gate right at boarding time.

The flight itself was just fine. As usual, I didn’t mind the in-flight meal, and the plane was clean and comfortable.

But now we were approaching the part I had worried about the most during the planning: the transfer in Montreal. We had only 1 hour and 50 minutes, and that included US immigration. I had been thinking about this moment for weeks. And now it was finally happening.

I had actually asked ChatGPT about this part too, and many things happened just as it said, but some important details didn’t. The plane arrived at YUL (Montreal International Airport) on time, which was already a relief. We followed the “US Transfer” signs along with many other passengers, exactly as ChatGPT had described. Then came the security check—and this was where reality diverged from the prediction.

ChatGPT had told me that we would need to take back our checked luggage from a dedicated carousel, go through security, and check the bags in again. None of that happened. Since everything was on a single booking, our luggages were transferred directly to SFO. We only needed to pass security with our carry-on bags, which was definitely the good part.

But the security line was too long. And there was no Global Entry line, despite what ChatGPT had promised me. At that point, I genuinely started to worry that we might miss the flight.

Then suddenly, a staff member shouted, “Anyone going to Denver?” Dozens of people stepped out of the line, and he guided them forward. That’s when I realized: “Ah, at least there is a system here.”

A little later, he called for San Francisco. It was about 50 minutes remaining before departure. We (with dozens of others) moved quickly and made it through. In the end, we reached the gate about 20 minutes before boarding (thanks to 10 minutes delayed boarding). Outside, snow was falling, my first snow of the winter. And finally, for the first time in hours, I could be relaxed.

The flight from Montreal to San Francisco was really a domestic one. We arrived at SFO Terminal 2, not even an international terminal. We were at home. One small thing I appreciated right away: the new mayor’s photo at the airport is much more modest in size than his predecessor’s. A quiet improvement, but a welcome one.

The only remaining challenge was transportation. It took almost an hour to get an Uber. But it was the last day of a long Thanksgiving weekend, and after everything, I could manage that too.

We made it home safely, without a single accident, missed flight, or real crisis. And once again, after all the miles and memories, I was reminded of the simplest truth again: Home is still the best place to be.