Snapshots: Milan

Well, my dear readers, I don't think I can apologize enough to make up for my nearly month-long neglect of this little labor of love. Being a writing major, you'd think I would look forward to using this as an outlet for the pent-up thoughts I repress when focusing on the structured academic assignments. Instead, I have been dreading catching up on updating the archive of my adventures because so much time has past and I feel the need to give each memory its deserved explanation and reflection. These past few weeks have left me with so much to tell and not much energy with which to recount everything. Happily, I have come up with a solution.

Instead of sitting down for the daunting task of taking you through all my recent adventures in one sitting, I've decided to write shorter accounts of each experience, posting snapshots instead of novels. So, without further ado, I'll return you to the first weekend in March: Milan.

When my friend Lindsey and I boarded the slow train bound for Milan, we had few expectations. There are some students in our program who absolutely love Milan and its cosmopolitan allure. Others have expressed exasperation in the length of the trip north and the overall expensiveness of the city. We knew we wanted to see the cathedral, an exceptional example of Italian gothic architecture according to our Renaissance Architecture professor, and maybe do a bit of shopping in the world's fashion capital. Aside from these two goals, the weekend was wide open.

Upon our arrival, I successfully navigated us to our hostel in the heart of the city and we went for a late lunch at a pizzeria recommended by my guidebook. It was here that the real adventure began...

We were the only Americans in the entire restaurant. Not only were we fielding odd looks from local patrons but we struggled to communicate clearly with our waiter, who turned out to be Egyptian. We enjoyed our large pizza (the place wasn't called Big Pizza for nothing) and the company of one another while the restaurant slowly emptied of the Italians returning to their Friday afternoons when another waiter came over and began asking us questions about where we were from and what we had planned for our time in Milan. As we had relatively no plans whatsoever he and our waiter decided they would show us around if we met up with them after the lunch rush. We decided that their offer to guide us around the city could be a good opportunity to get to know the place we had so little time at so we took them up on their offer. It was about 15 minutes later that we regretted this decision. Our waiter friends were friendly enough and very generous in volunteering their time—and then one of them became aggressively friendly toward me. It is one thing to jokingly offer to take me back to your place for a glass of wine, albeit creepy; commentary on the beauty of my green eyes and the love you feel in your heart for such a gorgeous American girl is something different all together. Lindsey and I grew increasingly uncomfortable as this guy tried to link arms and persistently hit on me. We took refuge from the waiters and the equally aggressive street vendors in the piazza inside the massive Duomo di Milano, the first stop on our little tour, and decided that it was time to say goodbye to our new "friends." Thankfully they had other people to meet at what was supposed to be our second stop, so they curtly shook our hands and left us at the church. Can you say Hallelujah?

Lindsey and me at the Duomo.
So relieved after we ditched our "friends!"

The Duomo of Milano

Monumental interior architecture

Little tourist, giant church.
In fact, it is the largest gothic cathedral in the world 

Feed the birds. Tuppence a bag...

Relieved, we decided to climb to the roof and enjoy the sunny view and enjoyed the rest of our time from then. Milan, we realized, is a gigantic city. Urban city, shopping, and industry sprawled out at our feet for as far as the eye could see. It was hard to believe that the tranquility of the famous Lago di Como was nearby. Cloudy weather and an early onslaught of my tonsillitis to-be prevented us from making the train ride out there, but that leaves us with all the more reason to one day return. The rest of that evening was spent doing what the Milanese do best: shopping! We ate dinner at another restaurant recommended by my guidebook and found ourselves attracting the attention of our rather good-looking Italian waiters (who did not offer to take us out, thank goodness). An early bedtime after the stress of the afternoon was just what the figurative doctor ordered.

Ridiculously complex architecture

Milanese skyline and a Saint

Last rays of sunlight on the Duomo

The next day we decided to go to one of the more famous art galleries to see the Milanese collection of Renaissance art and were treated to an exhibition of Leonardo Da Vinci's drawings and schematics, which totally made up for not spending an inordinate amount of money to go and see the last supper. Instead, we saw a copy of the famous fresco (also in the museum) and we were up close and personal with the master's sketches, observations, and backward printing. Absolutely fantastic!

Breakfast a la Milanese: crepes!

Da Vinci, the man of Milano

We returned home to Florence later that afternoon and my health deteriorated from there. I cannot say enough good things about the strength of Italian medicine, which seems to work more effectively than that which we consume in America; although maybe I exaggerate because anything that would help me feel better would have seemed like a miracle drug at that point.