I hope I never lose the childish joy and wonder I feel when I’m in an aeroplane, watching the clouds and earth skitter by below. I wonder if birds realise how lucky they are?
As I write this I am soaring over the French-Swiss border on my way back from Milan. The peaks of the Alps have given way to a sea of cloud, rising and falling in soft waves. The horizon stretches long into the distance, flecked with brushstrokes of grey and blue. A cup of tea is steaming away on the tray table, Twinings – it’s no Yorkshire Tea – but after 5 tea-less days it is hitting just the right spot.
This year I found my life, rather unexpectedly, taking a sharp detour from the path I had planned. As a result I have been dedicating my time to rediscovering my passions, hobbies, and independence. One passion that I have rarely indulged in the past decade is travelling, and so to put this new-found freedom to the test I decided to take myself on a solo adventure. Having rarely travelled solo, and never abroad, it was initially a blend of excitement and anxiety. Ultimately, it turned out to be one of the best decisions I have ever made; so please read on to find out more about my time in Milan.
Day 1
After a late arrival at the hotel, I slept in a little the first morning, just about making it down to breakfast. This was the first test of my very rudimentary Italian; given the last minute nature of this holiday I had had to make do with a grossly touristy phrasebook and a few beginner YouTube videos. Over coffee I mulled on what to do with the day. I decided to embrace spontaneity and let the city lead me. After breakfast I ambled in the general direction of the centre, planning to end up at the Duomo, but with every intention of letting myself be distracted by whatever side quests presented themselves. After a 10 minute walk through the affordable end of the fashion district – passing a number of coffee and gelato shops I mentally noted for later – I came upon a large park; the Giardini Pubblici Indro Montanelli – “Indro Montanelli Public Gardens”.
I sat on a bench at the edge of the park, gazing at an attractive building with “Museo Civico di Storia Naturale di Milano” etched into the stone – I didn’t need a translator for that. I soaked in the sunshine for a bit, watching people as they bundled about their day, some struggling in the heat, others embracing it. Some were locals, striding confidently towards a destination, giving no more thought to the place they walked through everyday than they would give a traffic cone; others, like me, were clearly visitors and looked at everything mundane as if it were a wonder. I bought myself a ticket and trundled off to explore the museum. It had an impressive palaeontology selection, and I spent a large amount of time translating the information placards – at this point I couldn’t hold a basic conversation in Italian, but I could talk to you about Coelurosauria, pygmy elephants, or the Pliocene epoch.
After the museum I sauntered towards the Duomo di Milano, one of the largest cathedrals in the world. A stunning example of Gothic and Renaissance architecture, it took nearly six centuries to complete, with construction commencing in 1386, and final details being added in 1965. Despite being non-religious, for as long as I can remember I have had a fascination with churches – more specifically old churches. My childhood was immersed in Christianity, having attended a cathedral school for my secondary years. I spent every morning in assembly sitting in the Nave, my mind wandering while school updates and readings were given. I remember gazing around at the ornate vaulted ceiling, cylindrical pillars, and stained-glass windows, often creating stories out of the figures depicted. It was, despite the monotony of school life that often drained me, a ritual that I found some peace in. I developed something of a ritual on holiday with the Duomo; every evening, after dinner, I would go to the square, sit on the wooden platform that surrounded the statue of Victor Emmanuel II, and take in the magnificence of the cathedral and the energy of the city around it.
Interesting tangent: I have always been curious about the difference between churches and cathedrals, and in researching the Duomo for this post I thought I would put my curiosity to rest. In very basic terms a church is a building where Christians gather for worship; a cathedral on the other hand is a specific church that serves as the seat of a bishop. In the same vein as all thumbs are fingers, all cathedrals are churches, but not all churches are cathedrals.
At this point it was late afternoon, I was warm from exploring, and I decided the best way to cool down was to find gelato. I picked a refreshing mix of mango and raspberry sorbets, found some shade under a huge fir tree in the park, and settled down with my book. Before I knew it, it was inching closer to evening. I refreshed at the hotel and, after some agonising decision making, decided to go with a restaurant recommendation from a friend: Ristorante Galleria in the beautiful Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II.
On reflection, Galleria was the best meal I had in Milan, the food was delicious, the service was attentive, and the wine was divine. I had never taken myself out for dinner before and I loved the experience; being able to read my book and eat at my own pace without worrying about what anyone else wanted. After dinner I visited the cathedral, lit up magnificently against a black sky, and wandered back through the city’s night life to my hotel.
Day 2
Over breakfast I pondered where the day might take me, I had one plan, an art exhibition in the afternoon, but the rest of the day was free for exploring the city. I set out into the morning sunshine with every intention of getting completely lost. After a couple of hours I had managed to loop back round to the centre and decided it was the perfect time for another gelato – today’s flavour selection was gianduja and vanilla. I can safely say that Italian gelato has ruined all other gelato and ice cream for me forever more.
As the afternoon rolled on I headed towards the Palazzo Reale, the Royal Palace of Milan, where the exhibition was being held. An installation by German artist Anselm Keifer, the exhibition featured forty-two enormous canvases depicting women alchemists from history. Set in the beautiful Sala delle Cariatidi (Hall of Caryatids), the alchemists were framed by the scarred busts of the caryatids (sculpted female figures that act as architectural support) who had suffered significant damage from bombing in WWII. Following the war, renovations began on repairing the palazzo, but the decision was made not to reconstruct the ornate decoration, including the 40 caryatids, as a reminder of the atrocities.
Provocative, that’s the word that comes to mind as I stand beneath the wounded busts, drinking in the immense canvases of Keifer that interlace mythology and science in paint, metal, gold leaf, clay, charcoal, plaster, and dried flowers.
That evening, I was grappling with indecision about dinner and so, in my best Italian, I asked the hotel for a recommendation and was pointed to a fish restaurant a short walk away. There I had a delicious swordfish and aubergine pasta and, although the portion was enough to feed me twice, I managed to squeeze in a tiramisu afterwards. A little too full of pasta, tiramisu, and wine, I decided to detour on my way back to the hotel. I walked through the park, listening to the chirping of the cicadas and watching the shadows of bats darting through the night. A sheet of lightning flashed across the sky, but no rain or thunder followed, it was a gentle start to the storm. I settled on a bench underneath a streetlamp and drank in the evening air. Every now and then laughter would erupt from the bar tucked into a corner of the park, mingling with the music and droning cicadas before fading into the air. The wind was picking up, taking my hair in delicate fingers, the storm was getting closer.
It was around midnight that it started, with torrential rain that washed away the heat of the last few days. I opened my hotel window wide and lay in bed listening to it pound against the street below, interrupted occasionally by a roll of far away thunder. The lightning was the most impressive, great forks cracked open the sky, and for most of that night the city was decorated with flashes of eerie white light. I was up till the early hours watching the sky, as I always do when there’s a storm. I don’t remember drifting off but I woke up facing the wrong way, cuddling a pillow, with the morning breeze drifting over my face.
Days 3 & 4
The next two days were a combination of working and exploring. I had wanted to trial working abroad this holiday, as I am in the fortunate position that I can work from anywhere. I loved it. Nothing takes the sting out of an intense and frustrating project like a gelato in Italy. On the third day I found Sforza castle and went for a stroll around the open grounds. In the evening I found a small tapas-style restaurant, where I had the most amazing burrata and prosciutto – and I managed to squeeze in another tiramisu. I went on my customary evening pilgrimage to the cathedral, sitting with strangers on the wooden bench surrounding Victor Emmanuel’s statue, watching tourists being chased by men drenched in flashing toys. One man had an armful of fake roses and was deftly targeting happy looking couples – thankfully I was safe.
My last full day was unfortunately the worst of the holiday. The rain started early and only let up for 5-minute bursts. I was determined to get out and enjoy some of my last day so I nipped to a local restaurant for lunch and took a last (rather wet) walk over to the cathedral. I was sad to leave Milan, and it seems the weather was too. The next day I rose early and started the journey back home. I got the train from the magnificent Milano Central station out to Malpensa airport and was soon on my way back to old blighty.
I was sorry to leave Milan, I had fallen in love with the city, but I came away from the holiday with a refreshed perspective, feeling more positive about life than I had in years. Grazie Milano, for helping me rediscover an independence I though I’d lost. Fino alla prossima volta.
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