Milano.....Just As I Remembered It.....An Ugly City

     In my early twenties I had the life changing experience of hitchhiking through Europe with a friend.  Before this trip I had only been outside of Canada once, to the Caribbean.  It was during this trip that my dream of continuing to explore the world was born.  I knew then that I needed to see and experience more of what the world has to offer.  For me it was like opening up a bag of potato chips; there is no way you can stop at just eating one.  

     During this trip we stopped over one night in Milan.  My memory of Milan is that it is an ugly city that lacks the charm and character of the many other european cities that I have seen.  I thought that perhaps my memory of Milan could be wrong as a lot of time has passed causing memories to get foggy, so I decided to go back.  And given that when Liz and I took the kids to Pisa my recollection going into that trip was that the Leaning Tower was outside of the city turned out to be drastically wrong, it seemed more then possible that I was wrong about Milan.    

Milano Centrale

     So with an open mind Libby and I set out on the train for Milan.  I arrived at the train station excited about my little adventure.  It began with me checking in Libby's dog bag.  I anticipated that I would be carrying shopping bags, and therefore I would not want to be lugging this bag around.  While my italian is still very poor, I understood enough to get that the gentleman at the baggage check-in was teasing me about checking in a bag that is smaller than my purse (which Libby rides in).  He laughed out loud.  Keep in mind that people before and after me were checking in suitcases that weighed up 20 kilograms.  The gentleman then in jest tossed the bag into the arms of another employee that looked at him and laughing said something to the effect of what is he to do with it, something so small.  We all had a good laugh together.

     Arriving at the Duomo I was immediately struck by the architectural detail.  While the Duomo is massive, it at the same time has this fragile look to it because of all the ornate detail.  As I looked around the piazza I wondered if I had misjudged this city as in that moment I was surrounded by architectural genius.  I had not been to this area of Milan during my previous trip.  This I would have remembered.  

                     

     In the same piazza as the Duomo is the Galleria Vittoria Emanuele II.  It is Milan's version of a shopping mall.  The Eaton Centre it is not.  The Galleria can only be described as a beautiful marriage of glass and iron.  The ceiling vaults are adorned with incredible mosaics.  I could not help but stand there looking up in ah.  It is even more flabbergasting when one takes into account that the Galleria was opened up in 1867.  I constantly find myself shaking my head wondering how so many wonderful structures were created in Italy without the assistance of present day construction equipment.  In present day Canada it is a rarity to have a home built with square corners and even floors, yet hundreds of years ago many magnificent, and architecturally sound, structures were made.  They still stand today in honour of the geniuses who expressed their creativity through what really are works of art.  At the centre of the Galleria are the designer powerhouses Prada and Louis Vuitton.  From there radiates out stores from every designer that one can possibly think of, as well as small chic boutiques.  While I was starving because I headed out so early in the morning, I went hungry because I refused to pay the ridiculously exuberant restaurant prices.  Given the prices of food, lets just say there was no food court as Canadians and Americans know them, I didn't even dare to go into the shops.  I did find a restaurant that served a glass of prosecco for 4 euros; cheaper than a bottle of water.  I had to make sure that I didn't dehydrate in the heat.      

      

     After the Galleria I went into Italy's version of Macy's - la Rinascente.  There is a la Rinascente in every major italian city, including Florence, only what made this one different is that it had some american designers.  When I saw the Jimmy Choo section, and right next door Michael Kors, my heart pitter pattered.  I felt the excitement that I do when I stroll 5th Avenue in New York.  While I looked, I did not buy.  For years I dreamed about owning a pair of Jimmy Choos, but I mourned the loss of this dream long ago when I travelled to New York after breaking my ankle to at last buy myself a pair of shoes for my birthday.  I was devastated to see that two years after breaking my ankle it still swelled up too much to be able to wear a pair of Jimmy Choos.  My birthday dream was shattered as I realized that Jimmy Choo and I were just not meant to be.  As I drooled over the shoes in la Rinascente, the practical side of me thought that with the cobblestone streets of Florence if I dared to put on a pair of Jimmy Choos I would be certain to break an ankle again.  So while I slowly walked around admiring the very stylish shoes, I didn't buy any. Besides now living on a frugal budget I would need to experience more than my heart going pitter patter.  Now I would have to go into heart arrhythmia over a luxury item to be persuaded to purchase it.  

     While I strolled the Corso Vittorio Emanuele shopping district, that extends over several blocks, I was left thinking that really other than the american stores, the shopping in Florence is just as good.  Every designer label that is in Milan is in Florence, from high end to more modestly priced.  Nothing screamed, "Buy me!", so I walked away empty handed.
     Exhausted, and feet sore, Libby and I then took the bus tour of the city.  I always like to take a bus tour when I go into an unknown city because it gives you a great overview of the city.  

     Libby has become much braver since living in Florence.  She decided to jump over a woman's lap and ride on another woman's lap for much of the tour.  More people were taking pictures of Libby than of the surroundings outside of the bus.  Being a protective mother my first instinct was that I wanted to take her back, but then I remembered how important it is to encourage our babies to bravely face the world, so I let her be.  In time she made her way back to me.  My friend Al thinks that I baby Libby too much, hence why I try to not be so neurotic when it comes to her, but part of me thinks so what if I baby her. That day, however, Al's voice in my head won out.   

     As I looked around and listened to the audio tape about the beautiful neighbourhoods that we were driving through I thought to myself, "Are you kidding me?".  I realized that my memory of Milan was indeed correct.  With the exception of the area surrounding the Duomo, Milan is ugly.  Yes there is the Castello Sforzesco, a grand castle that is fortresslike, but other than that there really is nothing special about the city.  At least in my opinion.  It just seems to lack the charm and character that many other cities have in Italy. Even Rome, as big as it is, has many areas that leave you walking away with your eyes wide and your mouth open because of the splendour.  Many times as I listened to the audio tape and the narrator characterized an area as beautiful, and a well sought after section to live in, I looked around wondering if I was looking at the same thing as what was being described.  At one point I leaned over to the woman sitting next to me and I said, "Am I missing something".  She laughed and quickly replied, "No".  I was so bored with what I was looking at I almost fell asleep on the tour.  Being a travel junky, and a history geek, I get excited to learn about a city, its people and its culture.  I have never almost fallen asleep on a tour.  For the first time in a long time, rather than being struck by what I was seeing, I was struck by what I was not seeing; what Milan seemed to lack.  I don't have many pictures of Milan, as frankly there was not a lot that I thought was worthy of capturing in a photo.  I got back on the train to head home thinking that Milan was just as I remembered it, an ugly city.   I left Milan feeling grateful that I picked Florence to live in and was reminded what a special city Florence is. 

Castello Sforzesco

     The next day I shared my trip to Milan with the owner of my favourite little coffee café. While sipping the most delicious expresso in all of Florence, I dared to express that I thought that Milan was ugly.  His reply was, "Firenze e tu e questo caffé sono belle. Milano é brutta".  He agreed with my observation that other than the area around the Duomo, which is unquestionably beautiful, there is just nothing special about Milan.  I don't regret my day trip though.  If you dare to venture out into the world some places you are going to love, and some places you are not.  The not so wonderful places make you cherish the special places all the more.  And I took comfort in seeing that not all my memories of my trip through Europe decades ago are warped.     

          

    

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I Never Would Have Thought......

    

     Today after my run I came home and prepared a salad for my lunch.  After cutting up the flavourful tomatoes I walked out onto my terrace and snipped off a few sprigs of fresh basil.  The produce here in Florence is so full of flavour that I find myself eating vegetables and fruit more than I ever have.  This is even more so the case now that the warm weather has arrived and the markets are overflowing with selection.  This past weekend I went to the market with a friend and we actually stopped and took the time to smell the tomatoes and the grapes.  We couldn't help it as we were so drawn to the aromas.  After we were drawn to the most handsome chicken butcher, and he was actually over 6ft tall.  While it is not hard to find a handsome italian, it is hard to find a handsome italian over 6ft tall.  From a distance we enjoyed the tall, dark and incredibly handsome butcher, as Alessandro my favourite vegetable man laughed at us telling us that we would have to go speak to him as he is very shy.  Oh to feel like a girl in high school again giggling over a handsome boy.  Okay, back to the terrace Elizabeth...... focus.             

     I took my lunch out onto the terrace and enjoyed the warm sun as I ate.  Then I began the task of sweeping and mopping my terrace.  Although one can't really consider it a task as I enjoyed the hot sun beating down on me, the birds were chirping and all around me I could hear the sounds of this beautiful city.  I love to hear the sounds of a city that is so alive.  

Sunflowers on the left

     As I was mopping the pigeon poop off the terrace I found myself thinking that if someone had told me twenty years ago that I would be living in a 800 square foot apartment in Florence, and mopping pigeon poop off a terrace, I would have thought they were crazy.  For years I lived in an estate home, complete with magnificent gardens and a large pool, and thought that I was living a blessed life.  Really, every moment of every day for years was a lie.  Virtually everything in my life was a lie from the day I shared my wedding vows.  I was married to a man that has lived his whole life deceitfully, and indeed I was living a life that was not real.  So while I was scrubbing the pigeon poop I thought to myself that while my life is simpler now, with no extravagances, at least it is real.  I am happy to be sweeping and mopping my terrace with Libby running around at my feet because now I don't care about the lies, now I have moved forward from betrayals, and now I am no longer wasting precious time fighting deceit.

     Finding an apartment with a terrace in a large city like Florence is almost unheard of because once someone gets one they don't give it up.  I didn't even dare to dream of finding an apartment with a terrace.  Given my budget, all I cared about was it being clean.  For almost three months I hunted on the internet for five hours a day for an apartment, and the remainder of the day was spent going and looking at apartments that well lets just say.....had filthy baseboards.  Those that know me well know that baseboards are my cleanliness barometer.  I cannot help it; when I go into someone's home the first thing I look at are the baseboards.  I know a little crazy, but I am who I am.  I had gone with a agent to one apartment and as soon as I walked in the front door I turned around and walked out.  I walked backed to where I was staying in despair almost ready to give up and take an apartment that I was not really happy with, but it was clean.  Then after being sick in bed for several days I received a call from the agent that showed me the last filthy apartment.  She, with excitement, told me that I had to get out of bed and come see an apartment immediately as she was sure it was what I was looking for, and it had a terrace.  While I had trouble getting excited with a fever, and I am sure that I must have looked as if I was on my death bed as I sure felt like I was, off I went kleenex in hand.  This time as soon as I walked into the apartment I knew this would be my home; for a little while anyways.  As soon as I saw the terrace I asked how soon could I move in.  

     To make the terrace feel like home I had to have flowers; lots and lots of flowers.  I have always loved the beauty of flowers.  Flowers just somehow make me feel happy.  I also find it therapeutic to nurture the plants and watch them grow until they come into full bloom.  Flowers are a reminder of the joy that is in life if you nurture it.  We often forget the importance of taking care of ourselves and nurturing our dreams, and then feel shrivelled up like an unwatered plant.  I wanted my terrace to be full of life; full of joy.  This I knew would not be an easy task in a city centre.  There would be no getting into a car and loading up the trunk with plants.  Instead I had to make multiple trips, walking kilometres, to the store that sells the planters and soil.  Soil in a suitcase on wheels, and planters in an Ikea bag, back and forth I went through the busy streets.  I don't even know how many trips I made getting all the soil and planters that I needed.  That part of the terrace project I am trying to repress.  It was definitely a test of my perseverance.  But if I want something badly enough I always make it happen.  Many times in my life I have been faced with challenges....way too many times....but rather than saying something is too hard, or impossible, to accomplish I more often than not have come up with a plan to tackle the challenge.  While many people have told me as I have faced head on what at times has felt like insurmountable challenges that I would grow with each challenge, let me tell you that after over 10 years of facing daunting challenges the only growth I want to now experience is watching plants grow on my terrace.  With this in mind off to the flower market I went with my backpack and Ikea bag.  

     When it came time to pack for Italy I laid four suitcases on the floor and said if it doesn't fit in them it isn't going.  At the time I had no idea how I was going to prioritize a huge walk in closet full of clothes, plus household items, thinking that each and every one I could not live without.  Items went in the suitcases....and items came out.  Yes my Michael Kors purse and shoes made the "must bring" list, but little did I know that the accessory that would become most important to me would be my $25 Wal-Mart backpack.  That is the item that now I truly cannot live without. 

     My backpack and I made multiple trips to the flower market.  This part of the terrace project I looked forward to each week.  Row after row, as far as the eye can see, there are flowers and plants.  At first it felt overwhelming just trying to take everything in as I meandered my way through the crowd of people.  One trip at a time my terrace began to come to life.  Now when I feel that I want a break from the hustle and bustle of city life, and I just want to take some time to be still, I go out onto my terrace - my little oasis.  An oasis that took walking several kilometres, on multiple days, while lugging stuff on my back through the streets to make happen. Now that it is all done, as I mop away the pigeon poop, I enjoy every moment because while my life may now be faced with pigeon poop I no longer have to on a daily basis deal with lies and betrayals.  I never would have thought that I would feel happy mopping pigeon poop, but I am learning on my journey that with simplicity comes happiness....a truer form of happiness.      

Baby tomatoes (that need to be separated) and rosemary

               

     

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Size Counted Even In The 11th Century

     

     San Gimignano is often referred to as the Manhattan of Tuscany because of its 14 medieval towers that can be seen from several kilometres away.  It is said that there were originally 72 towers, some as high as 50 meters, built between the 11th and 13th centuries by competitive Tuscan families to show off their wealth and power.  As I walked through this historic town, and looked at the impressive towers of varying heights, I could not help but chuckle by the fact that really what I was looking at was evidence that for centuries men have been wrapped up with demonstrating their "manliness".  While today men buy huge televisions and expensive cars to demonstrate that they have money and power, indeed there was a time when it was all about the height of the tower.  And we all know that whether it be the size of the television, or the size of the tower, what it is really about is the size of their penis.  The poor man that built the tallest tower, because we all know what that really means.    

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