Milan - Better the second time.
Trip Start
May 16, 2006
1
30
33
Trip End
Jun 13, 2006
Milan,
Italy
Sunday, June 18, 2006
We emerge into the Milanese morning, and the first thing we say is "It's so...quiet. And clean." Unsurprisingly, Milan early on a Sunday morning is a good deal more serene and orderly than Naples or Sicily pretty much ever. But this time, instead of looking austere and a little boring, Milan feels like a restful, relaxing haven, where we will be able to walk down the street without boys hissing at us or dodging ten lanes of honking traffic at every intersection.
We meander through the brightening morning to a cafe by the church, where we do our best to find a dose of chemical-induced alertness. Between us, we finish three cups of cappuccino, two pastries, a shot of espresso, and a diet Coke. We head across the street to the church to exchange our voucher for tickets with clockwork efficiency, simple instructions, and no waiting. Again, something we didn't appreciate about Milan the first time round. I killed a few minutes until our viewing time at a bookstore nearby, noting that English language books are regularly between 10-12E for a paperback. If I move to Italy, I will definitely have to learn Italian quickly, just to have reading material.
Five minutes before our scheduled time, we return to the church, as instructed, and are ushered through several sets of locked glass doors into the refectory, completely empty except for the Last Supper painted on one wall (with a protective barrier to keep visitors from getting too close), a Montorfano painting of the Crucifixion on the opposite wall, and some unobtrusive lighting fixtures.
All of the things that were pointed out in that dreadful Da Vinci Code book were very obvious when viewing the full-size painting. John definitely looks more like a woman than he normally does (definitely more like a woman than a man), there is a disembodied hand with a knife, and, yes, there are all sorts of goblets all over the table. However, getting past the Grand Conspiracy, the audio guide (which we were trying for the first time) pointed out some interesting things about the geometry of the poses and lighting which served to focus attention in different ways, ultimately centering on Jesus. It truly was a fascinating painting, and I consider the two minutes we turned around to look at the Crucifixion a waste of time, since each visitor is only allowed a fifteen minute window. Amusingly, the audio guide agreed in my assessment of the Crucifixion. The Last Supper, like David, was just one of those pieces of art it's best to see in person. Even with the multiple restorations, the whole thing is still too patchy (and large) to translate well to a postcard-sized picture.
In addition to being painted on dry wall instead of wet plaster, surviving a horrible moving attempt that broke off parts (later glued back), serving as a wall in a prison, and being left in the open air after an Allied bombing destroyed a wall of the refectory, someone cut a door in the bottom center of the painting in 1652, cutting off part of the lower section, including Jesus' feet. According to the sketches found, they were supposed to be crossed as a foreshadowing to the crucifixion. I would also have liked to see John's feet, to see if da Vinci persisted in his feminization.
After the security guard ushered us out (we were the last in the room, not understanding the crackling Italian loudspeaker's declaration time was up), we absent-mindedly wandered through Milan, catching the metro over to the internet point, only to discover that it was closed. We went to the one on the third floor of the Fmac store across the street to try and get lodging in Rome for the next night. This proved well-nigh impossible. Out of curiosity, I also checked hostelworld for openings in Genoa, Pisa, Florence, Verona, Parma, Turin, and Bologna, among others, and everything was booked solid. Finally, through a referral from an outside website to a lodging partner, we found a place for "only" 75E a night.
Since we still had the rest of the day left, we had lunch and headed over to the Duomo to take a look inside. The Duomo is possibly my favorite cathedral, for in addition to the huge, ornate, airy feel, it has spectacular stained-glass windows. I'm a sucker for geometric patterns and good use of color. After taking all of the pictures I could, I insinuated myself into one of the pews for awhile to try and just soak it all in. As the pews aren't supposed to be used for anyone that isn't worshipping, I said a quick prayer while doing so. I also hid the camera. Whether man-made or natural, extreme beauty does make it seem more natural to offer up expressions of awe and thanks in the world. It also makes the corrugated metal churches springing up in the U.S. more distasteful than ever.
The rest of the afternoon was a sleepy blur. The last thing I remember clearly was trying to follow the insanely unhelpful street signs to a Cuban restaurant, ending up at a Taiwanese restaurant, and trying to eat a bowl of sesame noodles with chopsticks. As the only white people in the room, we were openly laughed at before we finished our clumsy meal. The whole place was scented of jasmine. On the way back to the station to catch our overnight train to Rome, we passed what possibly may have been a transvestite prostitute. As this person was kind of large, we did not think it appropriate (or polite) to stare long enough to figure it out. Somehow, we always end up in great parts of town.
Upon trying to board our TWO person sleeper compartment (expensive, but so necessary), we discovered it already contained a family. A family that had the same numbers on their tickets as we did. After the conductor somehow ascertained that we had more right to the car, we busied ourselves with exploring the tiny sink, medicine cabinet, and various cubby-holes in the car, including one which contained a chamber pot. (Combined reaction: "Ew.")
After forty minutes of trying all of the light switches, the train definitely getting underway, and a short investigative walk down to the corridor to see if anyone else's lights worked yet, I discovered we were the only people without light. I popped into our next door neighbor's cabin to see if perhaps we were doing something wrong, and the man comes over to try all of our light switches. When he can't get it to work, he tells me to fetch the conductor. No sooner had I gotten the conductor to understand the lights weren't working and dragged him down to our cabin, than the man next door had somehow gotten our lights on. The conductor pointed disgustedly at the switches on the wall and stalked off. The man next door shrugged apologetically, as he had no idea why it had taken six or seven tries either, and went away to his room. We manage to look like stupid Americans even when we don't deserve it! Or, actually, Germans, since no one pegs us as American at all.
Everything I see is turning me more and more into a fan of da Vinci. Except, of course, for that ghastly book, but I don't consider that in any way to be his fault. The next time I have spare time, or at least something that won't hurt to procrastinate on, I'm going to study up on the fellow.
(Pictures forthcoming)
