Milano

It’s the final countdown now, and I’m trying not to think about how little time I have left before I go. But I promise you I haven’t dropped the ball. So if you’re still with me, here goes the last half of my adventures in Europe.

I spent all of seventeen hours in Milan. The evening I arrived, Milan had just won an important soccer match, and so naturally the metro at the main piazza, where I wanted to get off, was blocked by the revelers and therefore chiuso (closed). I ended up getting off at the next stop and using my tiny map, torn from a LonelyPlanet guidebook, to find my way.

When I got to the square, everyone was celebrating loudly, decked out in jerseys and waving flags. Truly con brio. Welcome to Italy.

By far the greatest part of Milan is the Duomo, Italy's largest cathedral. The many pictures I took, both from atop the roof and on the ground, don’t do it justice at all.

By day.

By night.

By rooftop.

Another highlight was the museum at the Teatro alla Scala, where a lot of famous operas premiered several centuries ago. It really brought out the dormant classical music nerd in me.

Also, every time I attempted to speak to a cashier or passerby in Italian, I could hear how horrendous my American accent was. There’s no way these people are understanding me, I thought, and I expected humiliation, like in Paris, where even if your French is decent you can still get Englished faster than you can say “Bonjour.” But here, my one semester of Italian was enough to elicit replies so rapid I couldn’t understand a single word. It’s fortunate they do so much talking with their hands.

I think the train ride from Milan along the Italian Riviera and into France deserves a post all its own; I had the pleasure of doing it twice during study abroad, and it was every bit as good as I’d remembered. Dramatic mountain views on one side (below), the waterfront so close you could touch it on the other, and six hours to stare at it.


As I was standing in line for the train bathroom, an elderly woman came out and asked me what stop we were at. “Non lo so,” I told her. (I think “I don’t know” is up there with “Please” and “Thank you” as one of the most useful phrases to know in a foreign language.) She broke into a grin. “Ah, non lo sai!” she said to me, before reaching out and patting my cheek. Oh, you don’t know!

As she walked away, I replayed what had just happened in my head. This woman had invaded my personal bubble by touching me (on my face, no less!), and moreover, she’d tutoyer-ed me in Italian. In France, that kind of behavior would be considered nothing short of assault. But not in Italy, I thought, and my heart spilled over with affection for this lovely country where people are actually capable of showing emotion.

But enough about Italy! Onward to THE SOUTH OF FRANCE!