The last time we were able to travel within the country we live in was October 2020. We took a driving tour through select locations in Tuscany for our anniversary, and it was lovely.
By November, no one was going anywhere. All travel between regions was heavily restricted. For awhile, the only reason you could go out was for groceries and other essentials. Christmas and New Year's were very, very quiet holidays- particularly for Italians, and particularly for the original seat of Christendom, the city of Rome.
Only within the last 6 weeks have restrictions been lifted in any substantial fashion. This past Spring term for university level study abroad students - those who could actually get here - involved a two week quarantine upon arrival, weekly Covid tests, and travel only within the Lazio region. This is a FAR cry from what they usually do when they are here (which entails treating Rome as a home base from which to go anywhere and everywhere around the Mediterranean and Western Europe, yielding this somewhat sad outcome of rarely getting to know Rome itself).
As restaurants heaved as many tables and chairs as possible outdoors so that they could actually have some business (indoor dining has only been permitted since last week) and a smattering of tourists have retaken the crosswalks and the city's fleet of rent-able scooters, the country's museums have been doing their best to extend the dates of exhibitions that were unfortunately closed for several weeks.
So, we booked a weekend trip to Milan.
Former students of mine will recall our 2008 visit to this city, principally to see The Last Supper by Leonardo. We went so that the fashion students could see some high fashion and shop, the interior design students could admire some modern architecture, and we wound up taking a somewhat spontaneous train trip out of the city to Lago Maggiore so that a few brave souls could slip into the chilly water and the rest of us could have a cocktail in front of some gorgeous scenery, far from the concrete jungle.
I didn't think too much of Milan, then. I recall taking a self-guided tour of the rooftop of the Duomo (pictured above) which was quite remarkable. I won't forget seeing the Leonardo painting.
But for me, Milan didn't hold a candle to the cities further south. I had some kind of romanticized attachment to Tuscan towns and the allure of Rome.
I have since changed my mind.
A few things could certainly help with that change, of course.
This past weekend, I did not have to worry about the safety of students. I did not have to be concerned about whether they were having a good time.
(As the Lombardy region was the absolute worst in Covid numbers for most of the past 16 months, going to its biggest urban center did give us pause, but the overall stats everywhere are seriously on the decline, and of course, we remained masked everywhere.)
Having lived in Rome for five years, I better understand the city's limitations as well as charms. Romans really don't consider themselves to be Italian. This whole 'Republic' experiment, if you will, has just been underway for close to 150 years, which is a pretty short gig for a place that has been continually occupied for somewhere around 3000 years. The most recent, large-scale trauma inflicted on this "country" (which is comprised of a loosely linked set of tribes and city-states, to be honest) left Rome largely spared of physical damage, whereas cities like Turin and Milan sustained far greater amounts of it. I have heard more than once that Italians do not believe in change; you are not expected to leave your hometown.
And yet, Milan's industrialized, cosmopolitan atmosphere speaks to a fresher sensibility. The mass transit system is widespread in scope and reach. Our hotel - so close to the train station that I worried I had made a poor choice, as those places tend to be overly worn and bare-bones - had this very youthful, hip vibe.
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| This built-in sculpture greeted us at the front door of our hotel. |
What's more, we didn't encounter a single surly Milanese citizen - who often had much greater fluency in English, compared to their Southern counterparts - in our entire visit.
Now, I am confident that everyone is feeling better about life in general because a sense of normality is creeping back. And our American-ness - so pale-skinned, chubby and blatant, even if we use our best Italian language skills whenever possible - is misinterpreted as a sign that tourists are returning (indeed, they are, but we are not the harbingers of that).
Therefore, we may be misinterpreting the extraordinarily pleasant service (in a country that is, by and large, completely disinterested in service) we experienced.
But all the same, we enjoyed ourselves.
I was over the moon about the exhibition, of course.
To see this array of works by Italian women artists from the 16th and 17th centuries alone was impressive.
The labels on this map do track the movements of some artists in more than one place, but the sheer number of names is still quite staggering against the time I can recall, of not so long ago, in which only a handful of these names could be cited at all.
And to think that some of even the known, earliest painters could and did create LARGE works - when we originally thought that they did not, could not - is also gratifying. Sofonisba Anguissola's altarpiece, designed to honor the memory of her late first husband, stands against the litany of much smaller self-portraits and portraits of others as this standout narrative of loss and commemoration.
Her chess game painting, portraying her sisters playing an intellectual game that had undergone a major change in allowed moves - the Queen piece was finally permitted diagonal advances across the board - is a marvel of fine Italian textile reproduction and the nuanced interaction between young, female (!) players.
This piece of heraldry is populated with carved peach or plum pits: the much celebrated carving skills of Properzia di Rossi. Legend holds that she once carved all twelve scenes of Christ's passions into one such pit.
I felt compelled to sneak this shot of Lavinia Fontana's self portrait at the spinet, a painting I have included in lectures for years and years...and one I have never seen in person before. No doubt, captions in books have included the measurements. And yet, I still did not imagine that the image would be the size of a box of pasta.
And Elisabetta Sirani's Portia Wounding her Thigh; the wife of Brutus injuring herself to prove that she was tough enough to endure pain and therefore, capable of keeping a secret as important as the plot to assassinate Julius Caesar. Some might fixate on the glowing, bleeding thigh. I remain captivated by the Roman sandal combined with a contemporary dress.
And this heretofore unpublished Artemisia Gentileschi painting, damaged in the explosion at Beirut's port just last August. It had been living with a wealthy owner's private collection housed in a palace 800 meters from ground zero of that brutal, deadly event.
It will leave this exhibition and go to Italian restorers.
And I don't care what anyone else thinks about this: Artemisia's Cleopatra is a tour de force study of the female form. Some argue that this is a self-portrait, and from a purely artistic standpoint, it makes sense to use the subject matter you have close at hand. That practicality, for me, overrides any interest in sensationalizing it (the recording from our hand-held devices stated that this painting's date times nicely with a letter from the artist to her lover, complaining that she had gained weight...I will sit - my ample self! - on my hands in order to refrain from launching a tirade on how Italian this observation is).
Exiting the exhibition entailed a short walk through a few more rooms in the Palazzo Reale.
And on we went...to a bar specializing in Belgian beer. Here's the thing about walking the streets of Milan - they feel the least Italian of any of the other cities I've visited.
We kept chuckling at how the deco-styled buildings and even more modern structures smacked of....Paris. But then we would see signage in Italian and remember where we really were.
We had dinner at a Vietnamese restaurant.
We slept in comfortable beds in our upgraded room.
On our only full day there, walked a funky neighborhood known as Isola - because it was originally separated from the rest of the city by rail lines - looking for street art.
We lunched at a hip restaurant with a motorcycle theme, as it was near a well-known cycle repair shop.
In the same area, we sought out the Bosco Verticale - the vertical forest, a pair of apartment buildings that have a wide variety of plants and trees on each of the balconies...intentionally. Here is a link to the architect's description of the project dedicated to sustainability. The award winning Vertical Forest is a 'house for trees that also houses humans and birds,' existing as a micro-climate that scrubs the air, enhances biodiversity in the urban environment, and has helped launch the careers of Flying Gardeners, or climbing arborists (be sure to follow that link and read about them!)
Nearby is the tallest skyscraper in Italy, the Unicredit building.
As per the usual, what was most likely Milan's hottest day of the year so far was *this* day. This is my fate. Heat waves track me like hound dogs. I crashed for awhile in our (air-conditioned....REALLY air-conditioned. ASTOUNDING!) room and The Spouse went out for a little sight-seeing jaunt of his own, to see a large ossuary at San Bernardino alle Ossa.
Here are his photos of this chapel, almost entirely decorated with human skulls and tibiae.
Have I mentioned lately that we are not typical tourists?
We closed the day with an excellent pizza dinner in a huge space with music playing over the speakers in the dining room, which is quite unusual in itself, compared to our relatively quiet dining experiences in Rome and elsewhere (who needs to play music when the very vibrant locals are loud enough already?). But the marketing here is to the youth of the city. The older folks, I presume, can either hang in there with the noise or they can go to a little trattoria that hasn't changed since the 1960s.
We had just enough time on Sunday morning to seek out brunch somewhere. Brunch as a concept is almost unheard of in Rome. In Milan? Different story...and amusing, when you consider that 'brunch' hours at restaurants might begin at noon and last until 5pm.
We went via tram to Milan's Chinatown for dim sum.
My dumpling fantasies (I don't know when I last had them) fulfilled, we boarded a train for home.
We're going back. It is a vibrant, large city worth exploring.
Learn from my mistake in thinking otherwise.
