Italian opulence

I had been told a lot of negative things about Milan.  Before flying out, almost everyone who knew I was coming told me that it was the worst Italian city to visit.  They told me it was ugly, that there wasn't anything there worth seeing, that there were much better places in Italy to visit.  Initially I thought that this was just some form of jealousy from people who weren't going, but even my seasoned traveler friends were confident in telling me that Milan wasn't all that great compared to the other destinations and locations in Italy.  Many of these people I trusted in matters of travel, so I was inclined to believe them.

The result of all of this information was that I had arrived with relatively low expectations.

These low expectations we had not been met with a corresponding low quality location.  I was in fact quite shocked by the beauty of Milan.  The middle of the city in particular was particularly lovely.  The Piazza del Duomo was a big open space that contained not just the Duomo itself, but also the bright Galleria.  This enclosed mall was a bright and open thoroughfare surrounded on all sides with high end shops and eateries.  It looked expensive and refined.  Wandering through, I wondered just how many places in the world had attempted to recreate this Galleria without success.  My thoughts immediately went to the Strand and QVB back in Sydney, the memory for me of both now suffered terribly in comparison to this magnificence of this place.

Dominating the piazza itself was the Duomo.  It imposed itself on the entire square with its solid facade looking over the public space.  This whole area was what I imagined Italy to be like in my mind.  It had the architecture, the people and the general atmosphere of Italy, like something out of a Hollywood movie or an old postcard.  By this stage of my exploration of the city, I was of course riding around on a bicycle.  The slow and melodic sound of the chain clicking against the gears added to Italian experience I was having.

The Duomo was an incredibly beautiful building, with ornate decorations covering it's entire exterior.  Standing underneath its towering doors, I looked up to see the intricately cast metal doors guarding the entrance to the cathedral.  Everything was elaborately constructed.  It was built to impress and inspire the awe and devotion of those who stood in front of it.  It forced your head up high to look in adulation and wonder.

The inside was no less fascinating.  The ceilings were high, but there was an intense contrast between the soft lights from the stained glass windows and the darkened walls.  It was a strange mix of neither dark nor light.  The incredible height made the whole place feel airy and open, yet the columns still made it all feel more closed and intimate.  Even the colours from the stained glass windows themselves felt like more of a dramatic conflict, as they stood out sharply against the white and the dark of their surrounding walls.

One of the main attractions inside the Duomo was a statue of St Bartholomew.  From a distance, it looks like any other renaissance statue, carved out of a marble, white with a hint of the patina of years surrounded by candles.  When you walked closer to the statue, it became much clearer that the subject of this beautifully carved piece of marble was quite macabre.  The statue seems to portray St Bartholomew standing and looking out into the distance with a tired look.  His muscles and sinews ripple underneath his cloak.  These muscles ripple a bit too much.  It turns out its because this statue portrays the poor saint after he had been flayed.  So the muscles are not rippling because of his good diet and exercise, but rather because they are now devoid of any skin coverage.  Even more horrifying, the cloak he has draped over his shoulders is actually his skin after it was removed from his body.  When you walk around the back of the statue, you can even see his face carved into the "skin" of the marble.  It is something so beautiful which is actually so horrific.

Other parts of Milan felt equally pleasant.  There were palaces, and vast sweeping gardens to walk through.  I felt at ease walking around in the city.  Every now and again, I would stop by one of the numerous gelato stores and get some gelato.  It was a good Italian experience and it really did feel "authentic".  I didn't feel surrounded by any intense crowds or overwhelmed by enormous throngs of people.  This was far more like the traveling I had done when I was younger.

One of the main attractions in all of Milan is Leonardo da Vinci's mural of the "Last Supper".  I found a bit of time to go over to have a look at this during some time off.  Standing inside the refectory it is housed in, I stood silently with others as I looked deep into the image, trying to discern the deeper meanings that many others have claimed is hidden within.  The picture itself is famous, but I hadn't realised how enormous it was.  Spanning the entire side of the wall, commands the room entirely.  I was glad to be here.  To be standing in front of one of the great artistic works of humanity.

Still there was work to be done.  The days went by filled with matters, and as we finished it all off, there was a final gathering of everyone inside one of the grand old palazzos in Milan.  There was splendour and opulence the like of which I had never seen.  We were ushered from the gardens with tables covered into drinks into a large private room that had been prepared for a banquet.  Everyone was well dressed for the occasion and there were moments that felt a touch surreal, as though this was something out of an old period drama or a recreation of the gilded age.  The lights in the room glowed softly and there was a loud murmur of chatter and laughter.

Low expectations can sometimes be a blessing.  I had enjoyed Milan and it was an objectively beautiful city.  Sure, it may suffer in comparison to other parts of Italy (not that I would know given I hadn't been to any of these other parts), but that didn't mean that this wasn't a good place to visit.  My time in this city had given me a glimpse into both the old and new of Italy.  I had seen luxurious old palazzos, grand museums, grungy neighbourhoods as well as ultra modern buildings.  I had enjoyed my time here and I was truly grateful for everything which I had been able to see.  Who knows whether I would have felt the same way about this place had I also been unfairly comparing it to other parts of Italy?