We arrived in Milan just in time for the snow, for which I was grateful. We haven't seen snow in Florence yet, but I've seen plenty of pictures on Facebook of a snowy Smith campus, and I was missing the white stuff. The snow also helped Milan to look beautiful- something it otherwise struggles to do. Milan is grey. The city is known for being cloudy, foggy, and cold. The same is true of the people. Luckily, Ellen and I found the Neapolitans.
Actually, they found us. My dad has a childhood friend, Salvatore, who now lives in Milan with his wife and son. Before arriving the two of them spoke, and then him and I spoke, and we made plans to meet up with each other during our visit. I thought this would entail maybe stopping by his home for an espresso, but Salvatore had other ideas. This man takes southern Italian hospitality to a whole new, wonderful level.
He met us, with his son Simone, at the train station. I was greeted with a big hug, like we were old friends. Salvatore is a big, round man, and he exudes joy. He's positive, seemingly always, which after hearing about the hard times he's fallen on in the last couple of years, I'd imagine is not so easy. From the train station, we went to his home where we had something to drink and chatted for a bit. He asked us about our program, how we were enjoying it, and the like. Small talk, really. But small talk with Neapolitans isn't so small. Yes, the conversation might be about simple, general things, but it's never just for the sake of killing time or avoiding silence. Neapolitans, or at least all the ones I've ever known, genuinely want to hear what you have to sa. They want to hear your story, and they will share theirs with you as well. Salvatore is so open, so honest. He is a man who wears his heart on his sleeve, and he's prepared to hand it right to you. After a little bit at his house, Salvatore drove us to where we were staying, and let me know (repeatedly) that I could call him at any time of day for whatever reason during the course of our stay in Milan. Here is a man who hasn't seen my dad- the person who serves as the connection between us- for maybe 30 years, and he didn't hesitate once to act like a protecting, concerned father figure. I don't know what's in the air or in the water in southern Italy that makes the people there this way, but whatever it is I hope it never changes.
Sight seeing in Milan was minimal, as there isn't really that much to see. We went to the Duomo, which was breathtaking. It is a big, gothic cathedral that stands as the focal point of a large, central piazza. Entrance was free (unlike the Duomo in Florence), but you must pay to take pictures, which we happily did. As is often the case in today's Italy, this old, historic sight is now surrounded flashing lights, advertisements, and fast food restaurants. It's an incredibly odd contrast, one that leaves me uneasy and confused, and it saddens me that so few people ever really stop to think about it.
Not far from Piazza del Duomo is the Museo del Novecento, or Museum of the 1900s, an art museum featuring works by Italian artists from that time period. I found a new favorite, Umberto Boccioni. He uses a lot of color, bright and bold, and a number of different artistic styles/techniques. There was one piece called "Corpo Umano" (Human Body). I thought the head was in one place, Ellen thought it was in another, and neither of us could really decipher the rest. We walked through the museum talking about what we saw, comparing and contrasting. I felt oddly sophisticated. I've always liked to look at art, but after spending a year with Alfonso, I actually use more than just my eyes.
On Saturday we spent the afternoon with Simone. He showed us some parts of the city we never would have found on our own, which was nice. He's a very funny person. Energetic, talkative, feisty. We ended up just sitting in a cafè, talking about a bunch of different things. He wanted to hear all about America, New York especially. He speaks English pretty well, and would really love to come to the States- a desire which pulls at my hearstrings. Just listening to him talk, both what he said and how he said it helped me to see him there, doing a variety of different things. I instantly wanted to find a way to make it possible. Unfortunately, the fact that I have little to no idea of what to do with my own life and my general lack of financial independence makes it impossible for me to do so.
That night Salvatore took Ellen and I out to dinner with his family. Of course, he's managed to find a pizzeria in Milan owned and operated by Neapolitans. He is clearly a regular at this place, because he was greeted with a big hug by the proprieter and treated like a king the entire time we were there. We had a conversation about comparative politics, about family and the upcoming holiday.
On Sunday, we hung out with Simone again for a few hours before having (a delicious) lunch at his house and heading to the airport. I feel very lucky to have met the Varlese family. Their hospitality was really the highlight of my time in Milan. The city itself, at least for me, offers very little. Perhaps I'll have to plan my next visit during Fashion Week.
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