One Week ’til Blastoff

One week from today, at this time, I will have schlepped my bags by taxi and train to Milano Malpensa airport; checked in, with machine gun carrying guards in the mezzanine above me; gone through security; waited; flown over the Alps to London two hours north; gone through security again; eaten an airport meal; wound my way through Heathrow; boarded, gotten settled and begun my 9 hour flight back to Seattle.

I just went grocery shopping. What favorite foods do I want to eat again (and again) before I go? I bought bresaola, and mortadella with pistachios, buffalo milk fresh mozzarella, fresh figs and sicilian tomatoes. One (or two) more meals of octopus? Who do I want to see and say goodbye to? How many more last hurrahs with my girlfriends? Where do I want to go? What will wish I had photographed?

As I buy groceries and supplies this week, I have to calculate how much I can use in six days. As I go for a bike ride, or subway ride, I have to realize it may be the last one (for a long while).

From a journal entry today:

“I have grown a sweet affection for this country. It’s not the starry-eyed, naive enthusiasm of a tourist’s love of the sights. But it’s a complex recognition of the quirks, an all-too-recent connection with individuals along my path, the creation for myself of a way of being, and as yet, merely a hint of who these people are. How can I stay away for long? I am leaving a part of myself here, and have lodged a part of Italy in my heart, to carry with me. Under what circumstances will I return, and for how long?”

Another History Lesson

Another History Lesson

My “History Buff on Wheels“, Angelo, went rolling past me along the canal this morning. In a cycling daze and not recognizing him, I nodded and said the usual “ciao” as one cyclist to another. Mere moments later, he pulled up on my left, took my pace, greeted me and commented that it had been a long time since we had seen each other.

“Angelo! Ciao!”
What a great surprise to see him.

It had been January 11th, a very cold day, when we had ended up riding for 3 hours together, and all that time he had given me an historic commentary on Italy, Europe, the wars and politicians. It was Angelo that showed me the little back roads through the farmland that I have come to cherish so much. It was Angelo that first took me to Cascina Femegro, where I now go for the fresh ricotta cheese I savor.

Today, we rode for a half an hour together, all the way back to my place. We stood out on the walk under the scorching sun, talking about more history and geography, language and dialects. What a pleasure. We said a warm goodbye, but hoped to see each other another day on the bike path before I go.

“Ciao, Angelo!”

Full But Not Scholarly

This is not a scholarly blog with a foundation in formal Art or European History. I’m the first to admit my ignorance in those realms. And on the web, one can find formal information and imagery on just about any topic. I have no desire to regurgitate what’s readily available out there, although I do provide links now and then to informative sites.

Rather, this is a collection of sometimes-knee-jerk, sometimes-thoughtful observations and responses to having plopped myself down in Milano for a year. I write about the jaw-droppingly beautiful, the quirky and questionable, the forefront, the frustrating and the fulfilling.

Living here is “the stuff of dreams”, but it is not “glamorous” as so many seem to believe. It is daily life in a place where they speak a different language and do things differently, all against a backdrop that sometimes takes my breath away from either beauty or cigarette smoke.

I write about ants in my kitchen and hardwater in my pipes. About an old lady in her pajamas on New Year’s Day, and an old man gathering fire wood along the canal. There’ve been stories about feeding fresh ricotta cheese to farm cats, buying old linens at the flea market, and eating pureéd rabbit livers and raw meat.

This blog is simply about what catches my eye, my mind and my heart. It is increasingly populated with stories of the people that have stepped into my days. I’ve filled my mind with enough imagery to inspire me for a lifetime.

This is no movie set. The Lombardia sun is usually obscured by haze. The winter was interminably gray. There is “dog do” on the sidewalks and no one else to handle the details for me. But the struggles have been authentic. The food is remarkably unlike an Italian restaurant menu in the U.S. The people have been slowly responsive. And I’ve started to “talk with my hands”, especially when in an animated conversation in Italian with a friend.

Having been here now for over a year, and facing an imminent departure and return to The States, I feel mixed and wistful… and deeply full.

Minnie & Michelangelo at the Castle

Minnie & Michelangelo at the Castle

The little girl was unrestrained and so pleased with herself. She and I both saw the humor of her Minnie Mouse joining Michelangelo’s unfinished Rondanini Pietá. As I think about it further, I wonder which creator, Michelangelo or Disney, has had greater cultural influence? (Many would be aghast at my putting those two in the same sentence, but it’s a legitimate question.)

Though I’ve been in and around the Castello Sforzesco, one of the jewels of Milano, a number of times while here, I had not gone in to view the art and history exhibitions there. Before my departure, I wanted to “at least” see the Rondanini. Michelangelo had worked on this Pietá for many years and, they say, even up to a few days before his death in 1564. Here’s a video about the restoration done on the Rondanini Pietá (in Italian, but visually interesting, nonetheless, for those that don’t understand it).

Leonardo da Vinci also left his mark in the city of Milano. He lived here for roughly 20 years and followed not only artistic pursuits, but also military and civil engineering efforts. (He designed water-flow “locks” on the Naviglio Pavese canal along which I ride my bike so frequently.) His world-renowned “Last Supper” is here in Milano at the monastery of Santa Maria della Grazie. Viewing tickets are sold months in advance, and the large salon hosting the wall mural has an atmosphere very carefully controlled to preserve what’s left of the dry fresco.

At the Castello, on the other hand, I readily walked in and bought a 3 Euro ticket to view the whole museum complex. I proceeded past stone remnants from centuries past.

“Court of the Dukes Museum of Art”

(This letter “P” is for my sister, by special request.)

And I was amused by this type correction. (Ooops.)

I walked into grand rooms with elaborately painted ceilings and draped with tapestries, this one of St. Ambrogio, the patron saint of Milano.

And then I walked into an entirely unexpected and very dark room. The “Sala delle Asse” was painted by Leonardo c. 1498 across the full expanse of its ceiling and down onto its walls. Quite unlike the iconic “Last Supper”, this canopy of foliage, trunks, stone and scrollwork creates a tangle of visual detail. At first glance it looks like a mess, as if the whole surface had been consumed by black mold over the years, with a few, still-vivid blue shields positioned at quarters.

The ceiling has an equally tangled history of “restorations”, including a complete whitewash covering, subsequent cleaning and color “enhancements”. The room was restored again in 1954, undoing the heavy-handed treatments it had suffered in centuries past.

It was a hard place to photograph, but you can find more images here. (Looking at some of them, I can’t believe we were looking at the same ceiling!)

The Castello has a grand inner courtyard, with an interior moat home to dozens of cats! The museum sections are housed in the building ring around the courtyard.

The Castello Sforzesco is a hub and a landmark for the city, stalwart and visible from a distance. One can make the short, straight walk from Castello to Duomo.

Jackrabbits Like the Morning

Jackrabbits Like the Morning

Since it’s been so toasty here lately, I took my bike ride in the morning today, heading out from the house just after 8:00. When I got to the field that had been full of rapeseed and red poppies a while back, I saw FOUR jackrabbits out in the field! This time I stopped. I maxed out the zoom on my little camera and got a couple of images for all those that were disappointed earlier not to see the “jackrabbit kangaroos“. It’s hard to gauge their size in this photo, but these bunnies are BIG!

For Grace Received

For Grace Received

Two years ago, in exploring one church after another, I noticed cathedral walls laden with silver framed medallions bearing the letters “GR”. Some were tied with a pink or a blue ribbon. There may have been 50 in some churches, or hundreds in others.

Here’s a wall in the Duomo of Sienna (from 2008).

With an interest in symbols and icons, silverwork and folk art, I was intrigued. What were these? What meaning did they hold to those that posted them?

In Firenze, I went into a store selling Catholic statues, vestments, rosaries and other religious items and talked to one of the nuns working there. She explained “Per Grazia Ricevuta” – “For Grace Received” – this physical symbol of gratitude. The medallions are placed in the cathedrals at the birth of a child, the healing of an illness or injury, or other instances of great grace. (I bought one for my brother to acknowledge him, his wife and 5 kids.)

Two years later, now back in Italy, I continue to see the Grazia Ricevuta medallion. It moves me that the Italians have this tangible symbol for their gratitude . (I rack my brain trying to think of an American corollary.)

– – –

I feel such deep gratitude for the opportunity to be here. I have the means and the fortitude to have come for a year even in the midst of global economic crisis. I have experienced no mishap, illness or calamity. I have remained safe both when traveling alone and riding my bike amidst crazy, Milanese traffic. My family, friends and clients back home have been supportive and steady. New friendships and chance meetings here have kept me from loneliness and given me the highlights of my time. I have seen things that have filled my head with images to last my lifetime. THIS has been a great grace received and I am genuinely humbled by the gift.

– – –

The Grazia Ricevuta has become increasingly touching to me as my time passes here in Milano. I purchased another framed medallion to hang in my home when I return. And I just purchased one (below) from the antique market which I will wear on occasion. When you see it, you will know its meaning to me.

Rice Green and Sky Blue

Rice Green and Sky Blue

Late afternoon. High 80s. Hot, humid and sunny. Perhaps not the best time to get out on my bike, but quarter-til-five on a hot day is better than quarter-til-one. In the late day sun, the rice growing along the east side of the bike path was brilliant green topped by a deep sky that hints of a coming thunderstorm. That green stops me every time.

My “Tricolore” Year

My “Tricolore” Year

One year ago today my plane landed at Milano Malpensa Aeroporto. I caught the train into the center of town, to the Cadorna Station. It was a hot day. I started sweating quickly. My Irish/German skin was bone white in contrast to all those on the street and I laughed. I was whisked through the city here to my apartment where the French doors were open to afternoon light and air pouring through the sheer curtains.

It’s been a YEAR!

(NOTE: “Tricolore” – meaning “three colors” – is the nickname given to the flag of Italy. The colors are listed “green, white and red” (never “red, white and green”. Currently, many Italian flags are flying or hung from windows and balconies in support of the Italian soccer team at the 2010 FIFA World Cup in South Africa.)

Recent journal snippets:

25 Maggio – May 25 – Milano
“The morning sounds have changed to those of summer. Our days are in the low 80s and I sleep with windows open (until the mosquitoes discover me and even the nights require air conditioning).

The birdsong is loud and constant and a joy to me, as it is in Seattle. The other night/morning, I heard the first bird song at 4:14 a.m (I had stayed up late reading). I hear courtyard neighbors chatting. The drone of T.V. Distant traffic and the passing train. I hear the breeze in patio foliage and sounds throughout the building as people go about their morning. Cars come and go through the courtyard gate. All these sounds move through the ever-heavier, ever-warmer air as summer blooms.

Returning to Milano last week has begun a new stage in my time here. It points out my ease and familiarity with this place and its people. Spontaneous conversations come more readily. What a time to leave now that I’m having so much fun! It’s no longer a daily struggle. (It really isn’t much of a struggle at all any more.)

I’m moving in on the 1-year mark and what a year! What an absolutely amazing time this has been (and still is). I’ve really settled into a rhythm. My Italian has advanced enough that I can discuss more complicated ideas, not just my rudimentary daily needs. This allows meetings and connections withheld from me otherwise. Language lets me in. Without language, one is on the outside.

All of this and now I’m leaving? Now that it’s become “easy”, I’m going?!
Yes.

My Italian Year. Complete with the cycle of seasons, a long, dark winter and blazing summer. Sights to inspire and make my head swim. Food and wine so good that I’m bringing 5 pounds of Italy home around my waist. I have met hundreds of people in hundreds of ways and those meetings are the highlights.”

17 Giugno – June 17 – Milano

“A year ago today I got on a plane after having packed up half my life and given the other half away. My coming felt providential. I was compelled without knowing why. There have been times more difficult than I had anticipated, and other times that will always make my eyes sparkle. I truly believe this has been one of the best things I’ve done in and for my life. How wondrous!

And now, just a little over a month before my departure, I find myself as wide-eyed and seeing about Milano as I was about Seattle before I left. My senses are keen. I’m open to all of it with an intensity. I want to take it all in to carry back with me.

I feel a sadness about leaving. Now I know people. Now my heart is tied. I went out for pizza last night with Ewa, at the same restaurant where we met last July, a month after my arrival: Il Kaimon, (in the artsy Brera district. A street musician played classical music on a violin throughout dinner). Last year I was ecstatic to meet her and Piotr. They were my first spontaneous, independent friends here. Ewa and Piotr have remained friends all this time and their friendship has been a blessing. Ewa has fed me countless meals at their home. We’ve shared language, conversation and confidences. As my language grew, so did the depth of our talks. (She has invited me to stay with her when I return to Milano to visit.)

After our dinner, Ewa and I walked back to her apartment arm-in-arm, in Italian tradition, chatting all the way.”

Ewa was shy about my having the camera out.

– – –

The Tricolore shows up in many ways. Yes, I really did see these two t-shirts hanging out to dry over the canal today as I was riding.

 

Jackrabbit or Kangaroo?

Riding my bike along the canal today, I saw two jackrabbits loping through the now-mowed rapeseed field. These weren’t sweet, little bunny rabbits. They were the size of kangaroos! They were huge! I should have chased them through the field with my camera. My mind’s eye is still disbelieving.

– – –

27 Giugno – June 27

I was told yesterday that the animals are “lepre“, hares. I saw a small one yesterday two feet away at the edge of the bike path. It was only a quarter the size of those I had seen earlier.

Certosa on a Sunny Day

Certosa on a Sunny Day

A sunny holiday in the middle of the week calls for a bike ride. Apparently every family in Milano had the same thought; the bike path along the canal was crowded with those rolling tra-la-la along. I, on the other hand, felt full of vim and vigor so I pushed myself hard for an hour until I was further along the canal than I had gone before: Certosa di Pavia.

What a beautiful little town about 15 miles south of Milano. I saw spires to the east and followed them to a gem of a church I had been unaware of.

“The Certosa di Pavia Gra-Car (“Charterhouse of Pavia – Gratiarum Chartusia”), Shrine of the Blessed Virgin Mary Mother of Grace, is a monastery and complex in Lombardy, northern Italy, situated near a small town of the same name in the Province of Pavia, 8 km north of Pavia. Built in 1396-1495, it was once located on the border of a large hunting park belonging to the Visconti family of Milan, of which today only scattered parts remain.

Certosa is the Italian name for a house of the cloistered monastic order of Carthusians founded by St. Bruno in 1044 at Grande Chartreuse. Though the Carthusians in their early centuries were known for their seclusion and asceticism and the plainness of their architecture, the Certosa is renowned for the exuberance of its architecture, in both the Gothic and Renaissance styles, and for its collection of artworks which are particularly representative of the region.”

(Read more in Wikipedia.)

I enjoyed the verdant courtyard between the entry gate and the church’s door, and marveled at the detail-laden exterior. Photos were not allowed inside of the church, nor were such casual, immodest clothes as biker’s lycra, so I could only stand at the doorway and peer in at the vaulted, starry ceiling overhead.

How wonderful to hop on my bike, discover a place I hadn’t seen yet, and unexpectedly see something so beautiful! As I rode away, the sun was bouncing off the rice paddies alongside the church compound. The wind picked up strongly and required that I shift gears to ride against it, arriving home in advance of a northern storm that loomed dark but never materialized.