***My First Visit to Milan Italy (Free Italy Travel Advice)***
Dream of Italy editor and publisher
Kathy McCabe reflects on her first visit to Milan:
I had already experienced Naples,
Rome
and Florence
before I ever stepped foot in Milan.
My travels up the Italian boot gave me certain ideas about Italians and
their cities, mostly that each has its own personality. The idea of all
Italians as one definable group is actually a rather new one; the
various kingdoms and city-states only unified in 1870. Italians still
define themselves much more as a products of their hometowns or regions
than as a citizens of Italy.
When I came to Milan, I had
witnessed the contained chaos of Naples, the modern/ancient mix of Rome
and the artistic pride of Florence. Milan is a different animal from
them all. Perhaps the city's proximity to Switzerland imposes an order
and efficiency missing in those other cities. Perhaps years of fashion
contributions have made the Milanese appear that much more elegant and
put-together than other Italians. Milan's long history at the junction
of trading routes has helped the city evolve into an international
business center.
My first visit to Milan
coincided with the murder of fashion icon Gianni Versace
in Miami. Versace embodied an Italian story that bridged geography and
class. So many of the children of the agricultural south have come here
seeking economic security. There's a palpable north-south tension in
Italy, best illustrated by the Lega Nord,
the right-wing political group that favors a secession of
northern Italy from the south. Many northerners feel that the south is
sucking up the money that the north is making. Versace,
the son of a seamstress in Reggio Calabria,
at the tip of the boot, came to Milan and made his mark on the world.
Although Milan had lost
one of its biggest stars, I saw few expressions of grief or shock at
Versace's death, save for the newspaper headlines at the tabacchi and
the signs on a few store windows. The Milanese went about their
business. I sensed that they were much too practical to get caught up
in the news of the day, although I can imagine that behind closed doors
the death of an icon made for conversation over a cappuccino.
I'm always more conscious
of what I am wearing when I am in Milan.
You're almost always
confronted by some sign of the fashion industry in this city, whether
it be a store window or billboard or the knock-off handbags someone is
selling on the streets. Of course, twice a year, hordes of fashion
writers descend on Milan for all-important fashion shows revealing the
fashion rules and must-haves for the next season.
The Milanese give thought
to what they are wearing. Even the old men, long past retirement, wear
beautiful suits just to visit the bank or post office. There's an order
in Milan-accepted rules for presentation and conduct.
Of course, Milan also has much
to offer in the way of art, churches and monuments. This is, after all,
the home of Da Vinci's The Last Supper.
For the Milanese, beautiful creations are just a fact of life. They
don't feel the need to brag or bring undue attention to them. The most
impressive of these city icons is the Duomo. This giant cathedral
impresses even the most jaded visitor. Close by, the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele
shopping arcade evokes the ghosts of a bygone era.
Yet, for me, the highlight of
all my visits to Milan remains the night I spent at La Scala, the altar
at which opera lovers worldwide wish to pray. My friend's brother
arranged for tickets to see Tosca.
No matter that those tickets were for last-row seats, the experience
transformed me into an opera buff. I have yet to attend another opera
where the audience booed and hissed. For the most part that night, the
performers received screams of "brava" and clapping, but the Milanese
take their opera seriously and weren't afraid to berate those
performers who disappointed them. I couldn't help but laugh with relief
that I had finally caught the polite and refined Milanese letting it
all hang out.
This article first
appeared in Global Traveler
Magazine.
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