The Streets of Milan
May 17th 2006 01:41
It would be remiss of me to begin my survey of magical Italy without beginning with Rome. Well then, I’m afraid I am remiss. I want to start with Milan, so lump it.
My train arrived at the central station, and there to meet me, bedraggled and faux-bearded was my best mate, Adam, who had been living in that city of fashionistas for 6 months. I felt particularly out of place walking the grimy streets back to his apartment with my enormous suitcase and brimming carry-on. (Might I say at this point that it is a school-boy error to take a suitcase anywhere near Italy. Within a few days of arriving, the handle snapped and much to my chagrin, my 25 kilo bag tumbled down the train station stairs, cleverly gravitating towards Estelle Getty’s doppelgänger. In short: take a backpack.) While the streets themselves leave a little to be desired, what with their industrial design features and oil-slicked gutters, the people were the most upper deck I’d ever seen. The nadir of my fashion consciousness was reached when a homeless guy asked me for a Euro wearing a pair of Manolo Blahniks. I obliged. Hell, if I was asking for drug money, I’d want to look respectable too. I find you just can’t say no to a well-groomed junkie…
I digress. It was closer to midnight, as we took the first of many passeggiata up a very palatable avenue, that I noticed the men were even sexier than the women; fawn Armani suits, real Italian loafers, it was all too much.
After a quick trip to the bathroom, I was back on the streets with gelato in hand, and on face, and dripping down arm, since I was too busy lapping at the beautiful Italian people sitting at the cafes. I scored a few morsels of grossini and some pancetta, and washed it all down with a dash of espresso, which I slurped from under a coffee cup while some Fabio was checking out some nubile Barbio. I was high on panini and other borrowed Italianisms and ready for a night on the town.
Unfortunately, I ended up back at the apartment washing a stack of dirty plates as big as Vesuvius (conditions of my board). Scrounging for scraps of the Rich and Famous would have to wait for another day.
My train arrived at the central station, and there to meet me, bedraggled and faux-bearded was my best mate, Adam, who had been living in that city of fashionistas for 6 months. I felt particularly out of place walking the grimy streets back to his apartment with my enormous suitcase and brimming carry-on. (Might I say at this point that it is a school-boy error to take a suitcase anywhere near Italy. Within a few days of arriving, the handle snapped and much to my chagrin, my 25 kilo bag tumbled down the train station stairs, cleverly gravitating towards Estelle Getty’s doppelgänger. In short: take a backpack.) While the streets themselves leave a little to be desired, what with their industrial design features and oil-slicked gutters, the people were the most upper deck I’d ever seen. The nadir of my fashion consciousness was reached when a homeless guy asked me for a Euro wearing a pair of Manolo Blahniks. I obliged. Hell, if I was asking for drug money, I’d want to look respectable too. I find you just can’t say no to a well-groomed junkie…
I digress. It was closer to midnight, as we took the first of many passeggiata up a very palatable avenue, that I noticed the men were even sexier than the women; fawn Armani suits, real Italian loafers, it was all too much.
After a quick trip to the bathroom, I was back on the streets with gelato in hand, and on face, and dripping down arm, since I was too busy lapping at the beautiful Italian people sitting at the cafes. I scored a few morsels of grossini and some pancetta, and washed it all down with a dash of espresso, which I slurped from under a coffee cup while some Fabio was checking out some nubile Barbio. I was high on panini and other borrowed Italianisms and ready for a night on the town.
Unfortunately, I ended up back at the apartment washing a stack of dirty plates as big as Vesuvius (conditions of my board). Scrounging for scraps of the Rich and Famous would have to wait for another day.
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Comment by Anonymous
I love your writing!! You are very funny about Milan!!! When are you coming to Japan? Please keep writing!!
Keiko
Osaka, Japan
Comment by Anonymous
thank you very much - I'm glad you like the travel blog.
I would surely love to come to Japan some time. I'm sure it won't be long now before I wander that mysterious country of yours!
Anthony.
Comment by Johnson
Your writing is very inspiring, in fact, i'll get the 3000 other people in my small provincial Chinese village to come onto your blog 12 times a day each!
Thanks for your Handy Tips!