Going Hungry in Milan - Milan, Italy

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Going Hungry in Milan
Milan, Italy

Despite being on the tail end of rush hour, the streets of Milan seemed unusually deserted. This feeling was heightened by the fact that the sun sets before 5:00 p.m. in November in southern Europe, meaning that any decent natural light is gone by 4:30 at the latest. This was slightly off-putting, but I had been patiently waiting for five months - well, eight years, really - to eat a real Italian meal and top it off with some authentic chocolate gelato, so I wasn't going to let some stupid Twilight Zone-like, dark, empty streets stand in my way.

I picked up a free copy of "Hello Milan" from my hotel lobby, which had a two page, color map in the middle and set out in the general direction of the heart of Milan. I walked almost 15 minutes before I found a place that was serving anything other than kebabs. It was expensive and all the front curtains were closed. I peeked through the little breaks between the curtains and it seemed like the kind of place that might not be too thrilled to see a travel-beaten backpacker saunter in with a filthy day bag and a copy of "Hello Milan" unfurled, flapping in the breeze, so I kept moving. I couldn't get over how desolate the streets were at such a relatively early hour. Every once in a while I would happen upon a jogger or a lone woman who would swing exceedingly wide of my path as we passed. I'm about the least threatening looking guy in the history of guys, so I had to assume that this behavior was due to the fact that perhaps the streets of central Milan were not the best place for a stroll after dark.

Nevertheless, I kept moving. I passed dozens of very fancy looking clothing stores which only succeeded in frustrating me further. You can find just about any kind of apparel imaginable in downtown Milan, but apparently to get something to eat, you need to go to the suburbs. There was one exception to this food shortage. Milan seemed to have a McDonald's on every third block. At the time, there seemed to be more McDonald's in downtown Milan than people.

Finally, I stumbled across an outdoor, mall-like area with a movie theater, more clothing stores (yawn) and, thank Christ, a decent restaurant. I studied the menu out in front for a long time. Long enough for one of the waiters to approach the window and stare back at me suspiciously, wondering what I was doing loitering so long by the front door. I gave a little wave and went back to translating the menu. As I had expected, having a respectable grasp on Spanish allows one to read Italian with almost the same skill. Well, at least the food part, anyway. I finally went in and treated myself to a weird seafood gnocchi. After dinner, I managed to find a gelato place hidden between two shoe stores and ordered an excessively large cup of the chocolate. It took me nearly 30 minutes to eat it all.

The next day, I had a very clear agenda set out. I had absorbed the entire "Hello Milan" during dinner the night before and had narrowed down Milan's offerings to four sights that I thought would appeal to me.

My first stop was the train station to get a schedule for trains going to Verona the following morning. Normally, upon arrival in a city I flee the train station like the Japanese scurry from a Godzilla attack, but seeing the station again in a more calm state of mind allowed me to appreciate the fact that Milan had put a little thought and care in to its design. The station was as big as two airplane hangers. Its weakly lit, cavernous marble and stone interior was very impressive and otherworldly. The public address system bounced around the strongest echo I have ever heard indoors and all these elements together made the place seem like a set from Blade Runner.

While I wandered around the station looking for a schedule, I was able to observe Italians in their native habitats for the first time. Italians have this way of speaking that makes it seem as if they are super excited or really pissed off all of the time, with their voice volumes set on '11' and arms gesticulating wildly, even if they are just talking about gardening. Until you catch on, this makes Italians seem like very tense, high strung people. The funniest part is when they behave the exact same way while talking on their cell phones. With voices raised, limbs flailing, the Italians are second only to the Norwegians (a distant second, albeit) with their irritatingly constant cell phone use. The big trend in Italy is to have a hands-free headset, so they can scream at each other about the weather and needlepoint while they ride their bikes or shop for the day's groceries. With dozens of these hands-free, animated, one-sided conversations going on around you while you move through the streets, a recent arrival might be tempted to assume that Italy has an out-of-control schizophrenia problem.

Outside Duomo Cathedral

Once I had my train schedule to Verona sorted out, I headed straight for the largest and most hyped tourist attraction, the Duomo Cathedral. Work on the Cathedral started in 1386, but on-again/off-again problems and varying degrees of motivation to see the project through to fruition over the centuries delayed completion of the Cathedral until 1960. Security was unusually tight around the Cathedral. Four armed, grim looking police officers were standing in the entryway of the Cathedral when I arrived and their mere presence was clearly making people second-guess whether or not to approach the giant bronze doors. Their stance and attitude seemed to convey the notion that nobody short of the Pope or Jesus was going to get by them. I had already walked the entire circumference of the Cathedral and I knew that this was the only way to get in, so I walked cautiously toward the entrance. None of them even flinched as I closed in and passed by (sometimes it's a plus to be the least threatening looking guy in the history of guys). My successful entrance into the cathedral was closely followed by several other jittery tourists that were encouraged by my uneventful passage by the Italian fuzz.

Inside the Duomo

The interior of the Duomo is massive. Maybe even bigger than the train station. And quiet enough that you could hear every throat clearing and the shuffling/shoe scuffing of all the lazy walkers throughout the Cathedral. As I walked through the Cathedral (silent as a gnat fart, I might add), I realized that I had finally worked through my overdose of ancient churches and cathedrals that had peaked back in Lisbon. I was truly dumbfounded and in awe of the magnitude of the effort needed to build something this large, so long ago. Every inch of the wall, ceiling and floor space was crammed with paintings, frescos, stained glass windows, sculptures, stone work and carvings that on their own could take an hour or more to absorb. I refer to this sensation as the "Louvre Effect," meaning that even if you had a week, you couldn't give enough of a time commitment to soak up the quality of work, significance and historical merit bursting from every nook and cranny of the sight in question. I snapped out of my tourist sensory overload long enough to try to take a few pictures that would do justice to the Cathedral before leaving the place feeling very small in the grand scheme of history and the world.

I cleared my head by gobbling down a cup full of chocolate and coffee gelato before heading out to see yet another historical mind-bender, Leonardo da Vinci's "Last Supper" at the Piazza Santa Maria delle Grazie. Lonely Planet said that one should call ahead and make reservations. This made no sense to me. Sure, the Mona Lisa required an interminable wait in line, but a reservation? In November? Well, perhaps they serve supper when you view the "Last Supper," because sure enough when I arrived, despite being early afternoon, there was a "Sold Out" sign on the door. I salvaged the effort by stopping in the nearby Basilica of Saint Ambrogioi. The crazily popular Ambrogio was elected bishop of Milan in 374 A.D. and is now their patron saint. Parts of the Basilica date from the 11^th and 12^th centuries and it features a crypt that displays the skeletal remains of Ambrogio himself. I rushed through this part. I had gotten four lifetimes worth of remains of the dead in the Paris Catacombs and I was not ready for a refresher, even if it was behind glass and solemnly posed.

Back in the world of the comfortably undead, I finished my walking tour of Milan with a tour of the Piazza Scala which features the world famous Teatro alla Scala (Scala Theatre), currently sealed up for restoration. After examining the exterior I quietly hoped that there was a whole lot more going on inside, because the exterior couldn't have possibly been more dull and nondescript. I started strolling aimlessly through the giant, covered outdoor Galleria shopping mall, featuring (what else?) over priced clothing stores and then out and around the Old City for an overall impression.

That night I set out again to enjoy more of the legendary Italian cuisine. I had passed by Trattoria la Baita earlier in the day on my way to the train station and noted the promising menu they had posted out front. I ordered the "ravioli with meat sauce" for my starter and out of pure curiosity I ordered the "ham omelet" as a main course. The ravioli came. I have never had worse ravioli in my life. Worse than the Chef Boyardee that I had at a friend's house when I was six that turned me off Italian food for 17 years. Then I was served the most dull, tasteless and expensive omelet that I have ever eaten. I was desperate to salvage the meal at this point and ordered a dish of chocolate ice cream, gambling that unless it was homemade by a blind orangutan they couldn't screw it up too much. Fortunately, I was right. It was tasty and almost killed the aftertaste from that awful ravioli. The bill came and I was stunned to see that I was being charged about US $30 for the meal. I was expecting about $20, but I didn't count on them gouging me two euros for the water (Actually, you are thusly punished for opting for water over beer or wine throughout all of Italy. You've been warned!) and the "coperto" - a charge that is supposedly for bread and table cloth laundering, but to me it felt like a thinly veiled compulsory tip - that brought the grand total to a ridiculous amount. I was very grumpy after this and vowed to exact therapeutic revenge by naming names and ripping Trattoria la Baita - the worst restaurant in Milan, four blocks east of the train station, on Via Vitruvio street - in print as widely as decency would allow. Done.

Due to the bafflingly limited food options in Milan and the high price of my gloomy hotel room, I got out of the city at first light the next morning. If you don't come to Milan with the intention of going on a go-for-broke, extended shopping binge, one determined day of touring is more than enough to cover the city and then move on to more appealing Italian locales, like Verona.

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