Breakfast on a street
corner, with cars and cyclists whizzing past in every direction.
Today we're hunting
down Milan's hidden sights. For example, the canal gates designed by Leonardo
da Vinci, sitting in a canal that was drained long ago. There's a guided tour
gathered on the bridge above them, and from a distance it sounds less like a tour
and more like the guide is giving everyone an exam. Before that, though, we
peek into the famous food shop where Kalle once threw his mobile phone down
from the upper floor into the pasta section, wander through a street market,
and catch a glimpse of the skyscrapers in the distance.
One particularly secret garden is closed, but it's easy enough to find a surviving stretch of the 12th-century city wall that was meant to defend Milan against Frederick Barbarossa, as well as Milan's she-wolf. No one seems entirely sure where the wolf originally stood, perhaps on one of the city gates before being moved at some point. Trees and other plants are growing on rooftops and in courtyards. The grass hasn't been trimmed down to the roots. It's surprisingly refreshing, and it smells good.
In a park away from the city centre, Pinocchio stands in the middle of a fountain. The puppet's discarded shell lies at the base of the column, while the real boy stands triumphantly on top. Pigeons are bathing in the water, and two gentlemen are asleep on nearby benches.
Near Pinocchio there's a café that, according to someone, serves one of the best coffees in Milan. The queue stretches out onto the street and moves at a glacial pace because every single pastry has to be wrapped in paper, slipped into a thin crinkly bag, the bag carefully folded shut and sealed with a sticker, and then everything gently placed inside a large paper carrier. Meanwhile, the customer passes the time taking selfies. Perhaps the whole ritual exists simply to make sure everyone has enough time for pictures. Things move faster if you're eating in. After spending about half an hour in the queue and another five minutes waiting at our table, we're rewarded with the most expensive cappuccinos of the trip: €3.50 each. Which, of course, is nothing compared with Tallinn's €4.50–6 coffees. It tastes almost exactly the same as the cappuccino we had this morning in the little bar on the corner. Entertainment for people whose greatest worry is whether the milk foam has quite the right texture.
After that we photograph fauns decorating the façade of a random building and the human bones in the chapel of San Bernardino alle Ossa. Külli joins us for the rest of the walk. We use her as a reference scale for Milan's largest seashell, after which she immediately starts dragging us into shops and later turns water into beer. Under one arcade we admire the handprints of celebrities.
Somewhere along the way we stop for yet another coffee, eat another tomato sandwich with Alessandro Manzoni looking down on us, and have gelato without any particular view. We sit on the edge of the fountain outside Umberto Eco's house before walking back through the castle grounds towards home.
In the evening we attempt to eat ourselves to bursting at a Chinese restaurant. The streets are full of people drinking, smoking, and making plenty of noise.
City life is exhausting. And we haven't even walked ten kilometres.
One particularly secret garden is closed, but it's easy enough to find a surviving stretch of the 12th-century city wall that was meant to defend Milan against Frederick Barbarossa, as well as Milan's she-wolf. No one seems entirely sure where the wolf originally stood, perhaps on one of the city gates before being moved at some point. Trees and other plants are growing on rooftops and in courtyards. The grass hasn't been trimmed down to the roots. It's surprisingly refreshing, and it smells good.
In a park away from the city centre, Pinocchio stands in the middle of a fountain. The puppet's discarded shell lies at the base of the column, while the real boy stands triumphantly on top. Pigeons are bathing in the water, and two gentlemen are asleep on nearby benches.
Near Pinocchio there's a café that, according to someone, serves one of the best coffees in Milan. The queue stretches out onto the street and moves at a glacial pace because every single pastry has to be wrapped in paper, slipped into a thin crinkly bag, the bag carefully folded shut and sealed with a sticker, and then everything gently placed inside a large paper carrier. Meanwhile, the customer passes the time taking selfies. Perhaps the whole ritual exists simply to make sure everyone has enough time for pictures. Things move faster if you're eating in. After spending about half an hour in the queue and another five minutes waiting at our table, we're rewarded with the most expensive cappuccinos of the trip: €3.50 each. Which, of course, is nothing compared with Tallinn's €4.50–6 coffees. It tastes almost exactly the same as the cappuccino we had this morning in the little bar on the corner. Entertainment for people whose greatest worry is whether the milk foam has quite the right texture.
After that we photograph fauns decorating the façade of a random building and the human bones in the chapel of San Bernardino alle Ossa. Külli joins us for the rest of the walk. We use her as a reference scale for Milan's largest seashell, after which she immediately starts dragging us into shops and later turns water into beer. Under one arcade we admire the handprints of celebrities.
Somewhere along the way we stop for yet another coffee, eat another tomato sandwich with Alessandro Manzoni looking down on us, and have gelato without any particular view. We sit on the edge of the fountain outside Umberto Eco's house before walking back through the castle grounds towards home.
In the evening we attempt to eat ourselves to bursting at a Chinese restaurant. The streets are full of people drinking, smoking, and making plenty of noise.
City life is exhausting. And we haven't even walked ten kilometres.
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