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| From The Silken Backpack |
As soon as I got to Milan Centrale, I was amused. I could hear several people speaking Tagalog as well as some other Philippine dialects and I was just in stitches over it. I couldn't help but be reminded of the Filipino movie "Milan" and about how there are so many Filipinos in Italy. But I had an itinerary and some business must be done.
First, I went and bought my evening train ticked to Modena, which cost me less than 10 euros, then I bought a phone card, called my aunt to tell her Im in Milan and dumped my luggage in the baggage counter practically in one breath. I was thus, prepared to take on the city of Milan. But I had one problem. I needed a map. Trusting that all train stations the world over with an acreage the size of a university must house a tourist office, I went around asking every security guard "Scusi, dove e la...err... tourist office... err... officia de turisto?" (Roughly translated to "Excuse me, where is the..er... tourist office... err ***** [I hope to God this is how you say Tourist Office in Italian]) They weren't much help though, they pointed me this way, then that way and I was irrevocably and pathetically lost... in a train station. I was feeling really ridiculous at this point. This was me! I explored cities on my own, I practically memorized the entire city of Singapore in 3 days! I was the great Filipina traveler, the global homeless, hell, I was practically born with a GPS gadget attached to my spleen and there I was, lost, IN A TRAIN STATION.
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| From The Silken Backpack |
I was having none of it, so I took myself to one corner of the station, made it my starting point and started to search from there (this is a little trick I learned from supermarkets or any huge stores in general. To cover everything, start from a point and return there) It took me a good hour of wandering before I found that damn tourist office or what should be described as "a door leading to a table with two people standing behind it" It took me less than 2 minutes to say "Buon giorno" to the lady, ask for a map in Inglese and get my sorry ass out of there.
I finally got out to the streets of Milan, shaking my head and feeling mighty stupid. But excitement saved me from the woes of travel mishaps and I studied the map and figured out the route i was going to take. Milan seemed compact enough to do things on foot so i just started walking and walking. I drank everything in, the street trams, the miniature cars, the graffitti. I was in Italy, one of my dream countries, I could hardly believe it! I was heading off to the Duomo, one of the grandest Gothic churches in the world. I passed by several fashionable streets and saw tall, glamorous women clutching big portfolios (they were no doubt models, going from one fashion house to another). It all seemed fantastically unreal to me, if the cold weren't biting on my face so much I would have thought I was dreaming.
Finally, somewhere near a huge Armani store, I came upon Piazza della Scala and the famous Teatro alla Scala, one of the oldest and best-established opera houses in the world. I gawked and I took pictures, as was required by the Treaty of Gawking Awe-struck Tourists. I crossed the street to the statue of Leonardo da Vinci and once again took pictures and gawked.
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| From The Silken Backpack |
It started to drizzle so I ran into the nearby Galleria Vittorio Emanuele and was promptly transported to the movie Milan, I was half-expecting to see Piolo Pascual in some corner, spinning like a top with tears flowing down his face. (You have to watch the movie to figure out what I'm talking about)
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| From The Silken Backpack |
The shopping gallery with its sky-high ceilings of arched panes of glass was so beautiful, it just took my breath away. I walked slowly, relishing every step. I looked at the stores, I looked at the architecture, I looked at the people and I looked at the tiles on the floor. It was just incredible. I walked the entire length of the galleria until I came upon the expansive Piazza del Duomo. Now this Piazza is HUGE! I walked around it and just stared. I made a bee-line for the Duomo and soon as I saw it, I knew what all the fuss was about. It was in a word: unique. From afar, it looked to me like a building made of those skinny rolls of newspaper or telephone directory that they make in arts and crafts. Up close, i found that it was made of marble with a plethora of intricate designs and details so specific and so defined, it can only be seen with a real close look. The spires were not the only ones that made it look so gothic, it was the fact that it had all these statues of saints, angels, beasts, demons and men with their innards flowing out of the bodies that made the church seem historically important, architecturally priceless, and for me, simply creepy. I understand how it can be a prime example of Gothic architecture, I can even appreciate the art, but personally, I don't see myself building my faith in that church AT ALL. I'll just be spooked out.
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| From The Silken Backpack |
Anyway...
After refusing to pay 2 euros to a very insistent man in order to feed the pigeons that dotted the whole piazza gray, I continued with my exploration. I walked away from the Duomo towards the Castello Sforzesco. This is basically a castle where the Sforza-Visconti ruling families of Milan resided many many years ago. It houses several museums, all of which I didn't bother to see, instead I asked an Italian girl to take my picture in front of the huge fountain in front of the castle. I had my priorities straight, uh huh.
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| From The Silken Backpack |
The Castelllo Sforzesco is magnificent and beautiful, made of burnt terracotta-colored bricks darkened to a palette telling of its age and history. A walk inside the castle was like a step back in time, with courtyards that looked straight out of a period movie, I was half expecting to witness an all-out Capulet-Montague war. I wandered around the castle, gravitating toward the nooks and crannies and taking indecent amount of pictures, capturing in each click of the shutter, a complete marvel.
I went out at the back of the castle and found myself entering Sempione Park. This is probably Milan's answer to Central Park. It's a huge expanse of green grass, dotted with trees browned by winter. There was a lake and in front of it the Arco della Pace (the arch of peace) with it's statue of a gladiator (or an emperor, who knows?) in a chariot, looking like it was about to jump off the arch into the lake for a quick dip in the freezing waters.
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| From The Silken Backpack |
I sat in a bench and had my late lunch, comprised of dried smoked sausage, half a Pave (a french type of bread), pickled gerkins, slices of camembert, chocolates and coke, all of which I brought with me from Paris (save the coke). I sat there on that bench, on that cold drizzling afternoon, tearing at the bread with my teeth and staring at the scene before me in pure wonder. It didn't matter that I was eating this meager fare as my first meal in Italy, I've never felt so European and I was having the time of my life.
After my quick lunch, I walked around the park, took pictures, checked the time and figured I'd best head out. I left the park, navigated with the map and with the help of a couple of fashionably dressed Milanese women, finally found the Santa Maria delle Grazie. The relatively simple, unimposing church that houses one of the world's most important works of art: the Il Cenacolo, known the world over as Leonardo da Vinci's "The Last Supper"
Now, with all the research I've done before this trip, I've found out that there is basically one and only ONE way of seeing the Il Cenacolo, and that is to make a reservation waaaayy in advance. Browsing through the forums, several people have shared their experiences wherein they had to make reservations around 2-3 months before and even then, to get a spot would be a lucky break. There was one entry I remember correctly that said "Well, if you can't get a reservation, you can always just stop by and see if you can get in, but THAT would be a miracle."
So I logged onto the Il Cenacolo's website, chose the date and the time and found the whole day full to the freaking brim. The next available slot would be for the next day. I wasn't going to be in Milan the next day so as bummed as I was about that, I figured it just wasn't meant for me.
Knowing full well that I wans't going to have an audience with the Il Cenacolo, I just wanted to go to Santa Maria delle Grazie to take a picture outside the church and probably to get a couple of brochures as a souvenir. So I walked inside the Cenacolo Vinciano office and looked around. There was an Italian woman in her early twenties sitting beside the desk who asked me in heavily accented English how she could help me. I said that I was just looking and that I knew I couldn't see the fresco but could she give me any brochures. Instead of receiving a couple of glossy pamphlets, she told me "We have one cancellation if you want to see the Il Cenacolo." I blinked at her, unsure of what I just heard. I asked her to repeat herself and she confirmed that there is one spot open after about 20 minutes, if I'd like to take that. The schedule would be perfect and would give me enough time to get back to Milan Centrale to catch my train to Modena. I said yes, still waiting for her to tell me there has been some mistake, but she handed me my ticket and said "That will be a 6 euro and a fifty. Do you have a six euro and a fifty?" Why yes, kind miss, even with my impoverished, dazed, gaping countenance, I do have a six euro and a fifty. I handed her the money, grabbed the ticket, stepped out and sat down on a bench. I stared at the ticket with disbelieving eyes. I remembered that thing I read on the internet, about getting a walk-in ticket to see the Il Cenacolo and what that amounts to: a miracle.
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| From The Silken Backpack |
I stayed in that bench until my viewing schedule, afraid that to go anywhere would make this dream go away. But it didn't go away, I joined my tour group as we went into Santa Maria delle Grazie, through the cordoned areas, through the convent and into the room where the most famous fresco in the world was waiting. We were told that we would be given 15 minutes to view The Last Supper and because the fresco was very old and was indeed almost fading, we cannot take pictures of it, we nodded like robots and were finally shown into the room.
The room was a rectangular space with 2 frescos on opposite walls. The other fresco I didn't give due justice to coz I was just staring at The Last Supper the whole time. I could hear the dehumidifier buzzing in the background but I didn't mind, being in that place, looking at what I was looking at made me feel very serene, almost reverent. It was without a doubt, one of the most surreal experiences of my entire life. I couldn't believe that I was there, looking at one of the most important pieces of art in the world, that not even a lot of people could see (check the waiting list people)! Weren't I just a girl from a developing country, who only dreamed of going to these kinds of places, seeing these kinds of things? How could I be there at that moment? What have I done to deserve this? Really? Did I save a small country in my past life?! A tide of gratitude washed over me, wave upon wave, till I was almost sure I was gonna cry. It was true what I read on the forum, what happened to me that day at the il cenacolo was a miracle.
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| From The Silken Backpack |
After my viewing, I took the subway to Milan Centrale, retrieved my luggage, called my aunt once again and took my train to Modena. I was tired but I was happy, the kind of happiness that seeps into the pores, permeates the heart and washes the entire being with a radiance that drove poets to compare smiles to sunshines.
And to think, that was just day 1.
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