Ah, the belated Milan post. It has been three weeks, and already I want to go back.
Let me tell you: Milan is very unappreciated in Italy – many consider it too cold, too polluted, too congested, too chaotic. And it may be some of those things, but no more than any other city worth its salt.
When I lived there, I used to drive through the Centro Storico (historical center) in the middle of the night, when the traffic had quieted down and all I could see were the impressive buildings, statues and other structures, and I’d almost feel like I had gone back in time. I only lived there for a year, and maybe that’s why I never grew tired or became impassive to its beautiful churches, monuments and historical buildings, or jaded by the daily rote through the traffic and all that… be that as it may, I LOVE Milan. I love it, I missed it, and I was so incredibly happy to be back that I could hardly contain my excitement.
The sight of the Duomo as you come up the subway stairs or turn a corner into the piazza is enough to make you freeze in place and, for a moment, forget where you are and what year it is. It is definitely enough to make you tear up, or simply ooh and aah and thank your lucky stars for being there.
It definitely was enough for me – the first time, the second, and every time after that. And this time was no exception. One look at my face as I was coming up the stairs and the Duomo came into view, and my husband knew I would need some time. Time to look at everything, to shoot everything, to take it all in. Because there is so much to take in.
Even more so, since I decided to do something I had never done before: go up to the terrace.
I had been inside the Duomo many times, had seen the treasury, the royal jewels and the gold-threaded vestments, admired the windows
and the many beautiful details inside the cathedral
but I had never been up to the terrace.
It was no picnic: the wait for the ticket took a good 35 minutes, then the wait for the elevator another 20 minutes or so; and once up there the weather wasn’t exactly cooperating. But nothing, nothing could take away from the incredibly impressive architectural details, and from the feeling of being like Quasimodo, at home among the pinnacles and buttresses, finding friends among the characters carved in the stone.
It’s a peculiar feeling, walking on those narrow paths on top of the Duomo, so far above the rest of the city, and surrounded by all these amazing sculptures – “surreal” is the best word I can think of. Not even the presence of other tourists can take away from the magic, from the feeling that you are being let into something special, because nobody is really meant to be here, and you are so very, very lucky to be.
There are many places around the world that are held to be representative of something; be it a location of historical importance, or simply a great feat of engineering; be it an incredible view or an iconic landmark. I have been to some places I held in that regard: I have seen the Golden Gate bridge and the Brooklyn Bridge; I have walked through Central Park, saw Phantom of the Opera on Broadway and admired the Chrysler Building at night; I have walked down the steps in Piazza di Spagna and thrown coins in the Fontana di Trevi; I saw Buckingham Palace and Westminster Abbey, took photos of my daughter at the foot of one of the lions in Trafalgar Square, and jumped up and down like a kid when I saw the Big Ben… I had so many amazing moments in each one of my trips; moments that took my breath away, that made me tear up and left me speechless, or smile like a fool and talk a hundred miles a minute out of sheer excitement.
And yet somehow, this unique, amazing feeling came over me while I was standing in my home country, in a city I had lived in, in a structure I had seen before and loved from the very first moment… but never quite as much as just then.
There, surrounded by those marble spires and flying buttresses, I felt like I was on top of the world. I was exhilarated at the experience, and amazed and humbled by the beauty and the sheer skill that each and every detail showed.
It may seem strange to wax poetic about something like this, but if you could jump in my head for a moment and feel just how incredible it was, you’d be surprised at my restraint. Because if there ever was a time to say “I guess you had to be there”, this is it. You have to be there. Forget Cinque Terre, forget Venice, forget the Tour Eiffel: if you take one special trip this lifetime, make it to Milan; and make a point of going into the Duomo, and visiting it all, top to bottom – or rather, bottom to top, ’cause you should definitely leave the terrace for last.
And then you will likely find that even though you took the elevator (or the stairs) down and your feet landed at ground level, you might just be walking on cloud 9 for a few days.
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