Living January twice

From New Year to Milan

Hello lovelies. Feeling guilty for writing to you less frequently. I am so glad you are still with me. I am starting to see the second edition of my book in its final draft, that is, before the graphic designer tells me half of it needs doing in a different format and uploaded all over again!

January has flown by. Tonight, the end of the month already? How can that be?!

New year for us was quiet. It was deliberate. Autumn had been intense, full of challenge and change and it was the quietest eve I remember. That is. Until midnight, when giant trawlers, (I learned that some of them are over 300 meters long, that’s like half again as long as Westminster Bridge,) waiting their turn to load in the city port, sounded their foghorns that were so deafening the air literally shook.

I jumped out of bed and ran to the balcony, waiting to see … what? Boats all lit up? Fireworks above the sea? It was so incredibly loud as one boat after another celebrated the new year, obviously each captain with a slightly different time. Their small hand just a few minutes apart. Five minutes of ship horns blasted away. I looked out at the horizon wondering if the stars would be shaken out of the sky and splash into the sea. But no falling stars. And The moon was still hanging in its place too. Silence returned and so did my sleep.

Later on this month we went to see our youngest son studying in Milano. A long overdue trip. What a city. Once the capital of Italy and, since the seventies surely, the capital of everything from tweed to bling.

We walked across Milano using Google Maps which tried to persuade us to walk the long, straight route to the cathedral square, so we took a more direct route, which seemed to take us past every name in fashion in living history, most of which I am afraid to say, I had never heard of. Some cool-sounding names, like Elie Saab and Loro Piana, passing Vivienne Westwood’s boutique (I thought she was an actor?) her flatties with square toes in silver patent leather glittered behind glass, did catch my eye, and so did the price. Slightly out of my price range as they say, at 400€ a pair. That’s 200€ a shoe or 40€ a toe! But wait, if they last ten years, well, that’s just 4€ a toe, so it IS doable? Maybe?

There must have been a sale because there were many women queueing to get in and Milan designer week was still two weeks away. Or had they done the toe equation too? Or maybe they, like me, are always on the lookout for an elegant shoe with square foot-shaped toes. They are extremely rare. Such shoes. Painful toes, not so rare. I have inherited not only my grandfather’s love of nature but a painful toe.

window delights in Milan

Our son said it was usually grey and foggy but we got lucky and had blue skies and frost. We walked on frosted leaves through the park with naked trees in barely warming sunlight. I have never felt so grateful to have my gloves. Haven’t worn any for years. Surprised I could even find them. We crunched on shards of ice in frozen puddles, passed children on simple below-the-knee tricycles, made of just two square metal rods, 3 wheels and a very painful-looking seat. The children wiggled their ankles forward and back, in parallel, to get traction. I was tempted to have a go, but even my petite size wouldn’t have fitted the metal seat.

Every child beamed a smile as we passed by. I bit my lip and avoided saying, how stiff you would feel the next day, as it would only reveal my age and even worse, make me sound even more like the party pooper that I am. They were driving around recklessly like bumper cars.

We didn’t stop for coffee en route. The breakfast in our hotel was up on the roof top with the sun bursting in over sloping terracotta rooftops. The self-service Lavazza coffee machine made a peculiar baritone sound, but it made the best cappuccino ever. I had three. Probably not a good idea.

We had booked tickets to a gallery on the phone over breakfast, and I looked forward to a whole morning of art. Our entrance time was scheduled for 11am. We arrived at the gallery with fifteen minutes to go. I suggested we wait in a cafe and take in Italian life but we decided to that afterwards; we would get in early instead. At the stone arched entrance, we showed our phone screen to the receptionist who shook his head. No smile either. Oh dear, what had we done wrong? Wrong dress code? The Duomo has one, but surely not in the art museum?!

We turned the phone back towards our faces. We looked at our screen. Ah. Yes. Pitch black. Phone gone dead. Great. Now regretting having taken the tricky route here.

Luckily I had had the (extraordinary and totally out of character) foresight to bring a cable and plug, but would they let us charge enough minutes to just get the entrance ticket? No. I thought that was just a tiny bit mean. My conclusion was it obviously happens often.

Equipped we might have been, but the baker across the ally didn’t have a spare socket either. With a first-world-matters-sigh-of-relief we were saved by Sophie Loren’s café. Pictures of her everywhere. A shrine to her life even if she was born in Rome. She’ll be 91 this year. Gosh, wasn’t she just beautiful? Photos of her reminded me of the Spanish Penelope Cruz.

The waitress and maître d sympathised that our digital tickets did indeed require a phone with at least a little more than 0% battery. I ordered yet another cappuccino while we uttered how grateful we were that they let us charge up at their marble table. And it was oh so worth it because my coffee arrived with a small complimentary plate of pieces of the most delicious, moist (can I say moist?) Pannetonne- to- DIE- for!! I finally get why it’s so special. The real deal is a million miles away from the supermarket’s cheap imitation.

We return to the gallery, this time not thrown out like paupers on the street and with our heads held high we come face to face with the stunning colours and swooping five-hundred-year-old paintings by Tiziano.

I was fascinated by the details and the warmth of Venetian red glowing around the room. But hang on, there was a dog having a pee central stage! Apparently, it was uncovered by restoration work, which was quite unexpected and made me laugh. For some reason for me, this amusing detail seemed to throw the painting into present day. The uncovering of this dog relieving itself in the restoration, they said, was controversial. Had Tiziano meant us to see it, or was it his own little private joke? It made the picture very real, and even more unforgettable for me! I thought of Banksy’s not so private joke, when his picture partially shredded itself after selling for 25 million dollars. Almost, but not quite as mad as the banana sold at Sotheby’s for 6 million dollars, only to be eaten a little later by the owner.

There was molto adorazione de Bambino. Huge, gold picture frames that wouldn’t fit in our kitchen. Of course… as if that was a possibility anyway, these paintings are obviously, priceless. The red painted gowns glowed and there wasn’t a brush stroke in sight. What blew me away was the detail in the eyes. Milky expressive eyes of old wizened faces and babies too.

Allegoria dell’Acqua catches my eye, painted in 1625 by Jan Brueghel. In fact the Darwinian detail takes my breath away!! There are fish ducks crabs squid snails a heron or two, a tropical looking jungle complete with waterfall, yes this is all in one small painting, the kind of size that would fit in your microwave, though of course that’s the last thing you’d do. In the background, fishing boats and sails, in the sea mist dinosaur-era-looking birds fly in the sky, completing a sense of evolution and then, yes, of course, angels, too. Maybe not Darwinian after all.

Next to it here was another of Jan’s works with angels in the sky, dropping flowers and petals down on a wintry scene of an industrial smog-inflicted Brussels in 16th century, while people are working, walking or skating on the ice in the river. Distant spires stick out above the smoke. I just can’t believe Jan was painting this detail like this in 1625. I felt the connection with his wishes. That everyone deserves some magic, some love, a wish or two to come true.

I pass a marble statue. The fig leaf is adjusted in just the right place of course. Not that I was looking down there. But somehow we all do. I think we are all checking to see if the leaf is the right fit, or in the right place? Or which tree leaf? Has there been a deviation from vine to fig? An olive leaf wouldn’t work, obviously. That would be even more daring for its time.

In the middle of the room are red velvet seats. A girl sits and stares at the paintings. I sit too. My arm is aching from carrying my coat. She has taken her thick coat off but it hangs like a rucksack off her back!? It has straps like rucksack straps. Genius! She sits for ages and absorbs the art. Her coat in free-fall. I am so tempted to ask her if she designed the straps or if it is a specially designed coat for art students and gallery lovers.

I retreat, I daren’t interrupt her gaze, her meditation, her adoration of art five hundred years young.

Leonardo da Vinci’s Studio di fiori…just stunning. Dated 1481

Startled by bright daylight, I exit the heavy velvet curtains that keeps the cold outside. In the street even Mopeds and motorbikes, as well as dogs are wearing coats. It’s that cold. The winter sun can hardly reach us in the narrow street.

Lunch is under an umbrella with a clear plastic window and a vertical street stove. I try the hot chocolate but I decide against it. It is so rich a spoon could stand up in it. I choose a round black mini turret on a tiny plate. It looks unusual. No idea what it is. It turns out to simply be the tiniest jam tart. This mini pastry fortress went down a treat with yet another hot (decaffeinated!) coffee.

An antique looking tram went by with people sitting at tables having lunch with elegant glasses of wine. Brilliant! It looked so stylish. Milan is full of trams, scooters and cyclists it’s so beautifully flat.

In the museum I had watched an audiovisual explaining how Raphael transferred the details for a fresco to a wall by pin-pricking the outlines, which was then sprinkled with charcoal to transfer the etching. I found myself Googling why Socrates and the sophists should be so far apart in the picture. I learned that one movement believed that the most important thing to man was the prioritising of the enriching of the soul, while the other, the accumulation of wealth. I know which one would have got my vote. Not that I would have been invited to vote then, of course, being a woman. So ahead of their time and yet, not.

At this point the waiter lifts a chair above our heads and swings it round to land with perfect precision under the tiny marble table nearer the coffee machine. There are three men on the table to my left. I imagine it’s Jan, da Vinci and Banksy discussing how best to portray the climate of the times in one huge mural.

We walked to the canals and back. It is too cold to try Italian ice-cream (I can’t believe I said that). In fact it was only just warm enough walking, so we turn back walking over a bridge heavy with love-padlocks. We say goodbye to our son and we arrive home to find it surprisingly chilly at home in Spain on the coast too. An extra therapy dog I have never met before greets me at the door.

On the news, is the ‘Gaza peace deal’. Oh please I hope it’s true. Please let there be peace. The images of the destruction are like nothing I have ever seen. Every time I see those photos I stare at the screen in horror, disbelief and tears. From what I can see in the drone-shot images, Banksy won’t be painting a wall in Gaza any time soon, even if the peace holds… it doesn’t look as though there is a safe wall left to paint on.

Well, that was written as you can probably tell a couple of weeks ago. I have taken lots of photos of dawn, and frost in Milan. Yes. I went all the way to Milan and took photos of sparkling frost!! It is rare here and it’s my kind of bling!!

fashionable glitz from Milan

Thank you so much for reading to here and supporting my stories. My father is currently on the plane with my sister and brother-in-law. I am going to take the best part of the next week off to be with them and I am hoping it is going to be a sunny week. It’s the first time he has visited in a long time. I can’t help think that Mum should be arriving with them too.

When I get my second draft of my book into the hands of the designer and stop editing the new pieces, I shall be back here with a more regular pattern. I look forward to that. I miss you all very much. I hope this long piece today atones for my absence in January.

Why write I hear you say, if life is so busy? To live life twice. That was a quote (originally by Natalie Goldberg I think, let me know if I am wrong) read to me yesterday, which I absolutely loved. Writing is my love and a huge part of my life.

I wonder what February has in store for us…I hope you have been well. Look after yourselves.

Lots of love.