L`arte

It’s Tuesday, 7 pm, or 19:00 according to Italian’s very inconvenient use of military time, and I am exhausted.  

Sharon: God I’m so tired.
Sharon: I don’t know why I’m so tired. 
Sharon: OMG I KNOW WHY
Brian: why?
Sharon: I can’t tell you.
Brian: something illegal?
Brian: something scandalous?
Sharon: no.
Sharon: something Italian. 

Ever since arriving in Italy there wasn’t a spare moment to be had. In the first week I blamed my tiredness to jet lag and our constant touring, but by second week I was still exhausted all the time. But today my body was so depleted of energy that I felt like even breathing was draining. I couldn’t understand what was causing my body to be so decrepit when it hit me: I didn’t get my daily cappuccino today, which is definitely SO Italian.  

Everyday this week I’ve been experiencing the cultural month of Milan. Though Milan is considered to be the business capital of Italy, the Milanese idolize and appreciate artists of every  shape and form. Writers, painters, cinematographers, passionate cellists, violinists in the metro, the opera, the theater, the art galleries and the concert halls – Milan is a whirlwind of the arts and it’s super exciting to be a part of the cool hipster crowd. 

I’ve been to the Monet Gallery at the Palazzo Reale, a MITO classical concert event featuring a passionate cellist and pianist who, according to Sam, were “having sex” on stage, a feature film at the Milano Film Festival called “Futoko,” a midnight screening at the MFF called “Il Talento di Fabio,” (neither of which won but were fantastic), Milan’s Vogue’s Fashion Night Out, and a museum exhibition of Madame Butterfly at the Castello Sforzesco. I’ve had mass at Il Duomo and seen Sant`Ambrogio’s actual carcass at his basilico and last but definitely not least, I went to the Milano Acquario Civico (an aquarium-fun!) where my friend Anna, a Chinese-Italian-American from Hong Kong was asked what the Koi fish were called because, obviously, she would know. Needless to say, the rest of the day was filled with searching for more of her Japanese brethren.

And, of course, my favorite art of all is the art of writing and to this art I owe my new internship at Hello Milano, an English monthly for the ex-pats and tourists of Milan. The October issue will feature an article about Milanese food cowritten by yours truly and my fellow intern. =) Coming soon!

 

The Caffé across from my apt where I get a cappuccio.

My beloved cappuccio e September's issue of Vogue. =) What could be more perfetto?

 

The Duomo just never fails to astound me no matter how many times I see it.

Mass at the Duomo.

Beautiful.

Juliet & I at the Palazzo Reale.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Uh, Duh.

 

      

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Us at the MITO concert!

The passionate duet.

One of the theaters for MFF.

Midnight screening outside in Parco Sempione.

At the Aquarium! My fav.

Fishieeeeees

All of us so happy togeeether!

 

E finalmente, "arte" in my neighborhood.

Hello Milano!

“In Italy, for thirty years under the Borgias, they had warfare, terror, murder, and bloodshed, but they produced Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci, and the Renaissance. In Switzerland, they had brotherly love, they had five hundred years of democracy and peace – and what did they produce? The cuckoo clock.”

- Graham Greene, The Third Man and The Fallen Idol

 

Ciao da Milano en l’Italia! 

Well, I made it! Indeed, after two weeks of XD (Extreme Diarrhea) courtesy of Ghana during my return to the States, I’m relieved to be rid of such ghastly bowel movements and thus joyously leap into the bounteous, luxurious lifestyle of the Milanese. 

Milan, the fashion capital of the world, is filled with people who look it. Proud, introspective and meticulously dressed. This one city is home to the world’s first shopping mall, La Galleria Vittorio Emmanuele, the original Prada shop and every other designer label: Gucci, Chanel, Fendi, Dolce e Gabbana. 

If ever I was fat at home then I’m monstrously obese here. The Milanese people are impossibly skinny. Men and women are all walking sticks. The entire city is made for thin people. My bathroom is literally three feet wide, so narrow that I feel claustrophobic when taking a shower and our elevator snugly fits 3 people at a time. 

But oh man, are they beautiful. The men really are gorgeous. Skinny jeans, perfectly cut, fitted dress shirts with four buttons undone and their curly chest hair peeking out. Even grandpas with pot bellies still wear fitted pants cut exactly at their ankles with Italian leather shoes – and this is all casual wear. 

The businessmen here all wear fitted suits and ties and ride their sexy BMW motociclette. 

Since I’ve been here my days have been packed with touring and seeing and stuffing my face and trying to recall all the Italian I’ve forgotten in the summer. By the time I get home my body aches all over and my feet are tortured to the bone. I feel like a goldfish that got picked up and plopped into a whole new bowl of water. It’s so unreal that with just one plane ride, you land in a whole new world, a country where the language sounds like water falling onto bells and every look is a postcard or a history page coming to life.

Spending months in Africa then in America and suddenly dropped in Milan is baffling to my senses. I feel like what I’m seeing is not real. Everything is too pretty like the backdrop of the Bellagio Hotel in Vegas and the buildings seem 2-dimensional and the sky is just the ceiling painted blue. 

But indeed, this is real. I’m in Italy. Sono qui en l’Italia. 

And while here I have three goals during my four-month stay in Milan: 

1. To become Milanese in every possible way.

2. To find an Italian moto boy who owns a white Vespa with leather seats. 

3. To try every gelato flavor, pasta dish and risotto I can find while simultaneously losing 20 pounds. 

 

Ciao ragazzi, stay tuned.

 

 

Piazzo del Duomo