Thoughts from a long walk in Milan
Feeling at home in Italy
As I sat in a small bar in Milan late Friday evening, I breathed in and out and felt the last bit of stress drop from my shoulders. Almost three weeks into this trip, and I was still carrying tension. Imagine knots releasing from your gut that you weren’t aware were still there. And I smiled. And closed my eyes for a quick second. And sipped from the fantastic Chianti sitting in front of me.
From the moment the idea for this trip occurred to me back in February, Italy was the destination, the aspiration, the mission. My mother’s grandparents and a few of her uncles and aunts ventured from Reggio Calabria (the toe of the boot that is Italian geography) to Indianapolis via Ellis Island. Three generations later, there are hundreds of us Corsaro progeny. Think My Big Fat Greek Wedding, Italian-style. (Sidebar: Our last name was Tortorella in the old country. The name change at immigration is mysteriously tied to whispers of a story involving my great grandfather, the death of an alleged peeping Tom and fleeing the country, or some such intrigue hilariously Italian in mystique).
I have been raised to identify with my Italian heritage and tradition, and I love it. Spending the fall in Italy was the dream.
But then, coronavirus and lockdowns and travel bans and quarantines mandated that I route through Ireland. Great, the Fatherland! (Dad has Irish heritage. I mean, my name is Shawn Dullaghan, for goodness sake!) But when you layer the concerns of traveling when Europe and the World Health Organization discourage it over guidelines to quarantine in a foreign land over the legitimate concern that the rules could change preventing me from ever making it into Italy, you can feel stress escalate. There you go, a spaghetti bowl of underlying anxiety.
But guess what? On Day 18 of my European adventure: The Italian arrival! Woohoo!
Ciao, Milano! Buongiorno, l’Italia! Buonosera, Siena!
And it is glorious.
The day dawned on Saturday with open blue skies and sixty-nine-degree temperatures. Praise to you, Jesus, you know me well! Nothing like warmth to raise a hallelujah out of this heart. (This is not the slightest bit facetious.) With only one day in Milan, my goal was to walk for as many hours as my feet could take it.
My first stop was Via Monte Napoleone, the fourth most expensive retail street in Europe. With shops by Versace, Gucci, Valentino, and Cartier, the via reeked of elegance, style, and wealth. I am not a shopper, but I found it great fun to stroll down the way and peer into the extravagant windows.
My stomach growled, and as I meandered down a side street, I stumbled upon a beautiful restaurant called La Corte. I took my seat in the historic courtyard, ordered a ‘calice di vino rossa della cassa per favore’ (glass of house red wine please. Aren’t you impressed!?!), and sat back to savor.
For me, that moment will be forever quintessential. Pure magic. Great wine, an assortment of yummy bread, perfectly-prepared pasta, the Italian language flowing around me, the peaceful setting. Ah. I could have cried, it was so perfect.
After I stretched lunch a solid two hours, I resumed my tour. Over the next five hours, I visited and prayed in six churches, strolled piazza after piazza, visited the Last Supper by Da Vinci and the Galleria, and listened to talented buskers on sax, guitar, and drum. I treated myself to frutti di bosco flavored (berries! dairy-free for lactose-intolerant self) gelato, perused an artist market, and marveled at the architecture around me.
In each direction I cast my gaze, my eyes would alight on someone who looked like one of my cousins. The gestures and inflection were so familiar to me. The passion in the speech and the facial expressions brought me so much joy, and I knew that was why I felt so at home, so comfortable and connected. Such an unexpected perk to this little excursion, must say.
Oh, and I developed my Milan obsession: building facades! Here is a sampling for your enjoyment:
When my phone died around dinner time, I bought a map from a local vendor and wound through the streets back to my hotel. I enjoyed dinner of insalata di salmone e gamberetti (shrimp and salmon salad) and a glass of Sangiovese, and plopped into bed sated and exhausted!
I can’t remember a better day. Bella.
I traveled by train to Florence on Sunday and then by bus to Siena and then walked the dramatically-sloped stone streets to my apartment for the next 31 days. Hauling my luggage over the rough pavement and up three flights of stairs was not super fun, but at last, I have landed at my long term destination. (I am getting a workout, whether I want one or not :)) Here are some shots from my first two days.
Thank you for taking this journey with me. I have felt that God so near and that He is coaxing me out of the years of war and pain that were my twenties, thirties and forties. I am healing. I am unwinding. I am lifting my face to the sun. May your days be filled with the same.
