In praise of Milano, profound serendipity, and beautiful souls

Close readers will notice that the other day, I mentioned that there were “a couple” bad reasons that I hadn’t blogged for a week, but I only spoke about one.

The other reason my heart hasn’t been in blogging (although I have sustained my private, meatspace journal) has been a bit of - what do they call it again - homesickness? Now here is a feeling that I don’t encounter very often.

Going back to when I boarded my flight to Milano, I remember my body panicking just a little bit. “You’re going the wrong way,” it whispered as it tugged on my sleeve. “Didn’t we do enough?” now tugging on both sleeves, “I’m exhausted! Take me home!” just about yanking my shirt off.

Home? How strange - for years and years I have looked for home, and now, after two weeks in a foreign country, some part of me wants to return to what is familiar. I suppose in a sense that this is all it takes to make a home: familiarity, routine. But there is more: I want to see the town where I live again (however much its inhabitants irritate me). I want to see my friends again. I want to present a richer feast of experiences for them to dine on.

Yet I knew, on that plane, that weeks of adventure still yawned before me. Your stomachs - and my hunger to feed - would have to remain unsatisfied (or the growling merely curbed) for now.

I was not prepared to enjoy Milano. In fact, I intended to mostly ignore the city and aim my feet a-walking toward the Lagos instead, and specifically Lago Maggiore. This I did, on my first day. On the advice of my host (I must return to her soon), I overshot my initial target and started instead in Mergozzo.

Once I stepped onto the platform and the train’s squeal squeezed itself silent between distant Alpine foothills, a blanket of quiet drifted down over the town. Mergozzo was still.

Except for humming herds of cyclists and a slow stream of cars along the town’s single main road, I heard only wind, birds, lapping water, and church bells (there are a lot of church bells going on everywhere I have visited, but this was a Sunday so it was especially resonant there).

These bells would ring, and then ring again as they caromed lazily from hill to hill, for Mergozzo is cradled on three sides by the lower reaches of the southern Swiss Alps. As I listened, I saw: everything that is not water, or part of the pastel palette of homes that huddle against the lake and form the main town, is flush with greenery. Are the trees chestnut? Oak? Another species? I tried to investigate but had trouble finding the truth. 

I learned only at the end of my morning in Mergozzo that it is home to an archaeological museum and more Roman ruins (aha! So it is not Italy’s fault that I’m not seeing the Romans). I am fine with missing these, though: at the time, I was worn out on the historical-lesson-a-day itinerary I had been pursuing since landing in Europe. I got just what I needed in this town, which was to walk slowly, fill my lungs with mountain air, and be still.

From there I needed another train to come back south - but only a little bit south - to Stresa. It was a bit of work and stress to get there from Mergozzo. Where should I buy a ticket? What track do I need to wait by? Didn’t I see an employee at the station? But where did they go? The train station in Mergozzo didn’t give up any secrets. I did, however, have some fun chatting with an emigre from Senegal. We communicated using Google Translate, and he showed me the audio function of that tool. The mechanics of the train eventually got sorted out, and so I arrived in Stresa.

Mergozzo sits on its own small lake, just north of Lago Maggiore, but Stresa sits in the front row of the main event. I strolled, I took a couple of ferry rides, I wandered through two old Palazzos of the aristocratic Borromeo family. I particularly enjoyed the grottoes and statuary of the Isola Bella palazzo and the many wild birds of the Isola Madre gardens.

Much of the floors, walls, and ceilings of the grottoes are made of small stones

Grotto floor detail 

Just amazing statuary

Statuary with Lago Maggiore and Alpine foothills in the background

I love books as well, so here's a Palazzo Borromeo library detail

Birds!

Birds!

Birds!

Birds!

This pretty well rounded out my first day “in Milano,” but that left me with two more to fill. I felt I had enjoyed my Lago experience, and there were a couple of places in Milano I wanted to visit - the Pinacoteca di Brera, a fascinating art gallery arranged mostly in chronological order, with Italian pieces from as long ago as the 13th century, and also the Museo Nazional della Scienza e della Tecnologia, which boasts a large wing for Leonardo da Vinci. However, a couple of places is just a couple of places, and would hardly fill two days.

Here, again, my wonderful host stepped in to fill the void. Let me talk about her for a moment. About five years ago, she was laid off unexpectedly by her company and found herself needing - and wanting - to rediscover and reinvent herself (does any of this sound familiar?). She has a new vocation that she finds much more fulfilling, and which is much more rewarding for those around her as well.

She has also hosted travelers for about two years, and based upon my own experience, she seems to bring the same attentiveness, empathy, and passion for people to bear in hosting that she applies to her work. Toward the end of my visit, she explained that she has intuitions about her guests. If they ask, she attempts to provide travel suggestions suitable to their needs. For some people, she explained, this is as simple as telling them where to shop. For me, she offered an array of aesthetic and soul-enriching activities.

Visit the Duomo di Milano, she encouraged me. Take in its interior majesty, then climb all the way up to its terraces and view the whole city. After that, you will be close to Castello Sforzesco, so walk through those grounds as well, appreciating the park and the fortress. Take time to stop by Chiesa Cattolica Parrocchiale (a small, seemingly unremarkable church which hides with its modesty a chapel dating from the 1500’s which contains lovely arches, frescoes, a beautiful domed ceiling, and font).

Beyond simply following her suggestions for places to visit, I simply talked quite a bit with my Milano host. She helped me learn a few Italian phrases. She shared some of her own experiences, problems and passions. I learned from her of the existence of the lovely, serendipitous poetry style known as Found Poetry. We discovered a mutual interest in etymology: she taught me that “enthusiasm” derives from the Greek word entheos, which means possessed by a god. Meditate on the richness of that - the empowerment and invigoration of having enthusiasm for something. I shared with her something I learned that same day at the Pinocoteca: that the Latin word for salvation, “salus,” literally means “health.”

No special religious message here - just sharing with you some of what I shared with my host in Milan. Language is rich and dense. I am enthusiastic about it. I find at least a little salus in it. I certainly found some salus and enthusiasm in the company and care of my host, which parts of the language she speaks. She unknowingly helped me recover from some of my anxiety and homesickness.