Crisis and Culture

For many of you, my trip to Milan is now old news. I did, however, deem it worthy of an entry. Plus there was little else going on that I thought worth writing about, so I thought it best to hold Thursday's entry over to today.

There were to be three of us spending the weekend there; myself, a friend of mine from Keele and a friend of ours we met on the MUN circuit at Edinburgh last year. The chap from Edinburgh is actually studying Spanish and Italian and had picked Milan for his semester studying Spanish.

So to Friday and the journey out. Not too eventful, we arrived at Gatwick in plenty of time, checked in without a hitch and departed more or less on time to Milan Linate. We met Chris and went by bus to Milan Centrale railway station to pick up our train tickets for our trip to Verona the following day. Chris and Phil had also discussed watching an AC Milan match on the Sunday and we went to a bank to pick up some tickets. Yes did you did read that right, the banks sell tickets to football matches and at (consternation!) decent prices. I did think that the security system was a little over-zealous, concerning one entry chamber (best description I can give) nearly amputated my arm at the elbow as I manoeuvred our large suitcase into the building. Tickets were not purchased either, as a problem arose in paying and so we left to check Phil and I into our hotel.

This led to our first encounter with the Milanese transport system and it didn't disappoint. Efficient underground trains and buses sped us around the city, but not leaving us feeling at all hurried. However we made our mistake that Friday in catching the Metro and then walking to the hotel for a good fifteen minutes. Thankfully the hotel was worth it; Phil and I had a spacious room, good sized beds and English-language news. After a brief respite, we set out for the city itself to begin our expedition properly. Those of you with access to my Facebook account will have hopefully seen the pictures, so not much of a picture needs painting. For those of you who don't, Milan is absolutely amazing. Such a cosmopolitan beacon shining out in southern Europe; it deserves every hyperbolic word written about it. I exhort each and every one of you reading this to go at some point in your lives.

I should make mention of the lunch we took on the Via Dante. Death by pizza seems most accurate to describe it, eight euro each and the things were enormous. Chris heroically polished his off, I managed about three quarters before nobly surrendering. The afternoon was taken up with photography and attempting to cure my ears of the post-flight clog. Phil and I headed back to the hotel early to finish our unpacking and get an early night, as we were due to catch the 8:25 to Verona.

Saturday dawned slightly cloudy, but we kept our hopes high as we made our way on our speedy bus and Metro journeys to Milan Centrale. We had arranged to meet Chris there and then catch the train. Slight snag, Chris had only woken up at 8:20 and feared he wouldn't be with us/ After some careful re-planning, he agreed to catch a later train and meet us in Verona. Ah, Verona! Famous to Anglophones for being the setting of two Shakespeare plays, among other things. The weather had significantly improved on our arrival and so Phil and I whiled away out wait for Chris by going for a brief walk and shoot. Verona station being only fifteen minutes walk from the main town square, we decided not to stray far from there.

Verona is one of the most authentic Italian cities I have visited. Situated on the edge of Veneto province, not in Lombardy as I had thought, the architecture lends itself to the Venetian tradition. Worthy places to visit include the Piazza Erbe and, of course, the Capulet house, the very place forming the basis for Romeo and Juliet. Many romantics have daubed the entry to the courtyard overlooked by the famous balcony with various graffiti. Definitely worth the visit, should you be in the region.

The journey back was a little fraught, as we were caught by an over-zealous ticket inspector. The way the Italian ticketing system works is a variant on the French, in that one validates one's ticket at a yellow machine affixed to platform entries. Foreigners unused to this system may well walk past these machines as Phil and I did at Centrale, until our conductor instructed us otherwise. No such machines exist at Verona and so we were unable to validate our return ticket. Sadly at an outer station near Milan we were caught with said ticket and all I can say is thank God for British indomitability and Chris' language skills. The inspector was clearly taken aback by our refusal to be cowed and our grudging voluntary gesture of showing him ID and giving our names. We were still threatened with a fine of €42.90 each and advised us to take the matter up at Centrale. Fine as yet unpaid, we sought assistance from an Italian Railways employee at the main desk. He was clearly outraged by our story and advised us to take it up with the local company desk, advising us that there would be no fine. On the walk there, still expostulating amongst ourselves, I called the inspector a "wretched clipper Jonny" and the phrase somehow stuck. In the end we were given a toll-free number to call and decided to let the matter drop. I am now going to use the phrase "clipper Jonny" for any kind of jobsworth.

Sunday looked to be a very cloudy day and indeed remained so for part of the day. Spirits by no means dampened, we met at the Galleria Vittorio Emmanuele after Phil and I had spent the morning photographing the Castello Sforzesco and planned our strategy for the rest of the day. Chris and Phil were eager to get to the Inter game, so they left me to my own devices. I took a long walk, out from the Galleria cafe where I'd been having coffee, past the San Fidele church, out towards the Arche Porto Nuova and back into town. I then headed back to the hotel to charge up my phone. At around half three I headed again and still having time on my hands, I decided to go up to the roof of the Duomo, an experience I missed on the Friday due to my fear of heights. However I did excellently and managed to get halfway up before losing nerve and scuttling back down.

We ate that night in the Rinascente, a rather upmarket department store next to the Duomo. The food hall there is amazing and our chosen venue offered the most delicious meat dishes. It also showcased various mustards on sale in the food hall and I admit I was tempted by a jar of the cognac mustard I put on my food.

Monday was cloudy and didn't improve much. We did little that morning, except some more shopping during which I bought some presents for my family. Phil then, after a quick lunch and gelato, went to see a friend of his and Chris accompanied me to the Basilica San Marco. I'd seen it the previous day on my walk and had wanted to photograph the interior, but was unable to do so, due to a curious service mixed between Catholic liturgy and evangelism taking place. It was sadly closed and so we abandoned the project, Chris walking with me back to the Duomo.

So to the airport that night, going to Milan Malpensa for the flight back to Gatwick. All went smoothly, no sign of any clipper Jonnies on the train at all. Returned to Wiltshire in the early hours of the morning (almost with a traffic cone which had gone rogue) and slept soundly.

So much for "What I did on my Holidays", for something very grave happened while we were out there of which now you're all aware. The shooting at the Ozar Hatorah school in Toulouse on Monday, which to all of us would be absolutely disgraceful, made worse by the clear anti-Semitic motives behind it. Such barbarism flies in the face of France's commitment to accommodate all peoples from all cultures, races and creeds. A trigger was pulled at a nation and at time of writing the suspect is holed up in an apartment in Toulouse. All priase goes to the French authorities and agencies for tracking him down so quickly and the commendable response of the wider global community. This truly is an act which cannot ever go unpunished and I certainly hope that this man is brought fully to book.

A piece of good news, however, is that we are to finally lose the Archbishop of Canterbury. The man who for so long has ensured the erosion of Christian ideals and standards in favour of fashionable Leftist causes in England and Wales will be gone at the end of the year. I was excited to hear the announcement on Friday and look forward to an Anglican taking the helm of our established church once again.