Laurea di Veronica A: Off Topic

The alarm goes off at the ungodly hour of 7AM, for no good reason.

Today is the day of Veronica’s graduation, but it’s not until the afternoon, and since she goes to a private university, things generally run on time (you really do get what you pay for in Italy, unless it’s a stamp from the post office in which case you’re out three euros and your postcards don’t arrive for nine weeks if at all). And since the timeliness of Veronica’s thesis defence isn’t in question, why the heck are we up so early? More importantly, why the heck have I been so rudely awoken?

It turns out to be a minor alarm clock malfunction, since the clock counter-intuitively indicates that the alarm is off, and not that it has indeed been activated, so by seeming to turn it off, we have in fact turned it on. Live and learn. Thankfully, since I possess the humble presence of mind to realise this day isn’t about me and my bad humour, I enter a state of meditative wakefulness and await for the appropriate time to arise. I pull the covers over my head and try not to fume too loudly.

Veronica is Antonella’s brother’s, Marco’s, girlfriend, a brilliant mind, a fantastic cook, and a generally fun person to be around. We’re all excited to share this exciting experience with her, and I feel doubly blessed since I’m just a pesky foreigner along for the ride and eager to practice my nascent Italian on Veronica’s nephews (while the average five year old boy is grammatically miles ahead of me, we enjoy similar interests in running in circles, farts, and eating so much candy we puke).

Instead of driving, and to avoid being forced off the road due to a faulty wheel again, we decide to take the train to Milan. Thankfully, the faithful public servants of Lombardy have all conspired to work with us today, so we arrive early and without incident. This leaves us plenty of time to wander around town, as we’d like to have a look at a few shops and explore a little bit. I only have a cursory knowledge of the city, since every other time I’ve seen Milan I’ve either been in transit or my course has been planned with such surgical precision and tactical efficiency that we get to where we’re going and get out again, unless we find ourselves lost, never through any fault of our own, of course.

It turns out that some precise tactical forethought is necessary, however, as while the initially impressive grand fascist architecture of the train station draws the eye to loftier heights and encourages the mind to consider the grand ideals of Roman virtue lost (read: “mastering” oneself, dominating others, and the hubris that follows), for the most part Milan is dense, dirty, and not the best walkable city. So we head to the nearest tobacconist to buy our subway tickets.

I’ve been told to never attempt to buy a metro ticket at the automatic machines nearest to the platform entrance, as any hesitation will have you yelled at and brow beaten faster than a bat out of hell can shake a lamb’s tail. The tobacconist in the lower level of Milano Centrale doesn’t seem to be any more forgiving.

The lineup for the counter is out the door and down the hall, while a stylish chain-smoking (we’re indoors and underground!) panhandler stops everyone in sight and I avert my gaze downward practising the hardest word I’ve yet to learn in Italian, giornaliera. It’s the day pass to the metro we’re about to buy, and for some darn reason I just can’t wrap my tongue around that last half.

Antonella to the rescue! She steps in, spares me irate stares and impatient huffs, and we’re well on our way. I promise myself that I’ll get the next ones.

I’ll skip the part of the story where we wander in circles for no reason trying to find discount bicycles, as it’s ultimately fruitless, since all the shops I’ve researched beforehand have either closed for good or have seen me coming and shuttered their windows for fear of doing business.

We exit the subway near Veronica’s university and Antonella leads us through the busy and winding streets, full of rowdy youngsters, anxious students and harried businessmen, the frenetic industry of the city itself pulsing as we meander slowly and I try my best not to allow the mere presence of such busyness distract me from avoiding the speeding streetcars in the narrow streets.

Along the way, we come across the most well-named toy store I’ve seen yet, Fate i Capricci, Throw a Tantrum! Antonella obliges, but to no avail as I resist the urge to purchase more LEGO. We exit the laneway and stumble into the piazza of the basilica of San Lorenzo, with the eponymous stolen columns elegantly lined in front, overseen by a statue of the most august Roman emperor Constantine. The columns were either from a 2nd century temple or bath, so perhaps the first Christian emperor standing in between them and the basilica of the patron of comedians provides a concrete historical link from a crumbled pagan past to a brighter, more humbly opulent future. Sic transit gloria mundi all the same.

Of course, the only other photo I take is of a pretty epic pope blessing… something?

It is now about time we start heading toward Cattolica, Veronica’s university. After getting lost and then finding ourselves accidentally found, we wait for Marco to answer his phone so we can meet up with him. He never does pick up, but thankfully the ever radiant beauty of the gracious woman by his side catches my eye and we are now all united! Together, we take a turn and enter the hidden beauty cloistered behind the bustling streets of downtown Milan.

To be continued…