Milan Day 2: A Day of Highs and Lows

*Be warned: this was a long day, thus it is a long post.

I started my second day in Milan slightly better in that I woke up before I was being shooed out the door. However my alarm clock turned out to be the endless wrestling of a plastic bag by my bunkmate. I mean seriously – a plastic bag is only so big, how long can you really root through it at 8 in the morning? Evidently for several minutes continuously.

Anyway, my plan for the day was to hit as many of the Milan sights I had neglected to see the day prior. But, I was wearing my new, black, wedge boots (gotta attempt to fit in with the fashion pros…) and was slightly concerned about walking several miles in them. So I decided to search for Via Dante – a long, pedestrian only street filled with endless shops for fanciful window shopping.


I had a bit of trouble finding it, but then I remembered that my goal today was to simply walk around, so I just accepted it. Eventually I found it and toured all the way to the end, which brought me to the Sforza Castle – yay! That was one of the sights I had wanted to see. Other than being a super-huge cool fortress in itself, it was also the site of several museums. Most of which are pretty boring, BUT – they also housed Michelangelo’s unfinished Pietá. That was worth my 3 EU any day.

From there (based on a recommendation by one of the guards at the castle) I decided to hike it over to the Church of Santa Maria della Grazie where the Last Supper is held. Generally speaking you have to have a reservation two months in advance to get in, but Rick (Steves) said, sometimes you can get lucky. I felt like trying my luck.

When I finally got there (minor detour…around the block), sure enough tickets were sold out. Boo. But something told me to stick around. I watched a tour group show up and once she had handed out her tickets, I was pretty sure I saw her sell them. Hmmm. I waited around for about 15 minutes (showings are scheduled every quarter hour to limit crowds and further damage to the painting) and sure enough, another group showed up. As soon as I could get next to the guide, I asked her if she had any extra tickets. As luck would have it, she had two. I asked if I could buy one from her and she agreed. I couldn’t believe it! I was staying a little longer in Milan than I had originally projected, but the opportunity to see the Last Supper was worth catching a later train.

After she distributed her tickets, it was myself and a Dutch gentleman standing near her. He wanted 3 tickets, she only had 2. He would take 2. Uh, excuse me – one of those tickets is mine! He began to argue with me, saying he had been waiting longer, so those tickets were his. He was sorry, but he had been here first. The ladies at the museum desk confirmed this and thought he should get the tickets. No-no-no-no-no, I said. I spoke to this woman outside and she TOLD ME that she would sell me her extra ticket. I am sorry you have been waiting, however, I already made arrangements with her. The poor tour guide didn’t know what to do. I felt bad for her, but I was in no position to not get my ticket. This was once in a lifetime, baby. Thankfully, she honored her commitment to me and sold me the ticket. I think those Dutch people hate me, but I decided I don’t care. I think I had a fair point.

15 minutes later I was allowed into the great hall that houses the Last Supper. Now, perhaps everyone else already knows this, or perhaps I just wasn’t paying attention in 9th grade social studies when we learned about the Renaissance, but I didn’t realize that it would be SO BIG.

The hall is essentially a large rectangle and the painting takes up an entire short wall. Ahhh, now it finally makes sense to me why everyone is so mystified at his ability to correctly demonstrate proportions and lighting…he created them as if this painting were actually a life-sized extension of this particular room. Now I get it (I’m slow).

All in all it was beautiful and sad and wonderfully, emotionally complex. I’m so thankful to have been able to see it with my own eyes. (Sorry readers – no pics were allowed, you’ll just have to trust me.)

After that I was feeling quite good. I had seen everything I wanted to see, my feet weren’t killing me despite 6 hours in the boots and I even managed to find my way back to the hostel on a new route, woo hoo! I collected my things, sent a couple quick emails and was packin’ for the train station.

Originally I had planned on catching a 6:00 train, but due to the Last Supper, I was now aiming for something closer to 8. Turns out there was a 7:55, 8:05 and 8:15 train all heading to Verona (my next destination). By the time I got to the station, it was too close to catch the 7:55 (which was also the quickest train). I stood in line at one of the fast-ticket machines to try and book for one of the other trains. Unfortunately the woman in front of me couldn’t figure the machine out. And just when she would get to the last step, she would cancel and start over. I kept thinking, she’s gonna figure it out any second now – so I continued to wait instead of finding a new machine (this was my first mistake).

By the time she got out of my way, it was already 8:10. I only had the 8:15 left to catch or I was going to have to wait at least another hour. I printed my ticket and scurried to the platforms. I scanned the departure list, but it didn’t list Verona anywhere. I begin asking people for help, but no one spoke English. I finally found a woman who spoke “a leetle” and she helped me figure out the platform. I ran over there and – no train. At that point I was so frustrated and confused I began to cry. Then this Italian man spots me and asks me what is wrong (in Italian) and I tell him in English, but of course he can’t understand me, but he takes me to the ticket counter and we learn the next train isn’t until 9:15 and doesn’t arrive until 11:07. This makes me considerably nervous since the hostel I’m going to closes at 11:30 and I only have a vague idea of where I’m going. But what choice do I have?

So the Italian man waits with me for a while and tells me he has two daughters, so when he sees me cry, he feels it in his heart (or at least this is what I like to think he said, based on my small Italian vocabulary and pantomiming). Eventually I tell him I am okay and he doesn’t have to wait (mostly because I want to burst into tears in private, but it’s also an hour wait and that’s a long time – especially when you can’t chat). Eventually the board lists my platform number and I get on the train. I’m pretty anxious since I’m not excited about finding my way around a new city at night and with no map…especially when the consequences of not finding it mean I’m sleeping on the street.

As the time of departure comes and goes, an announcement is made that there is a problem with one of the cars and there will be a 15 minute delay – CRAP!! Now I’m really starting to freak out. I don’t have a minute to spare. So I start really studying the one make-shift map I do have so I can bust out and try to make it. 15 minutes come and go and they make another announcement – it’s going to be another 20 minutes before we leave. Now I’m totally and utterly screwed.

So I get off the train (because I don’t know what else to do) and I go to the customer care office and ask if I can use my ticket tomorrow instead – I can’t possibly travel tonight now. The agent stamps my ticket, writes something on it and says yes – that’s fine. I run around looking for a phone to see if I can stay in the same hostel again (but the office closes at10 and it’s 9:59). I get a hold of them and they say, sure! No problem (and the office closes at midnight). Whew!

So I retrace my steps, get back on the metro, and go back to the hostel. It’s now almost 11, I’ve been wearing my boots for 12 hours, my feet are killing me and I didn’t end up eating lunch or dinner (before you get upset with me – I had breakfast during lunch and was planning on dinner, but the Last Supper and whole-train-fiasco got in the way.) I was truly exhausted, and it had been a crappy night. Thankfully my roommate was English speaking Kath from New Zealand and she listened to my whole story. After that and a good foot soak, I felt much better. Here’s hoping tomorrow in Verona is much better…