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I realize I haven’t mentioned our publicist Elana in any of these blogs yet. She deserves a mention because she was wonderful. I love having people who are good at their jobs and just do them. She was also our life line while we were there. The person who we saw the most of, and who stayed with us between Milan and Rome. I have to say when Paolo left us, and we realized we’d have a different interpreter in Rome, Jon and I felt like kids being shipped off to a strange and potentially unfriendly summer camp. Olga, our interpreter in Rome was wonderful. She made us feel welcome and it was great. But there was a moment in t he airport waiting to get the plane to Rome. The plane had been delayed because of bad weather in Rome. One report had a small hurricane hit the edges of the city. Elana assured us this never happens. It turned out later that it was some freak wind gusts that did, or did not, depending on who you spoke with, knock over some trees on the edge of the city. Whatever was happening, it was one more stress to the idea of getting on a smaller plane and flying to Rome. The moment in the airport was when Elana was on her cell phone and had walked away so she could find a quieter place to talk. Jon and I lost track of her for a moment. I sat up, looked around, a little frantically. I saw her, felt relieved, and turned to Jon and said, “This must be how Sasquatch feels. (One of our pugs.)” Jon said, “What do you mean?” “Well, we can’t understand what anyone is saying, we look around for the person who’s suppose to be in charge of us. We hope she’s making the right decisions, but we have to trust that she is, we don’t know. It must be how Sasquatch feels about us sometimes when we take him places and he doesn’t know why and what’s going on.”
We eventually got on the plane and it was fine. Though the smaller the plane the more likely my claustrophobia is to come on-line. It did, but oh, well. Had to do it. Did it.
Rome was warmer than Milan. November is winter there, too. It’s not usually much below forty, but that can still feel pretty cold if you’ve left your winter coat in the United States. We did what a lot of the Italians did; leather suit jacket, scarf, gloves. It was practically a uniform over there. Though more in Rome than Milan, because Milan gets colder. When we got back to the states people kept asking how sunny Italy was; I think most people forget that they have seasons, too.
We had one day free in Milan. We walked the streets. Because that’s what you do in cities in Italy. You walk. A lot. It’s healthy, and you get to know the city in a way that driving by in a car would never allow.
What we didn’t know when we arrived in Milan was that Italians don’t eat breakfast the way Americans do, and it was Sunday. So a lot of restraurant near the hotel were closed until late. The hotel restaurant had closed their breakfast and would not be open until much later. Jon and I woke late, still tired and jet lagged. We ate some of the protein bars we’d brought with us, drank some bottled water, and went on an expedition for food.
We should have asked more questions about when things opened, and didn’t open about food, but we just didn’t think about it. We knew we wanted to see the Duomo, so we started walking in that direction. We found a lot of places that had been open for breakfast but now at about ten o’clock they were closed, and lunch was at least two hours away. We figured that if anything would be catering to the weird hours of tourist it would be near one of the largest tourist attractions of the city. So off we went.
We found this little cafe like restaurant. No one spoke English. It was our first time trying out the broken Italian we’d managed to pick up over the last few days. Though, our friend Richard had taught us two phrases that he knew we would need. Te caldo, hot tea, and aqua natrale, still water. Apparently unless you ask water at the table is always sparkling. But we knew what a pizza magherita was; basically cheese pizza. It’s healthier in Italy, thin crust, more natural ingredients. Almost all the food was healthier in Italy. I’ll do a blog later about food, and how Italian restaurants in the states have very little in common with food in Italy. Anyway, the waitress was very kind and let us talk to her in Italian, and she managed a little English. People kept telling us that everyone here spoke English. We ran into quite a few that did not. Usually when we were on our own and didn’t have anyone to speak Italian for us. Actually, Jon and I began to try and speak Italian, as opposed to English, when we could. It helped us get better at it, faster. Most people did speak English, but they seemed very pleased with our efforts to speak Italian to them. Apparently, most Americans don’t try.
We finally made it to the Duomo. We actually sat in the pews at the back for part of the service. I don’t know how to describe the experience. This is a place that people have been coming to worship Diety for centuries. It is sacred space. It was so beautiful, I cried. We would see other buildings in Rome that were, perhaps, more technically beautiful, but nothing else would move me as much as this cathedral did.
There is a Mary altar to the side of the main area. It has some seats, but it also has a altar rail to kneel at, and to pray. In front of that railing is a huge area covered in white taper candles. They are for people’s prayers, wishes, burning bright before the feet of the Mother of God. I know why people come to Mary so often. She just seems more approachable than the God that the church has made. She seems like someone who will listen and not judge. People need that. We need that feminine energy, as well that masculine power. We donated to the altar, and took our candles, and looked for a place to put them among the hundreds of tapers that were already there. It was hard to find an empty place. We managed. Jon even re-lit a candle that had burned out before it had finished for someone else. People kept warning us before we went to the cathedral that the front was covered by scaffolding and cloth, because they are restoring the outside. But it didn’t matter, not at all. Once we crossed the threshold, the outside didn’t matter, it was what was inside that counted. No amount of scaffolding could take away from that.