Liquid Lombardy
I've heard that like Victoria Beckham, Milan is hideously expensive, undergoing constant maintenance and bereft of culture other than shopping. Additionally I've heard it's vacuous, self important and a right bitch. So learning the lesson of Stockholm, Chris and I cut our visit from five days to two.
Our hotel was in a rural area called Vergiate, half an hour from the airport and near the lakes that the Lombardy region is famous for. It was already late afternoon and we barely had time to settle in and find somewhere to eat.
Our hotel was in a rural area called Vergiate, half an hour from the airport and near the lakes that the Lombardy region is famous for. It was already late afternoon and we barely had time to settle in and find somewhere to eat.
There was a small family run restaurant next door to the hotel and the woman there had a face like thunder when we entered. Perhaps foreigners were not too welcome in these parts?
She ducked into the kitchen where Pots and pans clanked and clanged. She emitted a highly aggressive barrage of staccato syllables. A gruff, male voice protested vociferously. She emerged smiling and triumphant. After that she was a lot more friendly. Thank goodness for family squabbles!Chris ate here, but the menu wasn't suitable for me so we decided to walk into town to find another restaurant.
Outside it was dark and raining. Apparently it had been raining for three days without a break. As we walked, the rain slowly and insipidly soaked into our clothes. It was a steady, constant rain - not torrential - but drains were popping and fizzing as they tried to clear the constant stream of water. One central drain in the middle of a road was clearly failing to cope as it bubbled up furiously like a natural fountain.
The rain continued to pour as we searched fruitlessly for a place that was still open. It was as wet as Peter Mandelson and nearly as slippery. I could feel the cold water trickling down my back - not a nice feeling.
Eventually we found a pizzeria that was open. Soaked and bedraggled, we eagerly ducked inside where I managed to get something wholesome to eat. The people who ran the restaurant were extrememly friendly and we drank a little too much wine. With our conversation becoming increasingly lively, we realised at one point we were talking animatedly about the Mafia. A nice subconscious choice, but nobody seemed to mind.
Eventually, with our clothes nearly dry and the rain actually starting to lift slightly, we braved the walk back to the hotel.
The next day we had intented to go into Milan, but neither of us were too enamoured of the place so instead we decided to walk to one of the nearby lakes. The only trouble was that the roads had no paths, and the Italians drive like they have a rod of dynamite with a very short fuse up their arse.
The lake was about 6 miles away, but after suffering the cars for half an hour or so, we found a pleasant rural shortcut.
The rain continued to pour as we searched fruitlessly for a place that was still open. It was as wet as Peter Mandelson and nearly as slippery. I could feel the cold water trickling down my back - not a nice feeling.
Eventually we found a pizzeria that was open. Soaked and bedraggled, we eagerly ducked inside where I managed to get something wholesome to eat. The people who ran the restaurant were extrememly friendly and we drank a little too much wine. With our conversation becoming increasingly lively, we realised at one point we were talking animatedly about the Mafia. A nice subconscious choice, but nobody seemed to mind.
Eventually, with our clothes nearly dry and the rain actually starting to lift slightly, we braved the walk back to the hotel.
The next day we had intented to go into Milan, but neither of us were too enamoured of the place so instead we decided to walk to one of the nearby lakes. The only trouble was that the roads had no paths, and the Italians drive like they have a rod of dynamite with a very short fuse up their arse.
The lake was about 6 miles away, but after suffering the cars for half an hour or so, we found a pleasant rural shortcut.
The only trouble was that it led to a major road that was busier and more dangerous than a bee with a bazooka, so we turned back. I think it was for the best - my head would probably still be dangling from some Fiesta's bumper right now.
So Milano? No.
Vergiate? Yes!
Lovely countryside, kind people, mad drivers. Worth a visit.
