Sunday morning in Milan: rain and reflections
It's just after noon here in Milan, and I'm sitting by the window of my small hotel room, watching raindrops create patterns on the glass. The light rain that started this morning has been steadily increasing, confirming the yellow weather warning that's apparently in effect until tomorrow.
I woke up early, as usual, and was out the door by 8:30. The hotel receptionist looked surprised to see someone heading out so enthusiastically on a dreary Sunday morning. I couldn't help it though - I had Milan to discover and only arrived yesterday afternoon.
My first stop was the Duomo, Milan's magnificent cathedral. I arrived at 8:50 for the 9:00 opening, which gave me time to stand in the piazza and take in the imposing facade. Even with the overcast sky, the white marble gleamed impressively. When the doors opened, I joined the small crowd of early visitors and spent nearly two hours inside, marveling at the vastness of the interior and the intricate stained glass windows.
The highlight was climbing to the rooftop terraces. Despite the threatening clouds, the views over Milan were spectacular. I wandered among the forest of spires and statues, ducking occasionally under the lower archways. What struck me most was how the cathedral seems to exist in two worlds simultaneously - below, the busy commercial heart of Milan with its designer stores and cafés, and above, this silent stone garden populated by centuries-old sculptures facing outward to the city.
As I descended, the first raindrops began to fall. Perfect timing, I thought, as I headed to a nearby café for a mid-morning coffee. The espresso was rich and intense - quite different from what I'm used to, but excellent in its own way. I watched Milanese locals coming in, shaking off umbrellas, greeting each other with kisses on both cheeks, and carrying on animated conversations that filled the small space with energy.
The rain picked up as I left the café, so I decided to seek shelter in the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II, the elegant 19th-century shopping arcade adjacent to the Duomo. I wasn't there to shop (the luxury boutiques are well beyond my budget), but to admire the architecture - the soaring glass dome, the mosaic floors, and the overall sense of grandeur. It felt like stepping into another era.
By 11:30, with the rain showing no signs of letting up, I made my way back to the hotel. My shoes are now drying by the radiator, and I'm contemplating my next move. The weather forecast suggests the rain might ease up later this afternoon, so I might venture out again to explore the Brera district, which I've read is full of charming streets and galleries.
This contrast between Zermatt and Milan couldn't be more striking. Two days ago, I was in a car-free alpine village surrounded by mountains and crisp air. Now I'm in this sprawling, sophisticated city with its mixture of historical grandeur and modern energy. The transition feels abrupt but invigorating - exactly the kind of contrast I was seeking.
I've been on the road for 68 days now, with 432 still ahead. Sometimes that number - 432 - seems impossibly large, a mountain of days still to climb. Other times, like today, I worry it won't be enough to see everything I want to see, to experience the transformations I'm seeking.
The rain is coming down harder now, drumming against the window. I think I'll use this time to plan the next few days in Milan. 'The Last Supper' requires advance booking, I've learned, so I should sort that out. There's also the Sforza Castle, the Brera Art Gallery, and perhaps a day trip to Lake Como if the weather improves.
For now though, I'm content to listen to the rain, to be still for a moment in this new city that will be home for the next few days. There's something comforting about being inside while the weather does its thing outside - a small pocket of tranquility in this otherwise bustling metropolis.
15°C and rainy in Milan - day 68 of 500