The Last Supper: worth the wait

Sitting in a quiet café now, still processing what I just experienced. It's just after 1pm, and I'm sipping an espresso that's far too small for the caffeine hit I need, but somehow perfect for this contemplative moment.

This morning was all about one thing: Leonardo da Vinci's masterpiece. After booking my ticket days ago (thankfully!), I arrived at Santa Maria delle Grazie at 9:50 for my 10:00 timeslot. The church complex is unassuming from the outside - you'd never guess it houses one of the most famous paintings in human history.

I waited with about 15 others, all of us eyeing our watches as the minutes ticked by. At exactly 10:00, we were ushered through security and into a series of climate-controlled chambers before finally entering the refectory.

And there it was.

I've seen countless reproductions, but nothing prepares you for the real thing. The fresco spans an entire wall, larger than I imagined. Despite its deterioration over the centuries, the emotional impact is overwhelming. The moment captured - Jesus announcing his betrayal and the disciples' varied reactions - feels frozen in time yet somehow alive.

What struck me most was the perspective. Da Vinci created this mathematical miracle where all lines converge behind Christ's head, making him the literal and figurative center of everything. I stood there for the full 15 minutes we were allowed, barely moving, barely breathing.

There's something profound about experiencing art that has survived for over 500 years. It connects you to humanity across time in a way few things can. As I stood there, I couldn't help wondering what will remain of our digital creations five centuries from now.

After leaving the refectory, I wandered through the church itself, which would be a destination in its own right even without The Last Supper. The Dominican cloister provided a peaceful spot to sit and reflect on what I'd seen.

I walked back toward the center, taking a different route than yesterday. Milan reveals itself differently on foot - each neighborhood has its own character, its own rhythm. The sunny weather (15°C according to my phone) made the walk particularly pleasant.

I've been thinking about time a lot lately. Not just the 15 minutes with Da Vinci's masterpiece, but the 70 days I've been traveling and the 430 still ahead. The way time stretches and compresses depending on what you're doing. Standing before The Last Supper, 15 minutes felt like both an eternity and an instant.

Tomorrow I'm planning to take that day trip to Lake Como. The forecast mentions fog warnings starting this evening, but tomorrow should be clear enough for the lake. I've heard November is actually a lovely time to visit - fewer crowds, still-pleasant temperatures, and that magical autumn light on the water.

For now, I'll finish this espresso and perhaps find somewhere for lunch. Milan continues to surprise me with its blend of ancient and modern, sacred and profane. I'm glad I decided to spend these days here - the city rewards those who take time to look beyond the obvious.

Seventy days into this journey, I'm starting to understand something about transformation. It doesn't happen in grand epiphanies, but in quiet moments like this - sitting in a café, reflecting on a 500-year-old painting, watching the light change on a city I didn't know last week.