France Interuppted...
I have been 'on the road' for the last few weeks. Back and forth with visits to DD number two in Paris and last week moving DD number one to Italy; she is working in Milan, or should I now say Milano, for six months. Like the snail with the trail, I have been dragging my possessions behind me and leaving my mark wherever I stop. DD's need their mothers (or I like to think that they do) to help them unpack and settle in. Paris was an easy port of call for obvious reasons - knowledge of the city, the people and the language. Milan, not so easy - the city is unfamiliar and the Italian language, other than 'menu talk' a prego, per favore or a grazie not my forte. This is exciting and challenging for my DD and one of the reasons why she chose to work in Italy rather than somewhere she is more accustomed to. She has a sound base of Italian and will grasp the language quickly and Milan is an important centre for European business so her work will be stimulating.
I have a crush on Italy and everything about the relaxed and casual way the Italians celebrate life. I found a soft spot for the flirtatious males and the suspicious females. I respect and admire the importance of the family. I covet the way Italians wear their fashion, ride vespas and eat gelato in the afternoon. I adore the drinking of coffee that goes on all day and I have the taste for eat-all-you-can aperitivo hour. Nevertheless Milan is foreign and felt it. Not because all of the above isn't alive and well in downtown Milan but because there is a big difference between a visit and moving in.
I looked at Milan through her pretty eyes. I forgot about shopping on via Montenapoleone and via Della Spiga, the forthcoming programme at La Scala, Da Vinci's Last Supper and the architectural significance of the Duomo; I was an observer in a new country, in new city without hurry. xv
To be continued...
image - me
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