Well, I had my first Kimbo coffee, which is a Neapolitan coffee, a bit more brusque than Illy or Lavazza, which are the usual coffees found in MIlan, but I saw my chance and grabbed it. Of course, I was in the train station in Milan……and it was still light years better than any brew I can get in Alaska. Oh, and by the way, a macchiato WITH a complimentary LINDT dark chocolate bite, was 1 Euro. Before I left, which was under a minute as coffee drinking is not a social event of the American kind, two KIMBO-lanyard-wearing company reps showed up and checked a number of things, from lifting unopened bags to see if they were full, (this appeared to be the lackey trying to look useful), to tapping the hardware with a pen, to checking out the stack of cups. I am not sure what exactly they were able to ascertain from all that collected data but it all looked very official, especially the lanyards. I’m putting my money on the fact that when a bunch of Southern Yahoos from Naples try to break into the Northern coffee market, they better get everything right. Giving away Lindt chocolate can’t hurt I suppose.
If I say my entire body hurts will it sound like I am whining? Well, not my head, or my teeth, they are fine, but all the rest is screaming at me since my inaugural museum crawl. Standing on those marble floors, however beautifully they maybe mosaiced, is VERY had on my feet and back…and this is only day one of the art tour. I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Coming up out of the subway in the Piazza Duomo and seeing that giant Gothic cathedral looming in front of me always makes me smile.
However, with only a few hours to see the Ambrosiana Museum, I headed straight for that to see my favorite Caravaggio in the world. When I say straight for the museum I use that only as colloquialism, it took nearly an hour for me to actually find it. The map provided by the hotel and the one I tore out of my guide-book didn’t provide any real, or should I say accurate guidance. It didn’t help that even with glasses the print grows smaller every year. I followed the maze of unmarked streets the map showed but couldn’t really rate my progress with the actual streets quite visibly labeled. I asked a LOT of people. Everyone provided an answer. Qua, de la, straight then left, etc., etc. None of them actually got me there though. As dusk was falling I wondered if I should abort my trip and try again in the morning – but no, the call of the Basket of Fruit was on me. Eventually, I got there and it was as glorious as ever. The real prize of the collection, even though a partial Da Vinci Codex Atlanticus was on display in the same room, everyone gravitated to the fruit. I made three separate pilgrimages to the painting arousing my own personal guard. I like realism, and this painting is spectacular.
I made careful note of my way out to insure I could find it again and sure enough it was directly across from the Duomo, one street away, plain sight – if you know what you’re looking for and ignore the maps.