And the first day I slept. Just like I told you I wanted to do. I got in around 9:00 am. So thankful I flew into Milan–it was quiet, the airport was small with very few people. No restaurants or shops or Hudson News. Just stand in line, stamp your passport, and you’re off!

I took a taxi to the hotel about an hour away. It was the smoothest riding car, smoothest roads I have ever ridden on. I seriously get car sick, like no joke, but this was somehow so perfect.

I walked into my hotel room, washed my hands, brushed my teeth, took my shoes off, and fell asleep. It was strange, not stressed, not really sleepy, but I just wanted to lie down.

I slept until about 5:30 (or 17:30….I’m learning). I took a shower put fresh clothes on and headed out.

The neighborhood I’m staying in feels eerily similar to Main Street Memphis. Trees lining the sidewalks, tracks down the street, quiet most of the time, but alive occasionally. Such a strange feeling to have flown across an ocean to walk out and feel like home.

I found dinner in a small cafe with little cut paper houses sitting around with candles lit inside. I’m early so it’s nearly empty, but I settle in with a glass of wine and read about my camera.

I watch everyone start to trickle in. They are are all so beautiful. An older couple walks in with their vespa helmets, each with a leather jacket, their sculptural eyeglasses, their clothes so tailored. They sit down and talk quietly. Two older men walk in. Everyone wears a button down with a sweater or vest and a jacket. They look like George Clooney’s cousins or something, I don’t understand how they’re so beautiful. They take their jackets off and one of the guys rolls up his sleeves. They get wine, some tartare (something I have seen frequently but haven’t tried yet) and begin talking intently, leaning across the table, gesturing. Then someone says something hilarious and they bust out laughing and talking in high-pitched voices, I can’t help but smile. I have no idea what they’re saying, but I’m now listening. They start to smile through their conversation then uproarious laughter again. I’m obsessed.

I also discover that “basta” and “pasta” sound very similar when someone comes over to ask about your food…”Oh, yes, I’m getting pasta…um no, still eating my salad…yes pasta…no not finished…pasta…you know what, yeah I’m finished with my salad…pasta…” I’m so sorry. I can’t distinguish some sounds on a good day, and the plane ride has ruined my ears, and well, my Italian is completely terrible at best. I’m so embarrassed. I’m such an idiot. But everyone is so damn nice.

The next day I find a camera store after my cappuccino and breakfast. I bought a fixed lens for my new camera, which I didn’t fully realize when I was ordering so quickly from Amazon. It’s great, but I’m nervous about it since I’ve never used one, and I’ve already been in a weird situation where I wanted to make a photo and couldn’t get the composition quite right…Making me think a bit differently, which is fun, but anyway.

“Buongiorno. I’m looking for a zoom lens for my fuji camera”

“Buongiorno. Let me look and see what I have……………….Ah, this. Only one.”

He puts it on my camera for me to try. It’s HUGE. An $8,000 lens. Good lord. “I’m sorry, I can’t do $8,000….”

He asks how long I’m in town, I leave Saturday, and he offers to order one to be here Friday. Smaller, cheaper. So kind. He will email or text me when it comes in. Until then, some slightly weird photos while I figure it out. My dear friend Ryan says I’m the only person he’s known to go all the way to Italy to buy a zoom lens. Yes, yes I am.

I leave the camera store and I’m on my way again. Walking toward Milan Cathedral. Duomo di Milano. I don’t really know what to expect.

Obviously the buildings on my way are incredible, each one postcard worthy, photo worthy, remember-this-forever worthy. As you walk along you look in through portals ever so often in the buildings and see beautiful courtyards. Breathtaking. I’m certain everyone thinks I’m crazy when I dive into those spots and soak in the image for a second. Several people look over to see what’s going on. Nothing, just a tourist.

I walk through a galleria–Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II. Prada, Louis Vuitton, what on earth. Unreal. The fact that Wolfchase is also called a Galleria suddenly infuriates me. What a joke compared to this.

I come through the other side and look to the left and see the Cathedral. It looks like lace, or a wedding cake, every inch carved in stone. Massive and intricate at the same time. I had not expected to go in, I’m not, like, “in to cathedrals” or anything. But I decide to buy a ticket. It also gets me on the roof, which I really want to see.

I walk in and can’t really fathom how enormous the space is. Immense. It’s honestly unlike anything I’ve experienced. And then to think construction began in 1386 and took nearly 600 years to complete. It’s time and craft and material and labor that my brain cannot comprehend. And that we are walking on the roof of this place. Who gets to make a stone roof anymore?

I walk out and decide to check out the museum across the piazza–Museo del Novecento. There are Aldo Rossi banners all around, so I’m hoping for a Rossi exhibit. Unfortunately, (or fortunately depending on what you like) it’s mostly about the Italian futurists. Not my jam, but I check out the art and make my way through. And then I get to some outstanding modern and contemporary art. Damn, now this is my jam. I see Sol LeWitt from across the room. And find a wonderful artist I’ve never heard of (of course, because there are millions of people making incredible things, just happy when I see something wonderful)–Antonio Scaccabarozzi. I buy a book and make my way back to my hotel to drop things off and hang out before the evening.

I was so proud, I got myself back, a 40 minute walk at least, without using my phone to navigate. I hit 20,000 steps as I start the trek.

Later I walk around a bit until I find a quiet, dark cafe to grab some food. Again, I’m early. Probably because I skip lunch and am still adjusting to the time. There’s only a couple next to me, and a guy also dining alone a few tables over. It’s quiet. I order a glass of wine, check in with some of my people, and read the news.

About 45 minutes later everyone starts coming in. The place gets so lively. I love the laughter. I love the people watching.

I have one airpod in listening to music. My music.

There’s something about listening to Luther Dickinson in a crowded Milan restaurant. The juxtaposition is almost startling, but somehow so comforting. Alive.

“Meet me over in the city
In the city, things so fine
We’ll get together, ah yes we will girl
Oh yes, we will
We’ll make everything alright now, honey don’t, oh honey don’t”

(That song was written by Junior Kimbrough, who is incredible. It’s been covered so many times, but I want you to listen to his version too.)

I randomly look up to the window and see something that makes my heart stop. There is a small toy car sitting on top of an old cash register in the window display. It’s the same exact car my dad had, the same exact one that sat on his nightstand my entire life, the same exact one that now sits on my mantel at home. In the exact same way, with the hood open.

Tears start running down my face. Not really crying, just the emotion spilling out a bit.

Damn.

I walk home in the light drizzle at about 22:00.

This morning I bought a new backpack, a bit bigger, more comfortable, an Osprey with an internal frame. (Emily: “Whyyyyyyyyy….???) 40% off. I’ll just check my luggage on the way home…slightly less worried about that. (Yes, I bought a new backpack, it’s an obsession at this point).

And now I’m sitting in a swanky little cafe. Fresh-pressed apple juice with ginger is my new favorite thing. The music is so strange….Hits from home. But like, old, sung in a coffee shop type of way. Why do I know the words to this song….?

Oh, because it’s “Crazy In Love,” but this is hilariously not Beyonce.

I love it here.