It's Chic to Walk

A day in Milan Italy

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Around 6:30 a.m., I rolled out of my twin bunk, quickly got ready, and set out for a hour-walk to my favorite gluten-free Milanese bakery. Loretto, the slice of Milan my hostel was located in, was around an hour walk from most of the staple bakeries, shops, and tourist spots in general. Normally I don’t wake up until around 9 a.m. and go for a run shortly after. In Milan, it is very normal to see runners between 6-8 a.m.—any later than that, you risk encountering irritated well-dressed tourists and locals that you’ll have to ping-pong yourself through.

I prioritized walking everywhere for a few reasons; it’s a lot more chic walking, it’s cheap obviously, and it was my time to ground myself in the ambiance of Milan. In the morning, Milan felt like you’d just escaped into your grandma’s cabinet of antique knick knack villages. You’d see incredible greenery attempting to overtake venerable residences, bursts of sun illuminating the craftsmanship of historic Milanese statues, quaint vintage shops, and you might just pass sweet nonni on their daily stroll. 

After satisfying my craving for gluten-free cream croissants at Pan Per Me, I walked in whichever direction felt like it was calling to me. I’d become very good at recognizing where I was in relation to my personal Milan landmarks: the Duomo, the park with Bosco Verticale, and Milano Centrale. With that being said, I recognized nearly nothing about Milan and frequently struggled navigating the city without my phone.

On my aimless journey, I passed a lamp bodega and stopped to window shop. I fantasized what my home might look like accessorized with any of those Italian lamps I’d longed to miraculously bring along in my checked backpack. I had plenty of time before my 3 p.m. shift, so I decided to gradually make my way to the park with Bosco Verticale. 

It’s very ideal to carry a “freshen-up” kit when exploring Milan. Around that time it started to get a little too warm for a gal that is typically cold. Keep in mind that it might be best to pack miniature items such as deodorants, perfume, sunscreen sticks, and anything else you may need after walking around religiously. Also, collapsible water bottles are the way to go, throughout Milan and many other Italian cities there are nasoni—public water fountains— with cold potable water. 

I spent an hour in a visual indulgence with the Bosco Verticale, a wide green park, and people embracing the mundane. I journaled yesterday’s events and stretched my feet into the grass blades. I was reminded that it was time to start my walk back by my alarm and the alarming sight of a man behind me clipping his toenails. Maybe it’s a European thing, but that was the second time I’d witnessed that in a public setting. 

Milan is easy to romanticize, but such as my toenail-cutting pal, there are a few things that are not romantic such as the traffic. Vespas, bicyclists, and Italian Little Tikes-mobiles will not yield to pedestrians. Amongst many things related to getting hit and struck dead in the middle of an intersection, I couldn’t help but think of how embarrassing it would be to go out that way. Chicly walking one moment, and the next, annihilated by an angry Italian in a compact car. Therefore I tried to be overly mindful after a few too many close-calls. 

Today I was greeted by the two Italian boys I babysat and tutored, as they slightly cracked the door open and quickly ran to their room. I meet with one boy and my work partner is paired with the other, though we do occasionally switch for schedule changes, or to remind Leonardo that babysitters can be stern and intimidating—so my work partner will pair with him. We typically do a bit of homework and a lot of incentivizing the kids to actually do their homework with play breaks. 

Today Leonardo and I studied outside in the family’s  patio that overlooks their robust-eclectic garden. He struggled with some of the reading tasks mainly due to his lack of interest, so we prioritized math problems and playing soccer. We also took a few extra breaks so Leonardo could run off and try to fight his brother and play his favorite songs on repeat; Testify and Killing in the Name. Then at the end of the day, I logged how much he read and chatted with his mom before leaving. 

One of the streets I took back to the hostel was clustered with people and the bellowing sound of a trumpet. There must have been a festival of some sort, so my work partner and I decided to observe and embrace its’ random informal-ambiance. So many people were bouncing and dancing around and it made me appreciate today even more.

I stopped at a cute Italian restaurant near the hostel and asked “Avete qualcosa senza glutine qui?” to which the waiter replied, “Yes we have pasta and salads that don’t have gluten”. The carbonara I ate after fueled me just enough to just say “Grazie” to the waiter after that interaction.

After getting back to the hostel, the staff was having a celebration for a gal quitting to pursue her own travel aspirations. We all drank wine and tried to mingle as I hoped to pick up Italian while simultaneously conversing with another girl in Spanish—which proved to be much easier two glasses in.

I eventually crawled back into the rickety bed I’d started my day in, still giddy from the wine. How different my life had become from just a few months ago to today; and today I’ll sleep in my room with five other people, but tomorrow I’m going to Venice.