Milan’s Duomo: “The Awful Failure”
Word of the Day: Boh /bo/
Italian slang for “I don’t know” or “I have no idea.” A useful phrase for expressing one’s lack of knowledge when exploring Italy. Often expressed as “boh?” or its more emphatic variant “boh?!?”
College study abroad gave me such mixed memories of this place. During my hand-to-mouth days, my friends and I had pulled a memorable all-nighter here before fleeing Italy. On the same trip, a security officer at Milan Malpensa Airport had found my passport picture “so very ugly” that he did not believe that I was the same person. While my passport picture truly was a disgrace to my face, I had never thought that it was THAT bad. But I digress.
Anyhow, years have passed, my passport picture (retaken) remains questionable, and once again I found myself in Milan Malpensa Airport buying a train ticket bound for the center of the city. The process for getting into the city is easy peasy, just don’t forget to scan your train pass at the yellow machine before getting on the train or the officials will yell at you. And forty-ish minutes later, you will emerge into the Milano Centrale train station.
The Milano Centrale train station is almost indescribably grotesque. Composed on a large, blocky scale and composed of multiple artistic styles, this architectural behemoth is certainly noteworthy. Even before I knew that Mussolini had intended for the building to serve as a monument to fascism, something about it always made me uneasy. This was hardly helped by the fact that a secret underground track transported hundreds of Jews to concentration camps during the Holocaust. Whether it is a monument or an eyesore, I’ll leave that for you to decide, but it is definitely a striking building that is worth a second look.
We then traveled the short distance between the train station and our hotel to drop off our bags and dragged our jetlagged selves to the Duomo. Along the way, we were sidetracked by Panzerotti Luini, a cheap and wonderful eatery whose bright tomatoey aroma wafted and warmed the cool air. We would soon learn that panzerotti are like Italian empanadas, with sweet(ish) dough on the outside and gooey cheese, tomato sauce, and meat on the inside. Basically, all-around fried deliciousness that seems kind of like a cousin of the calzone? Either way, they are so, so good.
After going back for seconds, we then returned to our original quest of finding the Duomo. After misplacing the entrance several times, we finally began the adventure of climbing the winding staircases. And you will be climbing for quite a while, as this is the second-largest cathedral in Italy and the fifth-largest church in the world. Looking at it pragmatically, it had better be the biggest or best at something, as it took around six centuries to build to completion.
In a strange and interesting twist of fate, the Gothic cathedral was completed thanks to Napoleon Bonaparte lying through his teeth and saying that the French Treasurer would recompense them for their costs. Although the builders were never reimbursed, Napoleon did get a fancy statue of himself erected on a spire. Honestly, I might lie too–the effect of the completed cathedral is spectacular, with the added benefit that you can walk through a complicated network of spires, archways, buttresses, and gargoyles.
After descending, we made our way into the interior of the building. All I could remember was a distant paraphrase of Oscar Wilde’s disdain for the building. Which, honestly, is even better when read in full:
“The Cathedral is an awful failure. Outside the design is monstrous and inartistic. The over-elaborated details stuck high up where no one can see them; everything is vile in it; it is, however, imposing and gigantic as a failure, through its great size and elaborate execution.”
Although I absolutely adore Oscar Wilde, I have to disagree with him here. Part of the charm of Milan is the shameless borrowing that goes on in the architecture (and my previously-mentioned fondness for the gaudy Milano Train Station). There’s even a particularly grotesque statue of a saint who wears his flayed skin over his shoulders like a shawl (um, gross). This argument of praise is directly rooted in ignorance of architectural norms and a keen appreciation for intriguing oddities. Speaking of oddities.
All said and done, I preferred the exterior to the interior. And you don’t have to take it from me–Mark Twain and Alfred, Lord Tennyson both wrote about enjoying the view up top. Oh, and if you have money to burn, you can always adopt a gargoyle for the purposes of preservation. You won’t get a statue of yourself on a spire, but you WILL get your name carved on a gargoyle, which is almost as good. Highly recommend a visit.
Report Card | Grade: A-
November 25, 2014