The Permanent Tourist

A little backstory on this one… the husband and I got married in 2018, but we never went on a honeymoon afterwards. We finally decided to remedy that, and using the wonders of Travel Zoo, we purchased vouchers for a nine night stay at an all-inclusive Maldivian resort on one of the private islands with their iconic overwater bungalows. Quite the splurge. We had a couple friends that were living in Japan at the time, and we decided we’d make a pit stop to see them on the way to the remote islands. However, that same couple completely altered that plan, and crashed our honeymoon since they hadn’t had one either! Just like that, the Quad-Honeymoon was born. But now on to Milan, Italy where we made a pit stop before and after visiting the tropical island paradise.

My new favorite way to start exploring a city is by going on a food/walking/history tour – the most important part being food. This girl likes to eat! We met up with our Guide, Armando, in a park in central Milan. Armando was from Napoli in southern Italy, which just happened to be where my long-lost relatives were from. The only other participants were a couple from San Diego. And off we went!

Milan has a funny way of feeding both your soul and your stomach in the same afternoon, and the walking tour proved it with almost comedic efficiency. We started at the Basilica of San Simpliciano, a fourth-century Roman Catholic church so old it practically creaks with holiness, and just as we were feeling appropriately humbled, our stomachs growled loud enough to echo off the frescoes.

Cue La Prosciutteria, where a wine glass and a charcuterie board the size of a manhole cover await, piled with cured meats that seem to have been aged specifically to make you forget you were ever spiritually contemplative. From there it’s a short, slightly wobbly stroll to Guido Gobino, purveyor of chocolate candies so rich and hazelnut-y they make Nutella look like a rough draft, and you’ll find yourself doing that thing where you buy “a few for later,” and eat them all before turning the corner.

The grand finale was Zia Esterina Sorbillo, where sorbet and gelato are made fresh on site, colors so vivid they look almost illegal, and one spoonful convinced you that Milan’s real cathedral is actually made of frozen fruit and cream. By the end, you’ve technically toured history, but really you’ve just eaten your way through it, one delightfully unrepentant bite at a time. With that, the guided food tour came to an end. Never fear, the husband and I continued successfully exploring the city on our own, our stomaches as our chaperones.

Upon returning from the Maldives, we elected to stay in Milan for a few extra days. In the southern part of the city, I found a quaint little AirBnB in the Navigli district that was slightly off the beaten path. The most prominent feature of that district was the lazily-flowing canal that ran down the center. On either side, restaurants and bars had erected pergolas and umbrellas for a copious amount of outdoor seating. Even during those chilly November days, the tables were cluttered with bundled up people, clutching hot beverages in a futile attempt to warm their hands. At night, the canal buzzed with activity as patrons wandered in and out of cafes and shops and bars.

Quadrilatero della Moda was the main shopping district in Milan. The main drag, Via Monte Napoleone, was lined with designer shops, their lights and bling sparkling in the daylight. Other buildings were littered with posh cafes and neoclassical mansions. The husband and I spent a few hours wandering the streets until the rain chased us in doors. We settled in one of those chic cafes, Cafè de Ville, which overlooked Sforzesco Castle, a medieval fortification towering over the pedestrian street. We ordered steamy caffeine- laden beverages. The barristas staged a tiny, glorious performance in a cup. Start with a cappuccino, the foam so silky and dense it held a perfect dome, dusted with cocoa that dissolves the moment it met your lips. I devoured a Kouign-amann, which is a sweet, round pastry garnished with chocolate flakes.

Visiting Milan requires a trip to the Duomo, a towering cathedral crawling with people. It is dedicated to the Nativity of St. Mary, and it is the seat of the Archbishop of Milan. After paying a nominal fee, we climbed the stone stairs up to the terraces. Once up on the roof of the complex, we were greeted with expansive views across the city. Buttresses jutted towards the sky in every direction as if they were reaching for the heavens. The descent led us down a different set of winding steps, allowing for a sneak peek into the sanctuary.

For our last night in the city, we yearned for a rich, Italian feast. Dinner unfolded at Vetusta Insigna, a restaurant that felt less like a dining room and more like a wine cellar that had learned to cook — ancient brick walls climbing floor to ceiling, stacked with dozens of wine bottles that seemed to glow faintly in the candlelights. We were greeted with the most impeccable plates, expertly garnished with scrumptious meats, cheeses and luscious sauces. To wash it down, the waiter uncorked a bold red wine as a pallet cleanser.

Afterward, full from both food and wine, we went looking for The Back Door, the kind of secret pub that doesn’t bother announcing itself. We found the nondescript pass-through window, and behind it, a pair of disembodied hands mixing drinks with the calm precision of someone who knows you’re watching and doesn’t care. Rumor has it if the bartender likes you, a hidden door swings open and you’re pulled into whatever’s happening on the other side. We stood there, hopeful, charming as we could manage — and got nothing but a shaken cocktail passed through the slot.

Not wanting the night to come to an end, we meandered into a dimly lit pub with colorful bottles adorning the back wall. As a little bizare twist, the other bar patron was a giant teddy bear. The bartender didn’t just make drinks, he composed them, like each cocktail was a tiny piece of edible art with a shot of gin in it. Watching him work was half the show – he cracked a clear ice cube with the precision of a sculptor, added a vivid green mint leaf for a burst of peppermint swirling through the air. Another comes layered in impossible gradients of color, deep plum fading into rose fading into gold, so precise it looks airbrushed rather than poured. Observing was always just the opening act for something that tasted even better than it looked.

And with that, we departed Italy richer in experiences, knowledge, and a new appreciation for Italy’s version of Nutella.

November 2024