f is for ferie

It's that time of year in Milan. You'll find it impossible to buy the 14 euro cube of cheese you've innocently had your eye on. Or the 24 euro tub of gelato featuring a whopping two flavors. And just give up trying to order the 50 euro plate of goose salami.

It's not that Milan has been stricken by a wave of sensible and clearly-displayed pricing... We've dropped those hopes along with the idea that the customer is always right and the vague notion that the customer might warrant a blink of attention while shopping. Instead, I'll point at the calendar and remind you that the lack of over-priced goods available in Milan is simply due to the month of the year.



It is August and Milan is closed.

There are entire stretches of neighborhood where every shop is closed. They've been emptied of their inventory and shut behind metal gates and papered windows. There are small signs with drawings of palm trees and sail boats stuck to the windows. These signs all basically say, happy vacation and what the hell are you still doing in Milan?

It's true. Most all of Milan has gone. They've gone to the mountains or the sea and they've clogged the highways with their mass exodus. You can see their absence in apartment windows with all of the security shades drawn. And you can feel it walking along sidewalks empty of their usual rushers and dawdlers. And where, for the love of Milano, are the sidewalk scooters nipping at your heels?



The only remaining neighbors are the ones you wish would move away forever. The ones that sneak into your bedroom and torment you before dawn, yet always wait until well after you've drifted off to sleep. The mosquitoes are here. They haven't left. And despite the proximity of endless and what must be incredibly-alluring rice paddies surrounding Milan, they never will.

Despite the mosquitoes we've almost come to appreciate the surreal August quiet that strangles Milan. Today we even found a gelato. And maybe tomorrow there'll be an olive breadstick. But the thing we're really excited about... The thing we just can't wait for...

September. When the restaurants open again.

ferie means we've gone away

Do not come to Milan in August. Stay wherever you are. Do whatever you do. And please let us visit.

Apparently August is a non-month. It doesn't exist but for vacation. And as August has arrived, the Italians have departed. To lands far from the city. To sea shore and mountains, to fresh air and family. And they have left Milan's dusty, empty streets to us.

We walked around town on Saturday afternoon to assess the damage. We knew this was coming - we'd been warned. Friends had promised that there would be nowhere to shop and that you could wander up the center of the street without fear of motor traffic.



Friday was the first casualty of our comfortable life in Milan. Our bar, the place where we stop for a macchiato and brief Italian chit-chat most mornings, was in full last-day-on-the-job swing. The baristas were in hawaiian shirts and the proprietress wore a straw hat usually sported by warbling gondoliers in Venice. The countdown that had started a month earlier had wound down to zero and the popular refrain bandied about was "Buona vacanza!" The bar will not reopen until the end of the month and until then we will have to find our caffeinated solace elsewhere. Ah, the hardships of life in Milan.



Shops are actually closed. As in, gone for a month. Don't try to buy shoes. Or vegetables. Or fancy candles. There has been a rash of simple signs taped to windows and security gates. These signs all read some version of "gone for the month, good luck finding somewhere to buy stuff."

Coming from the US, it was enough of a stumbling block that there are no late night stores in Italy. There's really no Italian version of White Hen or 7-11 and you figure out very quickly that if you're going to have a craving for something, you'd better plan ahead. On more than one occasion a late night desire for chocolate chip cookies has started with a sad hunt of the kitchen cabinets and ended with a bag of breadsticks and some bottled water.



The fact that the Italian business culture is not bound by a drive for commercial excess can be admirable. It leaves more time for family and friends, food and culture. But it also leaves a certain sense of exhaustion and disappointment come August. (Not to mention during lunch break when even some restaurants close for 3 hours in the middle of the day... but let's focus on one cultural highlight at a time.)



There is actually a guide put out by the city of Milan listing which shops/services are open during the month of August. I don't think I need to point out that Milan is a major European city and that the need for a guide showing which few shops are open this month is almost comical. This book is a full-color publication with maps and quadrants and color coding. Apparently someone is taking this situation very seriously. Well, to be accurate, they took it seriously in July. But it's August now and they're away on vacation.

I should mention that if you need postcards or a soccer jersey you will not have a problem. The tourist center is hopping and one may acquire any number of t-shirts with "Italia" written on them. But if you go down to the Duomo close your eyes for a second and listen. Then try to imagine which country you're in. Depending on which tour is passing you could be anywhere. Russia. Japan. America. Well, anywhere except Italy.

So to sum up, Milan is closed. It will return in September. Until then you can find us at the Duomo wearing Last Supper t-shirts and practicing our English.