In the last two and a half weeks, I have been absolutely saturating my senses with art exhibitions, art reflections, and conversations about contemporary art and conversing in Italian.
Additionally, I have been attending to all of this in 35 degree heat, dressed in style and heels. Can you just imagine me trying to manoeuvre myself, handbag, camera, laptop and folio of notes across cobblestoned lanes, from Metro to Bus terminus or on a bike and on occasion getting lost...?
My coffee breaks have become less about admiring the Italian men and the stylish women; and a moment of stillness and repose for my feet.
While, my days are stimulating, immersive and synthesis all my passions; as I climb the final stairs of my apartment (it has a lift, but I seem to think that walking up and down the stairs keeps me fit!) and the keys click into the lock, I take a long breath, kick off the heels, place my bag etc on the bed and relish the chance to ease into the evening... but then I remember... I'm "in Italy" and there are wines to be sipped at 'apertivo hour', Parco Sempione to stroll through, swimming pools and sunbathing, Italian cinema, theatre, contemporary dance and... Nope. Can't do it. In the evenings I'm sorry to say it but I am simply too tired on a physical and cerebral level, to absorb any more culture or activities, to contemplate navigating across Milan (especially in this heat and not in heels) or to reflect upon the dalliance between men and women, foreigners and locals etc etc...
Last night I attended the inauguration of two new art exhibitions at Fondazione HangarBicocca and my poor toes although delighted to be wedged into D&G heels, were by the end of the night cruxified. So even though the heart is willing, at the end of the day I just want a shower, my sofa with a book case filled with art and design, a night sky to ponder at from my balcony, and a slow cooked meal.
It seems like a shame... but that is just were I'm at.
