Permasmilo in Milano!

I have been smiling for three straight days. The structure of my face is probably starting to change...like the dimples that were already the tell-tale signs of my Italian heritage are now growing at age 26. Yes, 26 - I had a birthday last week, and I need to write all about that. But I am living a dream right now, so please, don't wake me up. Italy is like the ultimate seratonin stimulator. I stepped foot on Italian soil on Monday, and Mamma, per favore, don't ever make me leave...

OK, so even museum attendants are laughing at my goofy blissful smile. It's like I don't even realize that I am flashing a full set of teeth with my bottom lip dropped a centimeter or so because this is now my permanent state of being. Everywhere I look, I feel like I am ogling at a child with a helpless look of bliss, like "Yes, you are impossibly beautiful, and you have bewitched me."

MILANO! What an incredibly fantastic, remarkable place. Milan does not get even close to the love and praise that it deserves from foreigners and Italians alike. It is my absolute favorite city in Italy to date. The thing about cities like Rome and Florence is that they have a larger quantity of artistic, cultural and architectural treasures when compared to Milan, and so tourists tend to pass Milan over. Also, Milan is the economic center of Italy, so it usually gets described as a place for business, fashion and ordinary life, but not much else. These two points - having few tourists and no extraordinary agenda - are exactly what makes Milan such an amazing city. It's real - the authenticity and real people are everywhere - but it is still absolutely gorgeous, charming and culturally rich.

I landed in Rome on Monday afternoon and took a train from the airport to the city's central train station. I was mildly groggy and underslept and therefore kind of spacey, and I had to figure out how to buy another train ticket to get to Milan. It was hot, and the afternoon was getting late because my baggage took forever to appear, but then, that deliciously mouthy language starts tickling my ears from every direction. And I see a gorgeous, tan ragazzo walking by in designer sunglasses and looking like a million bucks, and I am not looking like a million bucks but he is still checking out my sorry ass, and prego, my day is looking up! And now that all of these Italian words and Italian men have wetted my appetite, I realize that I am absolutely starving and need to eat something stat. And then, the perfect lunch finds its way to me: barley salad with chicken, tomatoes, corn, carrots, fennel, celery, parsley, garlic and extra virgin olive oil. The ingredients were as fresh as you can imagine - and all of this, in a train station! The Italians have their priorities straight.

I am dozing on and off on the train ride, and whenever my eyes flutter open, the Tuscan countryside flashes by before me. I drift away again peacefully and happily because I know that whenever the train shakes me out of my slumber, the countryside will still be there. At one point I open my eyes and realize that all of the other eight passengers in my eyesight are also dozing peacefully. All of us, together. Logically: it was time for siesta, after all.

I am gathering my things as I prepare to depart the train in Milan, and a woman sitting diagonally from me, across the aisle, smiles and asks me where I am from. She then asks me if I am a dancer. I smile and answer, well, I used to be...but how did you know? And she says, you have beautiful arms, very toned and strong. I used to be a dancer too, so I know. Yes, I can see, you are very strong! And I smile to myself and agree - yes. I am strong. I can embrace the world.

I make my way to the metro and there is a Roman God in Dolce & Gabbana tighty-whiteys greeting me and welcoming me into the Milanese public transportation system. And then, as I exit the metro, the same Roman God bids me farewell, and I climb the stairs with my backpack and the warm night air blows my hair back and wraps Milan around me, and everything feels so right.

I then meet my amazing, incredible host Pope, friend of Jen and Cragin. Pope is so good at hosting "VIP American guests" that he should be on the payroll for the Tourist Bureau. I am so so lucky to be in such good hands!

When I hear Italian coming out of people's mouths, rolling off their tongues, the words lounging around the open mouth before the tongue clicks or the lips close and then open again so the final vowel can be sung, I feel so freaking good. Hungry. The iaggios and iammos and ienzas. My mouth starts to water. I need to know what they're saying, and I need to feel what it's like to say those words. I have a huge crush on the Italian language.

Every view down every street in Milan is so pleasing. A lovely curve. Perhaps a row of scooters. A window sill bursting with flowers. A grandmother on a bicycle. A beautiful young woman, fashionably dressed, eating gelato. Grandiose neoclassical architecture. Men in suits talking on mobile phones, laughing. Little girls in party dresses.

I have been to some incredible museums so far. The Pinacoteca di Brera was breathtaking - in particular, I stared at Bellini's Predica di San Marco for fifteen minutes. I was positively enchanted by an exhibit of nineteenth century sculpture at the Palazza Reale, especially Bartolini's La Fiducia in Dio and Canova's Danzatrice con le mani sui fianchi. Also, I saw a really cool exhibit that replicated Da Vinci's The Last Supper (because I didn't reserve months in advance to see the real thing) that used lighting techniques to create various effects and dissected different parts of the fresco on a separate projector. Today I went to the Ambrosiana Gallery to see Raphael's The School of Athens.

In a rare flat moment at lunch, I was whisked right back into euphoria when the owner of the restaurant, Papa Francesco, laughed at my last name and invited me around back to speak English with his friend in America over video chat on Skype. The friend lives in Queens and vacations in Florida, and the two of them have been friends for thirty years. After a minute or two, I was part of the family! I left with a "ciao bella!", kisses from the staff, and such a warm heart. I stepped back onto the street and decided to put Andrea Bocelli on my ipod. Walking around Milan while listening to Nessun Dorma was probably the most delicious dessert I could have ordered.

Sending molto amore from the Old World...baci! Katie