Wednesday, August 27, 2014

Too Short a Summer.





Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II, Milano

August not yet over, but the night abed meant getting up to fetch an extra blanket.  Approaching the car for early-morning errands, I'm surprised to see a few fallen leaves from the Green Ash towering above the driveway. The sedan's dashboard indicates 53 degrees outside temperature, and the vehicle's interior is chilly enough to warrant changing the gauge from Cool to Hot.  Can this actually -- cruelly -- mean that despite the official end of the season being nearly a calendar month away, one is being asked to surrender Summer.

A good, even memorably crowded summer, but to be ending so soon! Wasn't that Honor Flight to Washington DC, which seems like yesterday, in late spring even before summer actually began? Mid-season highlights were the visits from out-of-state family, delighting in seeing again after more than a year the 23-month old granddaughter, and meeting for the first time the 6-month old great-grandson. Attendances at performances of the Aspen/Santa Fe Ballet and the Entreflamenco. Major maintenance with restoration reconstruction of historic adobe patio wall, and numerous hours among gardens heavily abloom after generous monsoon rains.  Still, much to be seen and done while it is still warm, before the cold of Northern New Mexico drives shawled elders to their corner kiva fireplaces, resenting energies needed to keep warm.


I've not tolerated well cold weather since the Ardennes Winter of 1944-45. Yet on this late-August morning, I'm not alone in complaint as I go about morning errands. Sweatered and hooded fellow-shoppers discuss other years when early chills preceded non-existent autumns, Labor Day snowfalls which plunged Santa Feans into unwelcome, too-soon winter. I overhear a few part-time residents -- our snowbirds -- anticipating early exodus to their fair-weather abodes in Arizona and Mexico.  And an utterance long forgotten is echoing in my head: Odio l'inverno! Where did that come from?


Two decades ago, traveling alone in Italy, I indulged one of my favorite past-times: wandering city streets, discovering areas -- and sometimes artistic treasures -- little, if ever, frequented by organized tours; observing the locals at work and play; periodic stops at bars for an invigorating espresso. This was Milano, autumn yet officially a month away, but the day was grey and intermittent rain fell. I had no umbrella, and decided to return to a familiar haunt, Piazza Duomo where I knew the Cathedral or nearby Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II would provide shelter from downpours if needed.
The Galleria's splendid monumental architecture, its vast marble interior with richly embellished facades of boutiques featuring the best of  stile italiano , top-drawer restaurants and bars, bookshops of beautiful leather-bound volumes has long attracted me. Even if one cannot afford the luxuries offered, they are wondrous to behold. Among them, the procession of privileged, elegant Milanese who promenade their bella figuras across the inlaid marbles. I have never visited Milano without a stop at the Galleria. This day I entered anticipating the long stroll to its outlook on Piazza della Scala and a glimpse of the opera house across the way.


But something was different. Perhaps the weather had driven them in, but neighborhood workers and employees replaced the society elite  and business men usually on display. Advancing toward the center of the Galleria, I saw where most were headed -- to a newly-opened McDonalds smack in the middle of the famed edifice. One doesn't like to think, or admit to oneself, that he/she could possibly be a snob, but a wave of distaste rushed over me. Had a place I'd long loved suffered befoulment?
Never a fast-food afficionado, I'd seldom frequented McDonalds in the US but curiosity about a few abroad had tempted entrance. And I found them more interesting than offensive, often located in beautiful old buildings and with menus featuring a few regional favorites along with the burgers and fries. At McDonalds in the Arabat District of Moscow, borscht and blini offered at a side bar; the franchise in Athens displayed dolmas and moussaka; one near the Spanish Steps in Rome promoted lasagna and pizza, although at all the US menu -- Big Macs, etc -- seemed favored by the locals crowds.


The Milan Galleria's McDonalds was not so easily acceptable as others of those abroad which I'd visited. Its interior lacked any overlay of Italian decor, seemed a replica of its countless cousins in our own country. I did not check the menu. If it featured pasta or other regional fare, that was not evident by most of the diners, gnawing away at hamburgers. All seemed to be drinking American coffee, not espresso, and I followed suit. Have a quick warm draught and get out of here!
I'd been aware of a strange sound -- mumbling? -- for minutes before realizing it came from an elder seated across the table. Lined and bearded, uncombed, shabbily dressed, he hunched shivering over the steaming coffee, repeating the same words over and over again. Oblivious to any or all who heard him. "Odio l'inverno. Odio l'inverno. Aspetto la primavera."  A mournful mantra: I hate winter, await spring.
At that time, so much younger than he, certainly not feeling the day's chill as he did, I considered it a bit pazzo to be awaiting spring before summer ended.


Later that day, clouds dispersed, the sun came out. I remained in the neighborhood, as always circling the huge Piazza, viewing that awesome facade and spires of the Duomo, eventually climbing the outdoor stairs to her spectacular rooftop. Had done this on many occasions, often lingering for hours high in the sky among students and scholars squatting with books in hand. With us this day was the chanting elder from McDonalds. He was seated in a wide patch of bright sunlight, eyes to the heavens, frown gone. As was the mantra. I did not know then, or know today, much about Milan's social structure, what its homeless inhabitants might number, services provided the elderly, etc. But observing that beatific expression on the weathered, sun-bathed face of the recent table-mate, I, too, like him, spoke aloud for all to hear. Wished him Eternal Summers.


(In 2012 the city of Milan evicted McDonalds from Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II after its 20 year-plus occupancy there. Announcement was made that Prada would take its place. McDonalds reportedly has sued the city).