Last-chance Showdown at the Last Supper Saloon

Now my rouseabout days are quite yet behind me, I’ve had the odd snatch of trouble when i’ve had a beer or two too many, but if I was ever going to find trouble in Europe I wouldn’t have thought it would be in the espresso capital of the world, old friend Milan.

It’s known for bad driving and short rages, and ‘tranquilo’ is usually order of the day between shorts spats of shouting and spurts of micro-tizzies at the passing ephemera.

Yet seems I’d gotten the golden projections of propriety all wrong somewhere in my EURO101 classes, if you’re going to imagine cultural tolerance and tranquility then Berlusconi’s Italy might be part of an alternate antique euro-dream…

The Last Supper makes three

Part of that venerated time was the Renaissance, when Italy was styling it up big, Michelangelo was all at it and Leonardo da Vinci’s best cross-dressing days were still ahead of him. Apart from having lived in Milano for a while, one of his more famous paintings, the ‘Last Supper’ is actually also resident of the city.

It’s oft been said that Milano is a place with only two things to see (Castilla and Duomo), well that’s if you don’t include staring at shops full of clothes that you couldn’t afford even if you did come to your senses, like Armani and Prada for instance. But with the Last Supper that makes three, so grab your fannypack and make for the centre of Milan for the um, half-day tour of Milan with Last Supper. That’s what I did. And if you play your cards right, and escape the bag-checks, you might just still make it to another supper after the tour…

Roll the dice, maybe you'll see the Last Supper

I become unhappy

For a country known for its sense of time and train timetables that include a column for how late they are running, the tour bus was away on time.

Although the booking recommended a good pair of shoes (and travelers tip: a clean pair of socks go a long way too, avoiding you from feeling like you’ve got the Creature from the Black Lagoon trapped somewhere in your shoe) they hardly seemed necessary as this suitable-for-grannies tour spuriously drives you a few blocks at a time between places which will have you appreciating Milan at a leisurely walking pace as the driver negotiates the famous Italian traffic.

First stop is La Scala, the famous theatre in Milan that hosted the likes of Guiseppe Verdi and his opera Aida an on to the original Madame Butterfly (it flopped at the time) and Carmen. So, “another thing to see?” you say, not just the Duomo and Castilla?

Well, you’d be right and wrong there – yes something to see, but as our guide oh so reasonably mentioned, it was shut for a rehearsal that day, and we were free to come back tomorrow (so “no” as well), which is just fine if you are in Milan for only the one day (some maaaay argue that that is enough). Instead we were shown around the Scala Museum, which had plenty of old pieces of stuff from previous operatic hits such as those mentioned above, people on the tour took photos and filmed away and were eventually told not to by the staff.

The guide of course completely missed mentioning this to the group, which may have been because the entire tour narrative was told twice, once in English then again verbatim in Spanish (for the sake of the three Spaniards that they’d put in with the group, despite them advertising there being different groups for different languages.) These days, I’ve seen so many people speak different languages end to end now that I am no longer impressed, no doubt the tour company saw this as an effective way to save some money, the slow ire that it raised was instead priceless. Also the first the day’s steady stream of mobile phone conversations were begun by one of the tour party, no eyebrows raised by the guide, so it was our collective pleasure to have this continual disruption added to our mélange of languages offering us an excess of information.

I become unhappier

After strolling around the available spaces to be seen at La Scala we were driven the five minutes up the road to the Duomo. Another great chance to check the streets of Brera and middle of the road driving tactics of the Milanesi. As far as things to see goes, the Duomo really is the icing on the cake for Milano – a towering semi-Gothic structure that has been recently restored and stands as quite a centrepoint to an otherwise quite dirty and un-touristic city.

The mystery of what was inside beckoned. Now, up north I’ve known tourists to be taken by crocodiles, occasionally a backpacker killer, but never by the police, well at least not while on a tour. Now listen up carefully ladies and gents, and stand close so as not to miss any of the following gory details…

While we first looked at the Galleria and its domed structure and thrilled at standing outside the first-ever Prada, some little headsets were passed out to the group so we could hear the commentary inside the soon-to-be-seen Duomo. An important fact being that we would not be able to get into the Duomo without one.

So, like small children at school being handed out lollies, the group crowded round and received their earpieces and receivers – clever members of the general public even joined in too and received their sweet rewards. When I’d finally made it through the scrum, there were none more to be had, and when I asked for mine, I was simply told there was no more, with that sweet edge that completely lacked a hint of empathy that makes the Milanesi so well liked throughout the peninsula.

Undeterred and unperturbed, ol’ Jack followed the group as it wended its way to the Cathedral.

I become unhappiest

Having heard of all the light fingers in operation in Italy I decided not to leave the old laptop on the tour bus (the same bag holding my passport too) so I could keep it safe and in sight during the day, and then also you, my faithful reader, would still be able to read this when I got to typing it up (tapping away at your legs on your lap doesn’t quite have the same effect as using a computer).

Book 'em, Danno

Not really being the pushy type, especially where groups are concerned, I was somehow the last to enter the group queue for the Duomo. As I didn’t have a little receiver thingo it seemed that the Police and the uniformed and armed military guard decided that I needed a little extra searching.

Dutifully, I showed them inside my bag, computer and all, and then the well groomed Policeman’s fingers decided to go in and have a little look round, which caused me, quite rightly so, to ask “perhaps let me go through my bag, please, and not rummage around in there”. Being after 3pm the morning’s coffee was quite wearing off for the upholder of the law, and the warm weather probably wasn’t helping with his temper either.

Furthermore, silly me was wearing a T-shirt which showed off arms a little browner, or should we say darker, than the average Italian, not that the Milano police would have a reaction to that kind of thing. So then as he remained calm and impartial, my passport was demanded, which of course had me wondering what the problem was as I was just part of a ticketed guided tour. As the group had well gone in by now, the guide not really caring if anyone was caught behind, it was about now that I had to ask someone for some help as now the nice Policeman was standing two inches from my face shouting at me, no longer in English, but only in Italian.

When I finally managed to find my passport, which luckily was with me, the Policeman walked off with it and promptly called the head of Police, while also collaring some passing Bulgarians. As you can imagine things were starting to feel a little grim.

I become unhappierest

Without getting personal, the fella that eventually rolled up in a white suit, was pretty unattractive to me on a number of levels, though not having seen below his shoes in a while, or possibly his neck, some of those dimensions were probably unavailable to him.

He then had a bit of a shout at me and this was now “Control” and he walked off with my passport again. For about the next half hour my passport was carried away for long periods, long phone calls were made that even in a big-budget movie would have me saying that the acting was bad, and there was much ado about nothing. And there was a bit more shouting at me as I think these jokers wanted me to feel sorry for whatever it was that I hadn’t done, but I’ve got a visa so all should be fine… shouldn’t it?

I was wondering at one point what I might next accidentally do that would make this go worse. After a while, and without comment, my passport was handed back and it seemed to be over. Buonagiornata (have a nice day) I replied and even the one of the Bulgarians thought this was funny (they were let off too, moments later).

So, unfortunately gentle reader, I do not know what the Duomo was like, I do not know if they went to the top to see the view of the city, and I do not know what happened to the tour group. I do know that they went on a 30minute “panoramic” drive around Milano, but I don’t know where as they didn’t wait for me, although I wasn’t exactly in a position to ask them to wait. I did call the office and explained where I was and asked where was the group, and then walked round to the Castilla where I was told they would arrive in half an hour.

I should never have gotten out of bed

Without going on too much more, next we went to see the fabled ‘Last Supper’ at Convento Dominicano de Santa Maria della Grazie. We were allowed in 25 people at a time, and for 15 minutes only. There were 49 of us so I made sure I was in the first group, so that Hells Angels wouldn’t descend from the sky and demand me to justify my existence to enter.

It was nice. The air was like an old book, kept cool and humid by airlocks (like on a spaceship) as we entered, the mobile phone calls persisted, the painting was very well done and lucky to survive the extensive bombing the church received in WWII (two and a half walls were destroyed, the Last Supper remained). The restoration was well done too. You can find a whole bunch of information on the interweb about the Last Supper, because I really can’t do it justice after what was in all, a pretty average experience, but the Last Supper was, as I said, nice – quite nice in fact. Perhaps nicer on its own.

Final thought: If you are in a group, mates or not, you don’t ditch people when it gets hard and if you do, you at least owe them a drink. Ciao Milano.

-Jack Brown

Planning a trip? Browse Viator’s Milan tours and things to do in Milan, including the Last Supper and Milan day tour that nearly got Jack arrested and thrown in the slammer. Apologies, Jack.