As if being away from home for such a long period of time didn’t make things confusing enough, Editor has now gone and moved my deadline forward by a day to Wednesday, so here I am this morning thinking I’m one day ahead and getting excited about my return – all in vain.
The second week has been only slightly more exciting than the first one thanks to a day off on Sunday spent walking around in what turned out to be one of those crisp and sunny days which northern Europe does so well. Even if I still didn’t manage to get my hair cut (my sideburns are now so long I can make peyos out of them), I did finally make it to La Scala to see an exhibition of photographs and costumes from Maria Callas’s years at the theatre.
By mid-afternoon, as the amount of people out on the streets seemingly quadrupled, and walking around became something of a chore, we decided to take refuge in the lobby of the Posh Hotel for a bite to eat, only to find that our usual table had been taken over by a group of big butch types who you wouldn’t really want to go up to and ask to move for fear of having your kneecaps blown off. They turned out to be Russian, of course, and as the afternoon progressed, they became the day’s big source of entertainment.
As the party got bigger, and getting our table back became more of an impossibility, my fellow lounger and I started to piece the jigsaw together and find out what was going on (with a little help from the hotel staff, who are the city’s best sources of gossip). Apparently one of the many children in the group was celebrating her birthday (I would guess by the age of the other children that it would have been her ninth or tenth) and her family had flown all her friends and their families over to Milan – in their private jet of course – for a party.
To celebrate the occasion, one of the hotel’s restaurants had been transformed into a circus complete (we were told, although it was not confirmed) with caged tigers, snakes and flying parakeets. Young kids and their mothers – some in fancy dress, although you can never really tell with Russians – made their way down to the party, while their fathers and their bodyguards sat around looking ominous.
Even by Milanese posh hotel standards, this was something of an extravaganza, a wonderful display of vulgarity worthy of Tsars that – thankfully – one doesn’t come across too often in life. We never did see the Birthday Girl, but I did keep wondering throughout the afternoon, what a nightmare it must have been for any of the other kids – and their parents – to choose a present for her. I suppose with these kinds of displays at such an early age, it’s very difficult for a child to be impressed by much!
The second week has been only slightly more exciting than the first one thanks to a day off on Sunday spent walking around in what turned out to be one of those crisp and sunny days which northern Europe does so well. Even if I still didn’t manage to get my hair cut (my sideburns are now so long I can make peyos out of them), I did finally make it to La Scala to see an exhibition of photographs and costumes from Maria Callas’s years at the theatre.
By mid-afternoon, as the amount of people out on the streets seemingly quadrupled, and walking around became something of a chore, we decided to take refuge in the lobby of the Posh Hotel for a bite to eat, only to find that our usual table had been taken over by a group of big butch types who you wouldn’t really want to go up to and ask to move for fear of having your kneecaps blown off. They turned out to be Russian, of course, and as the afternoon progressed, they became the day’s big source of entertainment.
As the party got bigger, and getting our table back became more of an impossibility, my fellow lounger and I started to piece the jigsaw together and find out what was going on (with a little help from the hotel staff, who are the city’s best sources of gossip). Apparently one of the many children in the group was celebrating her birthday (I would guess by the age of the other children that it would have been her ninth or tenth) and her family had flown all her friends and their families over to Milan – in their private jet of course – for a party.
To celebrate the occasion, one of the hotel’s restaurants had been transformed into a circus complete (we were told, although it was not confirmed) with caged tigers, snakes and flying parakeets. Young kids and their mothers – some in fancy dress, although you can never really tell with Russians – made their way down to the party, while their fathers and their bodyguards sat around looking ominous.
Even by Milanese posh hotel standards, this was something of an extravaganza, a wonderful display of vulgarity worthy of Tsars that – thankfully – one doesn’t come across too often in life. We never did see the Birthday Girl, but I did keep wondering throughout the afternoon, what a nightmare it must have been for any of the other kids – and their parents – to choose a present for her. I suppose with these kinds of displays at such an early age, it’s very difficult for a child to be impressed by much!