Milan to Naples

There were just two places I really wanted to see before my mid-day train out of Milan. Second on the list, but visited first because of its limited opening hours: the Basilica of Sant’Ambrogio, named after Milan's patron saint. It's a sober red-brick building where I watched swifts hurling themselves around the tower as I waited for it to open. I had it down as containing 'artistic masterpieces', some remarkable mosaics and, for weirdness's sake, Sant’Ambrogio's embalmed body along with a mate's beneath the solid gold altar (extra 1 - trigger warning). I have no idea whether I've seen better solid gold altars but I've definitely seen better mosaics. Yellowed skulls poking out of the top of opulent priests' robes were just as weird as I expected.

Much, much better were the frescoes at San Maurizio al Monastero Maggiore, about ten minutes walk closer to the station. I know almost nothing about art history and had never heard of Simone Peterzano, the painter of the fresco that accosted me as I walked in. The emotion in it was so powerful that I burst into tears. It was only later that I saw that it was the Return of the Prodigal Son. That father... that son... the relieved and astonished onlookers... (last extra)

This was actually a nunnery and is divided by a floor-to-ceiling screen that prevented the nuns from seeing the public in the church. Every surface, in both parts of the building, are covered in 16th-century frescoes. Mostly about the Passion, mostly by Luini and his two sons and almost all filled with emotion.

In the nun's part there is some light relief - there are some under-age angels who look like they're out clubbing, and the animal pairs walking up the gang plank into the ark include two unicorns.
On my way out I saw some of the most impressive bad parking I've seen - on two zebra crossings at once (extra 2).

I walked to the station through Brera - an artists quarter I'd have been happy to amble in for longer.

...

How can cities be so different from each other? I've been out of Naples station for five minutes when I feel its anarchic pulse. After Milan, I'm astounded at how cheap the clothes spilling out of the small shops are. The side streets are narrow, tall and fizzing. Everywhere looks run-down but doesn't seem to mind.

As with Milan, it's 51 years since I spent time here (I passed through Milan for one night a year ago but didn't visit). Naples hasn't a clue who I am, hasn't noticed that I'm here, and couldn't care less what I visit or don't. All of a sudden I feel the pressure of Milan: 'You can't come here and fail to visit x; you must see y while you're here; really, you should have booked at least one extra day.' Naples: 'You? Whatevs.' I love it.

I know that despite the weight of my backpack, I'm grinning for most of the 25-minute walk to my one-and-a-half star B&B. Tiny shower, cramped loo, cluttered, shared kitchen... I'm too old for this but it's fine. 51 years ago, when my friend Jane and I spent two months hitching round Italy, we carried a tent with us for when we couldn't find a dormitory we could afford. This peeling wallpaper is luxury, compared.

I'm tired but I've been in a train for five hours so I need to go out. I walk in the general direction of where I think the cathedral is and stop on the way for my first Neapolitan pizza for half a century. I have to say, other places have learned to make them since then. While I'm sitting right next to the street I can't help wondering what the law is for helmets on mopeds. I look it up. Yes, compulsory, so as I eat I amuse myself by doing a tally of everyone who passes. 93 helmets, 109 bare heads. The worst offenders seem to be be young women three-up on a bike.
It's only later that I realise that those wearing helmets mostly have the chin strap unfastened...

I walk on to the cathedral (extra 3) which is bewildering. There's work happening and to cover something or other, huge reproductions of photographs have been stuck on the facade. They could be more inappropriate (extra 4) I suppose. I wonder what's going on.

12km/8 miles