Five nights under a concrete canopy, the tent battened down with an assortment of mismatched screws in the place of pegs. Some might consider 20 Euros a night for such a spot a bit on the steep side, but this was the week of the furniture fair in Milan, and a collective sense of reality was temporarily suspended. Not a room was to be had across the city, especially to latecomers like me who only began to consider booking after the Christmas holidays…
The vibrations from the road (think M1) rattled the tent with a continuity that became actually quite soothing, and my sleep deprivation came from the hard surface rather than the noise. This, though, is no sob-story. The traditional* rain that accompanies the fair was nowhere to be seen. Instead, warm sunny days, dusty pavements, a diet of carbohydrates and caffeine. One can’t see that much design on an empty stomach.
The maps we got our hands on, replete with yellow numbered dots, were suitably secretive to make it all a bit of a treasure hunt, a hunt nevertheless extended over ten square miles, 400 venues, and with expectedly varying rewards.
On the last day the heels fell off my boots from all the walking, but by then I was so exhausted not to mind at all, just clipped along the street with the little nails sticking out.
The boots gave up before I did. (small victory)
(*if five years running counts as a tradition. Last year was a volcanic ash cloud AND rain, which surely makes up for any sense of exaggeration.)
