—By Sahely Mukerji, managing editor, Glass Magazine/AutoGlass magazine
I took the 7 a.m. flight out of Milan this morning and was dozing uncomfortably in my cramped seat. As the attendant’s slightly annoying voice on the PA system woke me up, I looked outside the window and saw the Eiffel Tower standing proud, bathed in the morning light. Beautiful Paris.
I haven’t traveled much in Europe, but from my limited experience, seems like some of the big cities in France and Italy have similar characteristics: the past and the present make up the rich fabric of their being.
I got a chance to go to the Milan city center on the last day of the Vitrum show. Our booth hostess had brought me a copy of the “underground network and urban railway system,” or the subway, and Denise, my colleague, and I decided to take the subway in. Manuela, our hostess and a sweetheart, offered to come along to make sure we got off at the right station.
We caught the red line at Rho Pero and got off at Lima. The street we surfaced on, Corso Buenos Aires, was lined with stores of every possible kind of merchandize under the sun: clothes, shoes, jewelry, household items, you name it, along with charming little cafes with outside seating. The little umbrellas, the cane chairs and the people sitting and drinking wine reminded me of Champs Elysees, Paris. It was a little overcast all day, and as we started walking, a cool wind began to blow.
The street was teeming with people: beautiful women with long flowing dark hair, brief skirts and colorful scarves; men in jeans or suits and slicked back hair. Ever so cosmopolitan.
As I happened to look to the side, I saw a quiet street right off of the main drag of Buenos Aires, lined with old style architectural buildings, huge ornate doors, looming up against the rain-filled clouds. What a contradiction. Two worlds of historic old Italy and the urban fashion capital of the world residing in harmony next to each other. What could be more beautiful?
If I had time I’d keep walking on Buenos Aires to the Duomo di Milano, sit there and watch people walk by. But the rain started pattering down and we had to hail a cab to go back to the hotel.
Now, as I sit in the plane and the flight attendant announces touchdown in 30 minutes, I feel a different kind of beauty rise inside of me: I can’t wait to get home to hold my son and smell his sweet head.