It had been five minutes and still I could hardly breathe. The Alps were right there, outside the airplane’s windows and they were spectacular. When I finally resumed breathing—the turbulence also played a role in my bated breath—it occurred to me that here we were, three Americans setting siege upon Italy in hopes of staking some claim in the Mecca of Design. And like Hannibal, the African General, before us who crossed these same mountains, we hoped our journey would prove fruitful.
The pace of Milan is Southern, to say the least. People move fastest when they’re trying to make it to the head of the queue to place an order for lunch or espresso. Ladies walk their dogs—often times neglecting to scoop the poop—at a leisurely pace, even the wind seems to turn corners with care. It was Milan for certain, but it felt like home, after being gone for a while.
Upon arriving we dropped our luggage at our hotel in the Navigli District, a quaint little area with a hip/underground vibe, and with no time to rest, descended into the Milan metro. Everything shined with an awe-striking glow; reality hadn’t quite set in: We were really on our way to stake our claim as bona-fide Designers, at the Salone Satelllite. (more…)
