The Milanese is also insatiable in mid-August: on the one hand she wants to geotag herself on Instagram in a place only she knows, on the other hand if she doesn’t meet at least 10 Milanese during the trip (honey, you too? There’s half Milan!) on be the right place of summer
(Lina Sotis) When big tourism starts again, when the seasons become seasons again, when gabardine, a forgotten fabric because it is neither too light nor too heavy and therefore not suitable for every season, will be back in fashion, then there will be him giving a big surprise. Portofino, that wonder praised by the great poets, frequented by playboys and flaunted by all the women who wanted to be in the right place, will be totally different. No longer a small village for a few, but a large shop window where everyone goes to buy nice things. A showcase as happened in Via Spiga, from Via Popolare in the center of Milan to Via where today there is the most beautiful, expensive and luxurious, extraordinary shopping. What happened? Portofino was bought by Arnault, which made the place lose all its romantic magic: small colorful and hidden houses, small coveted houses, all on this water but all strictly small apart from Villa Piaggio, the castle and those intentionally big things that make it there was his. What happened? Portofino is no longer Portofino, but a place where you can go, make a wish and be what you used to be. Meanwhile, the forgotten Santa Margherita who was the younger sister, the little one, has regained her splendor because the country is people, the country is noise, friendship, collectivity. And so everyone wants to stay there, buy apples, pears, oranges, all the things to eat: that’s where you go to eat, because Giacomo, who has to decide where to open, has Santa Margherita Ligure and all the other restaurants selected – now that Puny is a distant memory of the sixties (how delicate her smile was) they are all in Santa Margherita where gentlemen who walk well with their sticks are all right because there are no holes and young people go to the covo. All in Santa Margherita, where there is a bit too much construction going on.
(Michela Proietti) The Milanese is also insatiable in mid-August: on the one hand she wants to geotag herself on Instagram in a place that only she knows, on the other hand if she doesn’t meet at least ten Milanese during the trip (” Darling, you too here?!” ) Thinks you are not in the right place for summer. So it is that he often teeters on the edge of an absence/presence contradiction: he wonders why in a spot in the middle of the Aegean like Antiparos (“You must go to Pipinos for dinner, there’s Tom Hanks…” ) he can see the same faces he meets in town, but when he doesn’t greet at least ten people, he complains that “everybody’s gone in Greece Truth the Milanese isn’t aiming to go to Diletta Leotta’s vacation spot, she doesn’t really care if roof-neighbors Belen and Stefano De Martino are on their love’s umpteenth makeover.He snorts and flips the pages at the message v om the lost emerald of Lollobrigida. She is interested in the facts of the people she knows: who her best friend’s son is marrying, where the Pilates partner is going on vacation, where the former neighbor bought a house. The latest VIP scandal that has captivated the housewife from Voghera is being ignored by the ladies who instead want juicy details on Milanese society. Their friends are the Cochi, the Cicci and the Lupa and the inevitable definite article before the equally inevitable nickname: they all hunt each other and in the common hunt from time to time crown the goal of the year that this summer oscillates dangerously between the Greek Islands and the Aeolian Islands (with the recovery of Pantelleria). The Milanese goes to Filicudi rather than Panarea, where one is no longer naked and free, but in linen shirts, possibly unencrypted because it is “good for the city”. Everyone roams around Mehari, rabbit hunting at night (already…), smelling the smell of capers and vying to sit at the table in gallery owner Sergio Casoli’s Sirena, eat spaghetti alla filicudara and chat about Peter Doig and his Works were on display a few yards away. It happens that jealousies are unleashed between islands and islanders: “But when are you getting here, cicci?” ask friends, a little bored with their pantesco dammuso, on Instagram, wondering if maybe this year it would be better to leave the usual kaftans and mud alone Lake of Venus and become all the beautiful filicudare. Tireless and wandering, the smartest Milanese divide their holidays into “episodes”: one week here, the other there, the third somewhere else. The last stop of the journey is often Greece, maybe in Paros, or Amorgos and then in the very chic Simi, where the Milanese breaks the dishes in the tavern (a good omen) with the exclamation of “Oopah”. All this not before a stop from Milos, on the island of Leros, where to go, you need a recommendation from above, which often comes as if provided by a Milanese who – just by chance – at home in the restaurant (and a good word from the owner).
August 15, 2022 (change August 15, 2022 | 09:10)
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