Yellow Pearl

 

The heat finally broke overnight.  A cataclysmic storm hit Milan, lightning flashing behind the slab of the Pirelli Tower, my hotel room shaking with the thunder.  It battered the city, drove rain into every crevice, drowned it.

And yet, by next morning, there was no sign of it.  The streets were dry and the sky was blue again.  The only indicator that something had changed was the slight wisp of wind that cut across open areas and the heat being that little bit less intense.  It was as though it had been tamed.

I was only just outside Milan proper, in the adjoining municipality of San Donato, where a bus station had been slotted in above the metro and alongside the motorways.  It was shabbier than most, its cafes fronted with plastic chairs, a loose market selling cheap clothes at one end.  I passed through the local platforms, then out past a newer building for long-distance services.  There were already queues of people waiting there with suitcases.  I went out, over the bus access ramps and the motorway junctions, and past the M3's depot.

It was an unfriendly place for pedestrians.  Footpaths weaved between thick bunches of yellow grass.  I passed under road signs and kicked litter out of the way.  A cluster of pigeons fed frenziedly on a patch in the grass - I didn't look too closely, hoping it was discarded fast food and not the corpse of something.  Or someone.  

Beyond the viaducts and bridges I got the sign for the Milan clean-air zone and I was back in the city itself.  Thin homes stretched along the roadside, parked cars wedged against the kerb.  There was a bit of culture being inserted into this space, a new campus for the Milan Conservatory, with a building site promising elaborate architectural shenanigans that were yet to appear above ground.

Around Rogoredo station a series of glass blocks appeared, the campus for Sky Italia.  I'm not sure if Sky is the channel responsible for that terrible stereotype about Italian telly, that it's nothing but housewives taking their clothes off, but since it was Rupert Murdoch adjacent I'm choosing to believe it is.  (It's now owned by Comcast, who own Universal, and NBC, and who are probably also appalling for many other, different reasons).  I didn't actually watch any Italian TV while I was there - I had my laptop to keep me amused - and so I can't tell you if their telly is now extremely classy and expensive and full of costume dramas and nature documentaries but given the way the rest of the media landscape has changed, I very much doubt it.

Rogoredo's another mainline station with the metro underneath.  It was getting on for nine am, so there weren't too many commuters rushing for the train, but I still negotiated around the suits to get my shot at the entrance.

I went down the steps into the wonderful world of the M3.

The M1 and the M2 were perfunctory, with some dated charm but not much to really distinguish it.  The M5 was clean and new but also a tiny bit dull.  

The M3, however, is one hundred percent fantastic.  Approved in the late 70s and constructed throughout the 80s, it's both of its time and modern, unique and fascinating.  The city took a look at what had worked and what hadn't on its original pair of metro lines and created a new pattern for stations.  They're still uniform along the line, with the same colour palette and design, but it's so much more exciting and vibrant.

Look at the walls, for example.  Other stations have bare, smooth walls, or fibreglass panels.  Stations on the M3 have wonderful textured concrete, divided into squares, both practical (try graffiti-ing that!) and attractive.

And those ceilings!  Yellow grids with bold, bright light bulbs.  More lighting around the edges to guide you.  The colour telling you exactly where you are and where you're going.  I love it.

There's the space you'd expect from the Milan Metro - room to move and circulate - but it feels so much more open and friendly.  There aren't the dark black corners that plagued the M1 and M2.  Those dull blue walls on the Gessate extension are far behind us.

Out again at the next station, Porto di Mare, a nautical-sounding name considering we were closer to the Alps than the sea.  It's a hangover from an early 20th century scheme to build a harbour and ship canal that would reach the river Po via Cremona.  That would enable vessels to travel from the Adriatic directly to Milan.  Work started in 1917, then over the course of the following century it stopped and restarted every twenty years or so.  It's still, officially, somewhere on the books, but unsurprisingly building a massive canal isn't top of anyone's infrastructure wants in an era of trucks and aeroplanes.

It was another down-at-heel neighbourhood, dominated by a fast autostrada that shadowed the main road.  Tags covered the bare walls and tiny minimarts that stocked everything and nothing sat at the base of the apartment blocks.  Even so, there were still people sat out on chairs on the narrow strip of tarmac, drinking coffees and smoking.  We try to adopt the pavement cafe culture in the UK, but restrict it to safe pedestrian areas and squares; British people wouldn't dream of having their breakfast in such an unfriendly location, which is why we will never truly be European.

The motorway had swept up onto stilts so that it could cross the Piazzale Luigi Emanuele Corvetti without being interfered with, leaving the passenger space underneath in darkness.  It was occupied by parking for scooters - how official this was I couldn't say - and spraypainted artworks on the concrete struts.

After my experience with Sidney Poitier and the CIA I'm slightly afraid that Steve McQueen and aliens is another conspiracy rabbit hole.

The lift shaft for the station at (Just One) Corvetto is more great 80s design.  I always loved a payphone with a curved outer edge; the most exciting ones were the ones with that perspex bubble like something out of Space: 1999.  The architects must've thought they were so forward thinking and modern, combining public transport with public communication.  Now it's a remnant of a lost world, like a horse trough on a village green or a post box for Air Mail.  I imagine there are teenagers - maybe actual adults - who have no idea what that curved shelter was for.

The station carried a relic below.  The Metro's stations are unstaffed, with passes dispensed from machines; even their time is up, because all the ticket gates have tap in and out pads and in my casual observation this was easily the most common way people paid.  (The exception was at Centrale, where there was always a queue of tourists for the machines; a member of staff telling them not to bother would pay for itself).  

The Biglietti counter is still in place at Corvetto but is no longer in use, which is a shame, because once again look at that gorgeous design.  No amount of stroppy passengers could distract me from the joy of working behind a circular window.

On to Brenta, and let's take a closer look at those handrails shall we?

Wonderful.  I'm sorry, so much of the M3 is going to be me cooing over yellow and red bits of street furniture.  It'll be even more boring than usual.

I don't know why Brenta's text is in black and the others in white.  That's annoying.  There you go, an actual negative.

Brenta is only a couple of blocks down from Corvetto but it felt like a shift change now that the motorway had peeled off.  The streets were busier, packed even, and trees shaded me as I walked.  It was undeniably a much nicer place to be.

Scalo Romana mainline station was upgraded ahead of the Winter Olympics and, in the process, got a name change.  For the first hundred years of its life, it was Porto Romana, named after the city gate of the same name that's about a kilometre down the road.  When the metro line was built however, there was a station literally underneath the gate, so that naturally got called Porto Romana as well.  Milan now had two stations of the same name that weren't in any way convenient for one another and so last year they finally changed it.

There is a metro station right across the road from the mainline one, of course, but that's not called Porto Romano.  It's not called Scalo Romano either.  It's called Lodi TIBB.

TIBB stood for Tecnomasio Italiano-Brown Boveri, the name of a train manufacturing company who had a vast railway yard here.  Merger after merger throughout the later half of the twentieth century left it a part of Alstom, I think? To be honest the trail seems to ebb and flow, and as with so much to do with traction engines, I found it incredibly dull.

What's much more interesting is that the closure of the railworks has left a massive stretch of unused industrial land which is being reclaimed as the new district of Scalo Romana.  The Olympic Village was built here, and has recently been converted to student accommodation, while a new skyscraper (the Torre A2A) will house new headquarters for a big utility company.  There will also be parkland, apartments, and new roads to reconnect what was once a huge scar.

The Lodi part of Lodi TIBB, by the way, is the name of the square it's under, Piazzale Lodi.

We'll leave it there for a while I think.  I don't want to overwhelm you with my gushing.  Do check back for a future blog post where I wax about the seating on the platforms.  No, I promise you: they're great!

Green Spots

 

With most of the M2 out of the way, all I had to do was finish the Gessate branch.  There was a bit of a problem though.  This branch was originally a long-distance tram service, running into Milan for much of the 20th century, until the decision was made to incorporate it into the newly built metro in the seventies.

It means that this branch is unlike any of the parts of the Milan Metro.  Instead of passing through close knit urban communities, it links small towns and villages on the edge of the metropolis.  The distance between stations can be measured in miles instead of metres.  It passes through farmland and back roads.

I decided I'd do this branch a little differently, for various reasons.  Firstly, I was exhausted.  I'd done three days of intense speedy walking in a strange city and I didn't fancy more long walks.  A lazy day of travelling would let me recover.  Especially since the weather warnings were continuing, with the excess heat now getting the added threat of thunderstorms and lightning.  Secondly, the routes between the stations weren't exactly exciting, long straight roads and the odd canal.  And third, I wasn't in the mood.

So this blog post will be more of a list than a single narrative.  I went to the stations, one after the other, passed through the ticket gates, took a sign picture and went back to get the next train.  This isn't really a journey, more of a series of observations.  Normal service will resume with the M3.  

GESSATE

It was the end of the line and it really felt like the end of the line.  By the time I reached Gessate it seemed like I'd left Milan far behind and travelled into the backwaters of the Italian countryside.

Gessate opened after the rest of the Green Line, in 1985; the old tramway used to extend as far as Vaprio d'Adda but there's never been any suggestion that the M2 should go that far, with buses being provided instead.  I'd be a bit narked if I was in Vaprio, looking at that lovely fast metro line that used to come to town and now goes nowhere near.  

There's a bus exchange outside, but the rest of the village is hidden away behind trees.  It's like the end of the world.  On a late night, after the last train, it must feel desolate.

I went outside and took the sign picture then returned to the platform.  One down.

CASCINA ANTIONETTA

For many years this was the quietest station on the entire network, surrounded by fields and constructed mainly to break up the distance from Gessate to Gorgonzola.  Cascina means "Farmhouse" and that seems to be the only thing it was built to serve.  Imagine being the farmer, seeing a huge metro station appear on your land for the use of you and your wife and maybe a cow.

Because it is a weirdly massive building.  ATM would've been forgiven for sticking a couple of platforms here and nothing more but they treated it the same as any other metro station.  This paid off in the long term, as, in the last twenty years, a new neighbourhood has been constructed next door to take advantage of those links into the city.  

It's still distinctly battered and tired.  The whole branch is getting refurbished, not before time, and it really needs it.  Paint is peeling and some parts of the stations look unsafe. 

The huge ticket hall is a pleasing element though.  It's a shame that it's so empty.

GORGONZOLA

The first actual town, and the first place that seemed like it needed a metro connection rather than a quiet branch line.  You step out of the station and are presented with a fine avenue into the centre.  For the first time I was tempted to go for a wander around, but the heart of Gorgonzola was still a fair old walk away.

Instead I went to the Coop.  There was one next to the station and I wanted a drink.  I also wanted to see if I could find the town's most famous export.

That is some actual Gorgonzola cheese from actual Gorgonzola on sale in actual Gorgonzola.  I was very tempted to buy it, because I was born without a sweet tooth, and a big hunk of smelly cheese is like a packet of wine gums for me.  I didn't though, because I had a hot afternoon ahead of me, and having a lump of cheese sweating in my shoulder bag would do neither of us any favours.  Instead I bought a bottle of Coke Zero, and the checkout girl and I had a confusing conversation where she pointed out the cold ones in the fridge to her side, and I was too embarrassed to get one so I said I was fine with it being warm, and then we both looked befuddled that I was speaking English, and basically it was awful.  

As befits a town of its status, Gorgonzola has a decent station, in far better nick than its neighbours and gleaming with a civic pride they lacked.

It is, however, missing the overarching roof they had, with two side platforms and an expanse of open sky in between.  I began to feel the heat.

I killed time staring at the network map.  The M4 was still marked as under construction, months after its opening, which didn't help with the general air that this branch was ignored and unloved.

VILLA POMPEA

This was, quite easily, the worst station on the entire Milan metro for me.  Apologies if it's your local stop - as though any Italians could put up with this nonsense - but it was a mess.  It was rusted and dirty, lonely, grim.  

The footbridge was split in two, a public route on the outside, a railway route on the inner one, but the public route seemed to be abandoned.  Either that or ATM refused to deal with the part that wasn't behind the ticket line and the council couldn't be bothered.

In the ticket hall, there was a map of the local area that seemed to date from the 1980s - probably the last time it was cleaned.

I walked out into a bare car park.  Orange netting marked a building site, but there weren't any builders to be seen, nor any sign of what they were doing there.

Then it was back inside, almost tripping over a tiny step at the entrance to the ticket hall that was at just the right height to be annoying, up and over the crumbling stairs to the platform for my train out of there.

BUSSERO

Ok, I'll say what we're all thinking: Bussero sounds like something a certain kind of gay would call his arse on the apps.  There, I've acknowledged it, we can all move on.

I got some distinctly peculiar looks from an elderly couple heading into the station as I loitered outside to take my sign picture.  What's the matter, I thought; have you never seen a middle aged loser record his visit to a backwater metro stop before?

I got a moment of nostalgia when I saw the ticket machine outside the station.  It reminded me of the ones that used to dispense my One Day Travelcard when I headed into London as a teenager.  This blog is now getting sentimental over ticket machines, a new low.

It's hard not to like a station where the glass walls are covered with bird silhouettes.  I'm sure this is to stop the local wildlife braining itself accidentally but it was still pleasing to see.

CASCINA DE' PECCHI

As I'd worked my way down the line, I'd become aware of a class division between the stations, one that I'm going to call Marble vs Non-Marble.  It became clear how well kept and maintained a station was based on whether the platform steps were concrete or fancy marble.  When I got off the train at Cassina de' Pecchi and saw that its platform was block paved I immediately recognised it would be a Marble station.

And so it was.

Casssina de' Pecchi was far more of a central hub.  It felt like a station that was important to its town, with a busy, well used bar at its centre.  Elderly men sat on tables outside drinking coffee and shouting across to one another - why they couldn't all sit at the same table is a mystery.

The city was creeping in on us.  It was wrapping itself around the line, pulling it closer.

VILLA FIORITA

You might think that in a country known for having extremely hot temperatures that there would be some kind of provision to cool the platforms.  You'd be right.  Many of the stations featured large air conditioning units, ready to blast cold air out onto the grateful passengers below.

None of them apparently worked, but it was a nice idea anyway.

Can you tell that it's hard to think up something to say about some of these stations?

CERNUSCO SUL NAVIGLO

For reasons best known to themselves, ATM chose to paint the concrete on this branch of the M2 a pale blue colour.  It's not a nice blue and it hasn't aged well at all.  Worse, it's flaking off everywhere you look.

The good news is that Cernusco sul Naviglio they were repainting it.  Part of the platform was marked off while two men slapped some white emulsion all over it.  A massive improvement in anyone's book.

Cernusco S.N. was very much a Marble station.  I went to the ticket hall and found people passing around, meeting friends, finishing work, going out for the night.  

The street outside was busy and attractive.  This is what I want to see when I step out of a railway station.  Life.  A city, a town, a village that's working and thriving.

CASCINA BURRONA

The Merseytart Rules are simple and have been consistent over the nearly twenty years of this blog.  Use a train to either arrive at or depart a station, pass through the ticket barriers, take a picture of your massive head in front of the station sign.  Unchanging and ironclad.

It brings me no pleasure to tell you that the rules were broken at Cascina Burrona, for the very simple reason that I couldn't get off the station.  The ticket machines were on the platform and none of them liked my iPhone, meaning I couldn't swipe to exit, meaning I couldn't leave.  There was no way around them and no way to call for help.  I'd been using the same payment method all day - and would use it successfully at stations for the rest of the week - so this was very much a station specific problem.

It meant I was trapped on the platform.  I was the only person to get off the train so I don't know how much of a "me" problem this was and, as I say, there was no way to call for help.  As it was all I could do was take a platform sign selfie as proof of attendance and silently curse ATM.  It was lucky I wasn't walking between stations, because otherwise that would've been really, really annoying.  

VIMODRONE

The final station on the line before it merged with the Cologno branch at Cascina Gobba and the only one to sound like a film where James Woods puts his hand into his own stomach, Vimodrone was definitely a Marble station, as you can probably tell from that posh platform.

I went up the steps to the ticket hall, which sits above the railway lines.  Excitable teenagers were gathered outside, ready for a trip into the city.  Tall apartment blocks towered over the access staircases.  This was Milan now.

Vimodrone had already been refurbed, and while the white paint was an improvement on the nasty blue, it still wasn't great.  The best way for concrete to look is like concrete and they'd created a rod for their back by covering it up.

I took my sign picture and smiled to myself.  Another line gone.  The whole network was nearly finished.

Bet you can't wait, can you?