One year ago, late November, I was riding my beloved bike route along the Naviglio Pavese, one of the several canals radiating from the center of Milano. In the near-14-months that I rode this paved path, I couldn’t guess how many times I covered part of these 33 kilometers between Milano and Pavia, to the south.
Some days I went only as far as the roundabout joining two highways near Binasco, and turned back, not having the guts that day to do that dangerous circle on two wheels. Other days I veered off west into the farm land, and wound the one-lane roads amidst the rice paddies and corn fields on my way to buy fresh ricotta cheese at Cascina Femegro. There were times I talked to and raced with the lycra-clad jock cyclists on their training rides and I surprised them by keeping up with their pace.
In the course of my long year, I witnessed the full cycle of seasons along the canal. I rode in the humid heat of summer under a blazing sky, and continued riding in the cold, hazy gray of the long, Milanese winter. I was intrigued by the dull hues and disrepair of the backside facades overlooking the canal. Along this route, I saw the frostburnt remnants of summer gardens, moss and algae, stucco and tile begging for repair and persimmons left to hang.
The canalside is more often left untended; it is the non-public face of the home or business, unlike the streetside front that presents a more polished view, (akin to a beautiful woman ironing only the front of her blouse). But there’s something very direct and appealing about the canalside facade, even quaint, and certainly without pretense. It called for a sleepy, early-winter portrait from the water’s edge.
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Among the many, here are a few other stories I’ve written about the canal: