Flanking the city's two canals, just south of the Cerchia Viali,
the streets of the Navigli quarter feel a long way from the
city centre, their peeling houses and waterside views much sought
after by the city's would-be bohemians. A thriving inland port from
the fifteenth century until the 1950s, the Naviglio Pavese - which
links Milan with Pavia - and the Naviglio Grande - which runs to
the west - are part of a network of rivers and canals covering the
whole of Italy's northern plain, making ports or even naval bases
of landlocked cities. They were also much used by travellers: the
ruling families of the North used them to visit one another,
Prospero and Miranda escaped along the Navigli in The
Tempest , and they were still being used by Grand Tourists in
the eighteenth century; Goethe, for example, describes the
discomfort and hazards of journeying by canal. These days there's
not much to do other than browse in its artists' studios and
antique shops, but it's a peaceful area, good for idle strolling,
and at night its bars and clubs are among the city's best.
Back towards the centre, the Ticinese is another arty
district, though as yet less a prey to regeneration than Navigli.
On the southern edge of the quarter, at the bottom of Corso di
Porta Ticinese, the nineteenth-century Arco di Porta
Ticinese is an Ionic gateway on a noisy traffic island built to
celebrate Napoleon's victory at Marengo - and, after his demise,
dedicated to peace. As you walk north up the Corso, the only
obvious signs of trendification are secondhand clothes shops, a few
bars and the occasional club, and the musty decadence makes it one
of Milan's more intriguing areas.
Ticinese also boasts two important churches. The first,
Sant'Eustorgio , at the bottom end of the Corso, was built
in the fourth century to house the bones of the Magi, said to have
been brought here by St Ambrose. It was rebuilt in the eleventh
century, but in the twelfth century was virtually destroyed by
Barbarossa, who seized the Magi's bones and deposited them in
Cologne Cathedral. Some of the bones were returned in 1903 and are
kept in a Roman sarcophagus in the right transept. The main reason
for visiting the church, however, is to see the Portinari
Chapel commissioned from the Florentine architect Michelozzi in
the 1460s by one Portinari, an agent of the Medici bank, to house
the remains of St Peter the Martyr. Peter, one of Catholicism's
less attractive saints, was banned from the Church for allegedly
entertaining women in his cell, then cleared of the charge and
given a job as an Inquisitor. His death was particularly nasty - he
was axed in the head by a member of the sect he was persecuting -
but the martyrdom led to almost immediate canonization and the
dubious honour of being deemed Patron of Inquisitors. The chapel,
with its simple geometric design, has been credited with being
Milan's first real Renaissance building, although it was Bramante
who really developed the style. Inside, you are treated to scenes
from the life of St Peter in frescoes by Foppa and reliefs carved
on the sides of his elaborate tomb.
Further up the Corso, the fourteenth-century Porta
Ticinese and sixteen Corinthian columns - the Colonne di San
Lorenzo , scavenged from a Roman ruin - stand outside the
church of San Lorenzo . It's an evocative spot - an odd
contrast to the backdrop of grubby bars and rattling trams - and
the place to hang out at night before hitting the Navigli
and Ticinese clubs and bars. San Lorenzo, apparently considered by
Leonardo da Vinci to be the most beautiful church in Milan, was
founded in the fourth century, when it was the largest centrally
planned church in the western Roman Empire. The current structure
is a sixteenth-century renovation of an eleventh-century
rebuilding, a shaky edifice under threat from the vibrating
tramlines outside. Inside, the most interesting feature is the
Cappella di San Aquilino (daily 9am-6pm; L2000/€1.03), much
of which has survived from the fourth century. There are fragments
of fourth-century mosaics on the walls, including one in the left
apse where the tiles have crumbled away, revealing the artist's
original sketches. Behind the altar, steps lead down to what is
left of the original foundations, a jigsaw of fragments of Roman
architecture looted from an arena.