European travel

There is nothing dignified about the advanced stages of needing the toilet, least of all when one is inside one of Catholicism’s most splendid sanctuaries in a disposable modesty gown. To avoid impending disaster, my sister and I wasted no time in exiting to the nearest public toilets that we knew of, 20 feet below Milan Cathedral in the metro station of the Piazza del Duomo.

The Piazza del Duomo is the architectural epicentre for tourists to the city. Headed by the impressive Milan Cathedral, with its exquisitely pale exterior and tall ornamented spires piercing the sky above, the piazza also boasts a palace of high class consumerism in the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele arcade. Yet, below all this architectural splendour lies the murky world of underground transport; a world enclosed by red tiled walls and filled with the warm scent of dust, sweat and fuel.

It is in this world that you will find the sanctuary of Signora Maria, a guardian of the metro station’s public facilities. Upon entering the toilets, we were greeted by this tiny lady, sat on a small throne with her gnarled hands patiently raised in a silent protestation. Fixing us with black eyes of aged authority, she gave a sharp nod to a velvet lined collection basket before sanctimoniously turning to the legion of Virgin Mary statues encircling her. It was an unequivocal communication that patrons of this toilet were not only obliged to the €2 entry fee, but acknowledge the divine authority of Mary before relieving themselves. Succumbing to the pressure of Catholic guilt and our bladders, we dutifully obeyed the request of the tiny signora.

Above each toilet was an illustrated guide to cleaning the toilet after use which, for the more sensitive visitor, may have bordered on indecent. However, anxious not to incur the wrath of our hostess, my sister and I made full use of the available products and utensils to make our cubicles as resplendently clean as when we first entered. When we re-emerged, Signora Maria scuttled round, inspecting our work with a cloth as creased as her wrinkled brow. Having concluded that all was satisfactory, we were given a sense that her gratitude to us was as full as ours was to her for allowing us to return to a state of bodily equilibrium. Having made our introductions and goodbyes in the same breath, we headed back up to the Piazza del Duomo, feeling rather pleased with ourselves.

After all, cleanliess is next to godliness.