Winter in Milan. Huddled against the sub-alpine chill, a coterie of fur coats conducts an animated conversation in the Piazza del Duomo, circumvented by hundreds of pigeons pecking their way across the massive cathedral concourse. A graffiti-encrusted tram rattles past in the distance, absurdly forced to jostle for its designated space with cars whose drivers weave a practised - if potentially suicidal - passage through the crowded city streets, horns beeping, hands frequently raised in the characteristic Italian body language of impatience and frustration.
A watery sun rides high in the winter sky, glancing off camera lenses wielded by the off-season residue of oriental tourists, intent on photographing the lavishly embellished gothic structure of the Duomo from every conceivable angle.
Exceptionally well-dressed businessmen, like businessmen everywhere, stride purposefully on their way to the next billion lira deal, ears locked to cellphones, eyes scanning the ground to avoid the obstacle course of dog excrement, an unwelcome feature of the city's walkways. Coffee houses, snack bars and hot chestnut stands enjoy brisk business in the frosty air, expresso and cappuccino sipped standing up at counters, tables largely unoccupied as customers have to pay nearly double the price for the privilege of sitting down.
The passing parade of fur, both real and synthetic, gives the sense of being caught up in a yeti convention, the ethical furore over wearing dead animals seemingly having bypassed the city. In addition, fur-clad women of all ages, shapes and sizes have, as a fashion accessory, furry canines - also of all shapes and sizes - which, like some sub-species of Italian sacred cow, deposit doggy doings against the facade of any convenient piece of architectural heritage. The Italian renaissance of paint spray can, as contemporary art form is everywhere, on buildings, trains, even cars. Stand motionless on a street corner for too long and you could kiss goodbye to a pair of trousers, the cultural barbarism of idle youth mercifully stopping just short of the sumptuous city centre.
Still, Milan in the chill of winter manages to retain its imperious air of instinctive elegance, offering the off-season visitor a different perspective of the Milanese lifestyle. Unlike summer, when apartment dwellers desert the fetid city heat for the relative coolness of coast and mountain, winter sees this great city of over three 3 million inhabitants simply getting on with the mundane routine of life, which remains making money and looking good, whatever the weather. The Milanese have three great love affairs, their cultural heritage, their cars - but primarily themselves. Home base of the late Versace and hub of the international fashion industry, style is not simply a fashion statement but an expression of personal values. The Milanese don't walk the streets, they parade, they swagger, with a fair proportion of disposable income appearing to go on their backs and feet. Despite its size, Milan is a tourist-friendly city, the principal sights of interest lie at its geographical heart and within reasonable walking distance of each other. While local tempers may fray in the heat of summer, a faltering request in the off-season for directions is likely to produce an unexpectedly courteous response.
We recently spent four days there seeking an aperitif of the city's cultural and culinary attractions. We were fortunate in being accommodated by Italian friends, the Ghezzi family, who have a spacious apartment within 10 minutes walk of the city centre. A family ancestor, the Rev Charles Ghezzi SJ, Jesuit priest and professor of Italian at UCD, tutored the young James Joyce in Italian art and culture. Father Ghezzi served as a model for Father Artifoni in Stephen Hero and, in Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man Joyce used Ghezzi's real name for the character. In a diary entry Stephen Dedalus refers to his instructor as "little round-headed rogue's eye Ghezzi". The family is quietly proud of its modest Irish literary association, the Dedalus description of Ghezzi, accepted as a family characteristic, quoted with much amusement.
For visitors without local contacts there are many economical, small guest houses and hotels on the fringes of the urban sprawl, linked to the centre by tram and underground; offering cheap and efficient transport, a useful legacy of Mussolini, who allegedly at least got the trains to run on time. A word of warning: astonishingly for a city of its size, Milan does not have an advanced booking accommodation facility.
On arrival at Linate Airport seek out STAM, a private organisation, which offers a hotel reservations service. Alternatively, head towards the city centre and the general railway station. The public tourist office (APT) will also point visitors in the right direction for budget accommodation.
For those who bemoan Dublin's gridlock, traffic chaos in Milan is a sobering experience, the commercial arteries risking imminent heart attack by virtually unregulated double and triple parking. Cars are deposited on pathways, corners, at bus stops, and, if feasible, would be piled on top of each other. However, with a little patience, one can move around surprisingly quickly in this maelstrom of people and vehicles. Apart from the principal architectural treasures - such as the cathedral of del Duomo, its bizarrely exotic exterior appearing to be the creation of some drug-induced revelation - the nearby Vittorio Emanuele shopping arcade is the ultimate in both structural grandness and consumer chic. A short walk away is the Piazza Della Scala and the famous La Scala opera house and museum, its sober exterior belying a sumptuous interior.
Pop down the nearest underground for the adventure of working out a connection near to the church of Santa Maria Della Grazie to marvel at one of the world's finest works of art, Leonardo's Last Supper, a giant mural on the wall of the refectory. With luck, and an hour's wait, you may get in to stand in wrapt wonder. Alas in February Jesus and the disciples were unavailable, "closed for restoration and reconstruction". The massive fortification of the Sforzesco Castle, built in the shape of a huge rectangle around a vast inner courtyard, houses some magnificent collections of diverse art and sculpture, Milan's past conquerors changing as often as an Italian government. Entrance is free, as it is to most public buildings. A must-see is the Rondanini Pieta, Michelangelo's last unfinished masterpiece and an Italian national treasure, in the Sforzesco castle. Marvel also at the video-taking Japanese tourists, with lenses trained on the marble statue, anxious not to miss out on any sudden movement syndrome.
For those weary of historic edifices, the roar of traffic noise and the rash of newer apartment blocks, why not depart for a meander through the fertile, if frozen, Italian countryside. The massive Central Railway Station, another lofty, awe-inspiring structure, provides the conduit for escape to what the Milanese call the "pre-Alps".
Eating out, as one would expect, is generally excellent but can either be inexpensively simple and satisfying, or annoyingly overpriced. The old rule of thumb applies: eat on the fringes, away from the centre of Milan. In Bergamo, about 30 miles away, a three course meal, with wine, will cost a modest £10 to £15, including magnificent views if seated at a window table. In central Milan you won't see much change out of £50 for similar fare.