Vico Milano

It takes a special kind of place to make you forget the disastrous previous 24 hours the minute you walk through the door. Even more special, one that greets you with an umbrella amidst a biblical Milanese downpour, whisks your sodden bags away, promptly serves a welcome aperitivo and very generously compliments you on your patchy Italian. Needless to say, Vico Milano had us at ‘hello’. 
 
A little background is, of course, needed. Having booked our dreamy Milan stay some months in advance, I took us on an impromptu detour across the French-Italian border the night before when I discovered that our beloved Keziah Jones was playing an intimate gig in the small village of Tende (worth noting here I have been trying to surprise Mr Smith with tickets to see him for the best part of 18 years and this was the weekend of our 18th anniversary).
 
On arrival, my romantic spontaneity soon resulted in conditions that would test the best of long-term relationships and resulted in us abandoning a pre-booked hotel that turned out to be a damp hostel, waiting in the pouring rain for an hour and a half at an invisible bus stop for a bus that never showed up, mourning ruined suede shoes, and nursing two pretty foul moods. Up with the larks the following morning to hotfoot it to Milan resulted in more rain, more unreliable transport, frustratingly crap coffee, and an iPhone which met its maker in a puddle.
 
To footnote this delightfully dismal adventure, my vision of swooshing into the Vico Milano reception like a glamourous Milano sciura was thwarted, thanks to the rainwater that had seeped into my bag providing all my pressed white cotton Isabel Marant dresses with creepy brown water lines (IYKYK) and Mr Smith’s iPad flicking on… but mostly off.
 
But – and you can tell where I’m going with this – all that was soon at the back of our minds. You don’t need a prelude as chaotic as ours to appreciate the immediate tranquillity of Vico Milano, but it serves nicely for the purposes of me pressing home the point. 

In a city that is brilliantly more reverb than relaxing and one that comes with an energy that is deftly defiant of the Italian notion of piano piano, this little oasis is something hard won; it is seductively serene.
 
Not a sound could be heard from the bustling Corso Genova stretch as the wonderful resident manager, Luciano, settled us into our deluxe suite. A duplex split over two levels, every inch was considered so cleverly: the open-plan stairs against a floor-to-ceiling mirror doubled the space which included a multo-chic dressing area, a proper-sized fridge (always love this) concealed under the steps, and a bathroom lined in Aesop products with lighting so flattering you almost couldn’t see the mascara gloop under my eyes. Ascending the stairs to the king-size wooden four-poster bed (a commission by specialist artisans in Tuscany), we felt immediately at home.
 
Lovely Luciano told us later that it was always the intention of owner Neri Baccheschi-Berti when imagining the seven-room hotel. The site, previously used to make Legnano racing bikes, was the Berti family’s fashion business HQ for years before they commenced its conversion in 2019 and an intimacy is retained all over the place. In our room were pieces of vintage Chinese furniture the family has picked up on its travels over the years, the carpet (which felt like clouds underfoot) was commissioned by Berti in Morocco, and the tapestry adorning the wall had been sourced from Sumatra by his mother in the 1970s.
 
Such is its ingenuity of design, it’s the kind of space that convinces you that all you really need is 26 square-metres to live in full time; the kind that makes you take pictures of the taps and tiles so that you can dream of one day replicating it all at home (the tiles, by the way, are Zelig and handmade in custom colours and took three full weeks to fit).
 
Dried off and dressed in clothes that didn’t need a dry clean, we decided to head out for a spritz. On the cobble-hopping rain-dash to get to the front door, we had clocked the legendary Pasticceria Cucchi a two-minute walk away on the corner of Via Edmondo de Amicis and so headed there to hit reset on our weekend. One turned into two, which turned into three (a reminder: suede shoes, iPhone, Isabel Marant) by which point the Milan sky was a dark shade of mushroom soup and we were reliably informed that another deluge was on the way.
 
So reader, we did what any self-respecting weekend-trippers staying in a beautiful hotel does; we got a takeout Margherita pizza and retreated to our little hideaway at Vico Milano where we indulged in its very comprehensive honesty bar, before indulging a little more in our equally comprehensive mini bar. 

Stretching out under the most sumptuous cotton sheets, on the most comfortable bed, watching Luca Guadagnino’s I Am Love on the huge projector on the wall opposite as thunder stormed around us, it was a perfect turn of events. Basic? Hell, yes. But bliss, nonetheless.
 
The good vibes continued the following morning as we made our way downstairs towards our breakfast table, admiring the snazzy gym room along the way (I’m more pancakes than Peletons in the mornings). A continental breakfast of cured meats and cheeses sourced from the family’s Castello di Vicarello estate in Tuscany were served with organic yoghurts and fruits and a pretty perfect cappuccino and we were set up for the day.
 
Gratefully, the storm had passed and so armed with Luciano’s helpful directions and suggestions we headed out. The hotel is about a seven-minute walk to the Porto Genova Metro station, which takes you up to the cultural epicentre of Brera and connects you to anywhere else you want to go (the trams are a great shout too, but I have tried and failed on too many occasions to recommend a route with any conviction). 

But we decided to stay local. Just around the corner is the Navigli district, which has all the mid-century furniture shops, restaurants, record stores and bars to keep you entertained and well-watered on a Saturday afternoon in central Milan. I’m a big believer in getting to know one area really well rather than seeing a little bit of everything in one trip – plus it gives you a good reason to come back.
 
That evening, we ticked a few wish-list locations off our list: the Grand Hotel Osteria for dinner – a 10-minute taxi ride down the canal from the hotel and all traditional osteria fare with Wes Anderson vibes – and a night at the legendary Bar Basso polishing off its signature negroni sbagliato before happily strolling back to our home from home.
 
Reluctantly tearing ourselves from bed the following morning, we demolished another legendary breakfast and checked out, gratefully leaving our bags behind so we could spend the rest of our day on the big Navigli market that happens on the last Sunday of every month. If you’re in the market for both contemporary and vintage Italian art, fashion and furniture, book a room at Vico Milano as you’ll be in for a treat.
 
Eager to bring something home (namely some handmade tiles, a nice rug or a tapestry), but with hand luggage only, we were delighted to pick up vintage linen curtains (me), a Louis Poulsen lamp (Mr Smith), and a number quirky 1980s enamelled water glasses which we both clocked to bring home with us.
 
On route to the airport, we went via the hotel to pack our treasures into our bags. The sense of excitement and rejuvenation we felt compared to the mood we arrived with was not lost on us. Some places just have the energy it takes to transport you somewhere special - and Vico Milano is one of them. Come rain or shine.