I made it! I will try to sum up the last three days…bear with me. There has been so much going on. But I shall start from the beginning! Our flight left at 7pm Chicago time and flew for 8 hours (during which I got three hours of restless sleep) to Zurich, Switzerland. In Zurich we gaped at the landscape around us and I got to use my German to have some very funny conversations with the Swiss security (about toilets and Italy…don’t ask), then we flew for another hour to Firenze. There were six of us on the same flight so after showering we walked through the city to see the Duomo and Ponte Vecchi before joining the rest of our ACM (Associated Colleges of the Midwest) group at the Ostaria dei Centopoveri for dinner, then Grom for gelato. I was in such a sleep-deprived haze that I don’t remember much of that. I kept thinking of my sister who fainted from exhaustion when she took a study abroad trip to Germany and focused most of my energy on staying upright and breathing. Of course, the moment I sat down back at our hotel I was wide awake again (jet lag, ugh). Thank goodness for technology and the opportunity to skype my wonderful boyfriend, Joseph, who cheered me up and sent me to bed with a smile on my face.
I woke up the next morning with much difficulty at 1 am Chicago time-11pm California time- 8am Italian time. We stayed at the Hotel Duca d’Aosta which is across the street from the main train station in Florence, Stazione di Santa Maria Novella and about five blocks away from Cattedrale di Santa Maria del Fiore (better known as la Piazza del Duomo) so the view from the balcony of our room widened my eyes and prepared me for my first Italian lesson.
My teacher’s name is Stefano (coincidentally also the name of the boy who punched out my first tooth in first grade) and he is a young, energetic Italian who wore a plaid short-sleeve button-down with a diagonally striped tie and skinny jeans (an entirely black and white ensemble). We learned greetings—Buongiorno!—and various other introductory questions and answers. After four hours of basic (but very fast paced) Italian, we were oriented to the program, filled out paperwork, and finally ventured back to Ostaria dei Centopoveri for bruschetta, pizza and fruit tart. This was a much more energetic meal, getting to know one another and swapping tattoo stories.
Then six of us went searching for a place to sit down for a glass of prosecco and observe some Italian culture but got a wee bit lost. We finally made it to the Fiume Arno and sat down at an outdoor concert until we noticed that they would charge us 8 Euro just for sitting down and skeedaddled. Luckily, it wasn’t until we were back at the hotel when homesickness struck again. Sleep did not come easily last night; it took two reruns of NPR’s “Wait, Wait, Don’t Tell Me” and half a dose of my anti-anxiety medication until I finally was able to sink into the dream world. When the sun came up and I was finally shaken awake, I had no idea what the day had in store for me.
And that is today! Stefano taught us numbers (double-digit numbers are spoken in order, not like in German when the ones-unit is spoken first and the tens unit last, as Stefano continues to remind me) and fruta e verdure (not Obst und Gemüse, not Fruits and Vegetables) so that when we went to il Mercato (the hay market), we could buy fresh, locally grown (and sometimes biologico, organic) lunch. I ate a delizioso spinach pie sandwich and learned by experience that Italian grapes have very large seeds. I was also excited to see that the Italians eat every single part of the animal that is butchered, not like Americans who only buy the “good” parts in heavily wrapped plastic packages (and no, my excitement was not shared by the three vegetarians or the two carnivores in my group).
After lunch and much anticipation, we received our home-stay assignments. My eyes widened in excitement when I looked directly to my right and found my new roommate just as excited as I was. Kari and I are both energetic, redheaded theatre majors (though she is an actress and I am a designer, which balances out nicely) and we have already been getting along splendidly (we actually discussed our similarities and unavoidable friendship during dinner the previous night). We hopped in a taxi (hired by ACM) and gaped out the window for all four minutes of the cab-ride. We were dropped off at the beginning of Via Vittoria Emanuele II and pointed towards an apartment building labeled “2”. Kari and I exchanged skeptical glances because the number that we had shown him was 97 on the same street, but we decided to trust the taxi driver because he lives here, after all. I’m sure you can already guess what happened next; we didn’t find the name of our host family on any of the buzzers, so I pressed a random one and asked for our family’s name. No, no one by that name lived in the building. Number 97? Well, Via Vittoria Emanuele II is a very long street so we probably needed to walk about two kilometers in the other direction. We thanked the man leaning out of his window and then cursed our cab driver as we wheeled our enormous suitcases out of the way of the sidewalk. Luckily, I had decided to buy my cell phone the day before (Kari is buying hers tomorrow) and so was able to contact Jodi, the ACM director who called us another cab and cursed our cab driver in Italian (quite wonderful sounds to hear at that moment). These two gingers had only to wait uno minute in the blazing hot Mediterranean sun before we were whisked away by another, friendlier taxi to numero 97 (yes, it was very very much further along the street). Waiting for us there was Daniella, a grey-haired Nonna with an infectious smile and welcoming words. The apartment is small but the walls are covered in various paintings, photographs, posters, collages and other artwork. There is hardly a bare wall in the apartment (including the bathroom!). We gratefully unpacked in the quaintest of rooms (we are on the first floor facing the street) and then walked around our part of town. We made it through half of the park across the street (not even noticing the second large park down the street or the armor museum up the hill) and wove through several more blocks to find that we are living in the Italian equivalent of a suburb…which is hardly anything like a suburb in the U.S. save for the feeling of safety on the streets and the vast majority of families who live here.
When we got back to our new home, Daniella’s 29 year old son, Mattheo was retrieving his 5 month old son, Marco and 9 year old son, Massimo. Just as they were leaving, Daniella’s husband, Andrea, returned from work and soon thereafter, we ate dinner. Our first course was spaghetti, followed by chicken and potatoes with a fruit salad for dessert…so filling! I need to get used to these large Italian meals. Though I know I will quickly pick up Italian because our family speaks very little English (though enough to get by, for the beginning) and they are very nice about helping us along. I was worried about feeling uncomfortable speaking bad Italian around them but those feelings evaporated almost immediately upon talking to them. We discussed (in broken English and Italiano) our areas of study, our families, parents’ professions, boyfriends, friends and various questions we had about the surrounding area. I’m looking forward to visiting the recommended SuperMercato, four blocks from our home, as well as the Gelateria Medici, Daniella’s favorite in all of Florence. Tomorrow, Kari and I will take our first bus ride to class and hopefully be able to judge that it is a short enough distance to walk (supposedly a refreshing 25 minute walk). So I must to bed! You all are surely alive, awake, alert, enthusiastic at the moment, it being 5 p.m. in Chicago and 7 p.m. in California, but it is now nearing midnight so I must slip once again into the dreamworld. Buona Notte!
