The Art of Getting Lost

                The scramble of international travel can be pretty distracting – the struggle with baggage weight limits, the maze of airport security and customs, the layovers in foreign airports. It wasn't until my taxi dropped me off in front of my apartment that the reality of studying abroad hit me. I would be spending the next seven weeks in Florence, independent and responsible for myself. I set my suitcase down in the plain whiteness of the apartment.

                What now?

                Initially, I had some trepidation about studying abroad. It would be a completely new experience in a place where I have at best a limited command of the language. But I am making it my goal for the summer to push my limits and immerse myself in the Florentine culture. To risk embarrassment or failure. To seek adventure.

To get lost.

Optimistically speaking, I spent the majority of my first two weeks in Florence hopelessly lost. I would set off firmly in one direction, certain it was East, and end up at the base of the Duomo with the imposing green marble walls soaring over my head. Or I would set off to find the train station and wander off down a cross street that led me in a wide arc out of my way.

But I think so far some of my favorite things have been the ones I never intended to find. One night, in a misdirected attempt to find Gustapizza (so far my favorite pizza in the city), my roommates and I stumbled upon a procession of people dressed in Renaissance era clothes,cheering and waving a copy of the Mona Lisa. After gathering my courage, I asked a student in Italian what the parade was for. It turned out to be part of Mona Lisa Day – the art students claimed that the famous painting was created in Florence. We followed her to a glamorous outdoor party in a narrow piazza. Hip Italians clinked glasses and chatted over apertivo, an early dinner buffet for the cost of one drink, while live music jazzed in the background. A bachelor party stopped to chat for a bit, one of the friends proffering shots while the bachelor himself blushed bashfully.

One day I decided to wander up to the Chiesa di San Miniato to do my travel journal for the day. From up there the view of the city is like a postcard – Firenze, unrolling in all its sparkling glory. While I was sitting there a wedding party entered the church, the stylish Italian ladies effortlessly gliding up the stone steps in their sky high designer heels.

On my way down the street to my apartment was blocked off – after asking one of the other spectators, I found out that the procession of burly men and drummers in Medieval-style tights were heading to the calcio storico, a traditional Florentian game that was a vicious combo of soccer, football, and wrestling.

By now I've started to get my bearings in Florence. I can recognize addresses, find streets without burying my nose in my map. But I haven’t yet lost the thrill of getting lost, of the magic of discovery. And I hope I never do.

What I Miss

Four months ago, I boarded a plane in Heathrow Airport in London that returned me to the small city of Louisville, Kentucky, where I was born. After spending an entire semester in Florence, it was difficult to imagine what the transition back to America might feel like. While I constantly tried to reflect on my experiences in Italy while I was living there, I could not have anticipated what American life might feel like after living abroad.

What I did not realize until nearly one month after I returned was that I missed certain things about Florence. That may sound strange—“Of course you miss things about Florence, it was your home!” But after being away from friends and family for so long, the point of return caught up with me. I was excited to go home; excited for my family, excited for my dog, excited for the laughter of friends, and particularly excited for the Mexican restaurant around the corner from my house. That was my American life I had left behind. But when I took that U.S. Airways jet off the tarmac, I was leaving behind a new life that I had built for myself, a life completely different from what I had in Louisville, my home, or Nashville, where I attend school.

So what do I miss?

1.      The cappuccinos at Chiaroscuro on Via del Corso.

One of my best friends and I would always meet at Chiaroscuro. We met for lunches, for small caffé breaks, for the free Wi-Fi and cozy study space, all because we loved it. In Italy, the coffee is never big, and it is never watery. The cappuccinos at Chiaroscuro were the perfect blend of espresso and foam, and the kindness of the staff always brought us back. First culture shock: Starbucks is no Chiaroscuro.

2.      The gnocchi alla sorrentina.

From where, you ask? Everywhere. I traveled through Italy for my spring break, and at every restaurant, without fail, I ordered the gnocchi alla sorrentina. I had never eaten or even heard of gnocchi before I came to Italy, but once a friend made me try it, I was hooked. Gnocchi alla sorrentina is the nigh on perfect blend of all Italian flavors: potato gnocchi, crisp and baked tomato sauce, buffala mozzarella, and basil. They do not make this at my local Italian restaurant.

3.      Acqua al Due.

I should have expected that I would miss this place. Situated just around the corner from my apartment, Acqua al Due is famous for its delicious pasta and bistecca alla fiorentina—and I have to say, their wine selection isn’t half bad either. I had a frequent visitor punch-card from Acqua al Due, resulting in a free t-shirt on my last night in Florence. The owner also owns the American Diner across the street, which satisfied any comfort food cravings I had (trust me, they were few and far between though).

4.      The streets.

I loved the urban feel of Florence. In one edifice, you could find a delicious restaurant, a leather shop, and an apartment. The streets zig-zagged in an impossible maze that left tourists lost, but they were what I loved the most. Wandering the streets in the early morning, I could almost see how little Florence’s plan had changed over the past 500 year—I could picture the Medici in the Palazzo Vecchio, or Vasari directing construction of the Uffizi. The streets of Florence reminded me of the history of which I had become a part.

5.      The David.

In the end, above all else, what I love and miss most about Florence is the art. I miss seeing the David and being shocked every time. I miss standing in front of Botticelli’s Birth of Venus and listening to the gasps around me. I miss seeing the Rape of the Sabines from across the Piazza della Signoria. I miss the city whose identity was art, frozen in time for visitors and residents alike to love and appreciate.

So here I am, sitting in a chair, studying for Organic Chemistry, and asking myself: why did I leave again?

Cultural Camouflaging

A patriotic American myself, I am blessed to hail from the Land of Opportunity.  However, sometimes one just wants to fit in while abroad…especially when tourist season hits and flocks of our (sometimes obnoxious) compatriots descend on the city.  Here’s how to bamboozle the natives and avoid looking like an American.

How to Look Spiffy

Ok, so the weather is warming up.  A lot.  I know you are dying to slip into those Havaianas to show off your freshly painted toenails, but just. don’t. do. it.  I haven’t seen a single Italian wear them, and contrary to popular belief I HAVE seen my fair share of Italians this semester.  And shorts? Put ‘em back in the duffel.  Italians as a whole cover their legs for the most part.  I’ve seen longer skirts, but you will definitely get attention for wearing shorts (and that’s not always a good thing!)  When going out at night, avoid wearing tight, short skirts without tights.  This is a telltale sign you are American, and practically speaking, this getup isn’t really conducive to club dancing.  Also, for your safety, don’t disembark in stiletto heels at night.  The cobblestones present a particular challenge, especially after a glass or two of vino!  Your best bet is to stick with neutral colors and natural materials such as leather.  After all, Italians are known for their effortlessly chic style.

Oh Behaaaave

You slept in and are late to class.  Yikes!  Your first inclination is to run out the door and jog to class, book bag in hand, in complete disregard of others. Looking and acting as if you are in a rush will identify you as a foreigner.  As our Italian Cultural History professor explained, Italian time is more of an estimate.  You’ve got about 15 minutes leeway to show up to appointments, etc.  Italians embrace their pace of life, something that I’ve found has greatly reduced my stress.  (Note that buses and trains DO run on time, and CET classes for that matter…)

Speaking of buses and trains, make sure you validate your tickets!  There’s nothing like being singled out of a crowded bus and given a steep ticket for not knowing the cultural norms of public transportation.

*When making a grocery run*

Bring your own knapsack to the grocery store or don’t be surprised when a single plastic bag costs .08.  Though this is such a miniscule cost, it does add up, is less environmentally-conscious and could identify you as a foreigner.  Also, if the grocery store has a member card you can sign up for, get one!  Residents can sign up for a card which gives you great deals and makes you smile every time you pull it out at the register proving not only to the cashier, but to everyone else that you are a (semi) permanent resident!  Now, when you are at the register, avoid paying with the 1 and 2 eurocents.  The coins are so infrequently used that I’ve gotten strange looks when I pay with them.  Sometimes cashiers even round up or down a cent when giving you change.

Gastronomic Matters

ü  Don’t order a cappuccino in the afternoon!  An Italian coffee is ok, and even said to help digestion, but ordering a cappuccino post-lunch is bad form.

ü  If you go out for an aperitivo, limit the number of times you go back to the buffet.  One plate should be sufficient.  Each subsequent plate only hampers your ability to fit in.  After all, this is supposed to be a pre-dinner snack, not a multi-course meal.  While you’re at it, order a glass of wine or a Spritz as your drink.   These are the drinks locals tend to get and you may be disappointed at an Italian interpretation of a certain cocktail anyways.  Margar-whatta?

ü  When ordering gelato, don’t mix a cream-based gelato such as Nocciola (Hazlenut) with a fruit-based gelato like Limon.  Something about compromising the integrity of the flavors…

ü  Steer clear of any restaurant advertising its menu with images of food.  These places aren’t usually as authentic and cater to tourists.  The pictures never even look that good anyways!

ü  Ensure that the mushrooms on your pizza are Porcino!  The flavor of these mushrooms surpasses the alternatives and your knowledge of this Tuscan specialty will impress natives.

These are merely my humble observations.  They may or may not work for you.  With some behavioral adaptations, however, you should be able to assimilate into the Italian culture and fool them at least for a first glance.  This being said, if you’ve got blonde hair…good luck!

Spring Break in the South

I spent my spring break exploring the coast and meeting the people of Campania, a region in southern Italy. My best friend, Libby, made the trip in from Cairo (yes, the one in Egypt) to wander around with me in the coastal town of Sorrento, the frozen ruins of Pompeii, the island of Capri, and the metropolis of Naples. Though I may have been stationed in Florence for the past two months, I was no more prepared than Libby for the newness of the south.

After riding two trains through Italy to get to Sorrento, Libby and I decided to walk to our hotel. Though the walk was a thirty-minute trek straight up a seaside cliff, I saw the most beautiful set of coastline I had ever seen. I had never experienced anything like it. Cliffs shot down into the Bay of Naples, Mount Vesuvius loomed over the blue water, and I lost count of the number of lemon trees lining the road. When we finally reached our bed and breakfast, we quickly discovered that the proprietor and sole employee of the establishment spoke no English. An out of the way location, a monolingual owner, and sparse running water might have spelled disaster for some, but Libby and I thrived. I finally discovered that I could speak Italian—Alex and I rarely struggled to communicate, and I even translated for him. From his suggestions, we explored the area all the way down to a cozy rocky cove on the coast. A quick bus took us down to Sorrento, and we quickly discovered that all the rumors were true: southern Italy really does have the best food.

Just as we loved Sorrento for all that was living and thriving there, we loved all that no longer lived in Pompeii. The once grand Roman city stood static, embraced by tiny coastal cities and green hills. After Vesuvius erupted in 79 A.D., Pompeii and Ercolano lay underneath a thick layer of ash and rock, unwittingly preserving a perfect model of a Roman city. Though I doubt the Pompeian’s were happy that they gave up their lives for our benefit, I think Libby and I are only two of millions of people who are grateful for their gift. While Libby is surrounded by the relics of ancient Egypt in Cairo, and I by those of the Renaissance, Pompeii was the perfect middle. We were fascinated by the walls, the mosaics, the fountains (even the brothel, which was the most crowded spot in the whole city). One of the most interesting but also horrifying parts of Pompeii were the petrified human remains, or “the victims” as Libby called them, that littered the site. They were frozen in time, watching us pass by and admire what was once their home. Libby loved the Temple of Isis, a symbol of the Egyptian immigrant presence in the city, and I loved the grand House of the Dancing Faun, complete with a colonnaded courtyard and a private kitchen. We easily and happily spent hours among the ruins. At one point, we climbed a short wall and stepped into what appeared to be a closed off garden. Though this probably (definitely) wasn’t allowed, my close look at great columns and view into an empty Roman house are not experiences I will ever forget. Pompeii, older than Venice or Florence or Naples, symbolized the Italian tendency to preserve their culture. They actively seek to conserve their heritage; no Italian would forget that they are the inheritors of the Etruscan and Roman Empires. This archaeological site, many of which have been covered and built upon over the centuries, has become one of the most famous relics of history in the world.

Pompeii and Sorrento were two towns of different time periods. While Pompeii was ancient and purely Roman, Sorrento was bright and colorful. A newer Italy dominated the main drag, and the town focused more on its limoncello and tasty seafood than its Roman history. Capri, a famous but tiny island off the Bay of Naples, combined the small and shiny feeling of Sorrento, the cultural embrace of Pompeii, and something I had not yet seen in Italy: a love of nature. When we pulled around the northern corner of the island, I realized that I had only seen Italian cities. I had flown by the countryside in trains, but I had never really been surrounded by fresh air and salty, sloping cliffs. Our four days there were too fast; Capri was where we felt most at home.

The island was as empty as it could be. The Ferragamo and Louis Vuitton stores were closed, and the streets smelled of fresh paint, signaling preparations for the coming tourist season. But though the shopping was minimal, and tourists were scarce (especially at night), the locals wandered the streets and the cliffs whispered to the quiet town. A soccer player, Libby followed the sounds of whistles to a dirt soccer field squeezed between tiny streets in the middle of Capri Town. We later made the climb to Monte Solaro and Monte Cappello with only a few to keep us company, and we hiked along the Sentiero dei Fortini, a trail touching each of the centuries-old forts lining the western coast, with only a few lizards as companions.

For us, the natural and relatively untouched areas of the island drew us closest. Everything we saw was beautiful. While I’m sure the island has been kept this way deliberately, we couldn’t help but compare it to the developed resort islands that litter the Caribbean. Even the Blue Grotto, the most famous attraction of Capri where the water inside a small cave turns bright blue during the day, had an authenticity that I hadn’t seen anywhere else. Visiting Capri in the off-season, while a little cold, turned into the best decision of the trip. We went to the same local restaurant three nights in a row, we got to know our hotel proprietor, Lucia, very well, and even rode across the island in a few empty buses. Though we were just a pair of visitors in over 2000 years of tourism to Capri (there are Roman Villas to prove it), we loved the feeling of home exuded by Capri.

Staying in Italy for spring break, though uncommon, made me even more attached to Italy. I love speaking Italian, and I love seeing the endless facets of this relatively tiny peninsula. Even when we stopped in Naples for our last morning, the city’s contrast with its neighbors in the north made its size and slightly dangerous feel a source of fascination. I can no longer imagine only visiting Italy for one week, or even two weeks. Even after living here for two months, I have hardly scratched the surface. The country now seems like a friend; each city shows a different aspect of its personality, its beauty and its roughness. But I think that, like a friend, the thought of leaving it behind terrifies me.

On appreciating the little things…

After spending nine days away on spring break, I have returned to
Florence with a newfound appreciation of my study abroad home.

Cost of Living

While I initially thought Florence was expensive (.78 € for a
yogurt?! Are you kidding me?!), after spending the weekend in
Edinburgh, I have come to appreciate the value of the Euro. My
happiness at seeing a familiar refuge designated by the twin-tailed siren was unfortunately hampered within moments of arrival. The Starbucks in Scotland provided momentary excitement, that was inflated when a gigantic (read: tall) cup was placed in front of me, however, my realization that it cost over £2.50 meant that I was paying about $4 for a cup of plain ole black coffee! Though the serving size of Italian coffee
may be inadequate for my liking, the quality and affordability caused my
first cup back on Italian soil to be exceptionally delicious.

Following this breakfast expedition, we made our way up to the
Edinburgh Castle. Spoiled by our student passes that get us into
state museums in Florence for free, we were taken aback by the steep
£14 entrance fee. No student discounts either! That little plastic
student card feels so much more valuable in my backpack now.

Size of Florence

Upon arrival in Barcelona (the second half of my spring break) I was
immediately shocked by the size of the city. Compared to Florence, it
is huge! The maps are rarely to scale so a seemingly 30 minute walk
can easily take twice as long. There is no familiar Duomo looming
over the city where one can orient herself immediately.
Acknowledging the fact that I am not from a large
metropolitan area, I usually can figure out public transit relatively
easily. This was not the case in Barcelona. Attempting to navigate
to Sagrada Familia, the main attraction of Barcelona, the girls and I
became lost underground in the Metro. Not wanting to exit and have to
purchase another ticket, we wandered around aimlessly seeking another
line, the infamous L4. If I may quote a dear roommate of mine, "we
are trapped in a place where we don’t want to be...and..we’re..trapped".
(If you must know, we did eventually escape and successfully make it
to the church).

This morning, my half hour walking commute across the entire city to my Italian class allowed me to appreciate the dense conglomeration of art in such a concentrated area. Not only did I pass the Accadamia, Uffizi Gallery, and Orsanmichele, but also meandered around the Duomo and crossed the Ponte Vecchio.

Monoculture of Florence

After being in other areas of Europe, I have come to appreciate the
monoculture of Florence. That is to say that though sometimes I
lament the lack of ethnic diversity in culinary options (questionable
Chinese restaurants, few American places to satiate that hamburger
craving and only one Mexican restaurant!), it adds to the authenticity of my experience in an Italian city. I am getting the true assimilation
into culture. Besides food, hearing essentially only Italian and on
occasion English, is refreshing. In Barcelona, I heard Catalon,
Spanish, English and French walking along the streets, giving the city
more of a touristy feel. Hearing Italians answer the phone “Pronto”, happily respond “Va bene!” and chat with friends makes me feel immersed in a culture entirely different than my own.

Home is where the heart is, and in this case it’s Florence!