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.
