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?