Ciao Firenze

My super delayed last post that I have finally decided to keep simple. Finally ready to wrap it up.

What I learned in 4.5 months of living in Italy and traveling:

1. It’s not about the destination. The craziest adventures come from getting there: the times you missed your flight, turned down a wrong alley, or met someone you never thought you would.

2. No matter where you’re at physically, financially, emotionally, you have the capacity to help somebody else.

3. Talk things out, no matter how hard it is.

4. Roll with the punches.

5. Don’t travel or do things for the sake of being able to tell other people you’ve been there or to say you’ve done that. Your experiences are for you.

6. A hell of a lot else.

I want to thank all of you that followed this blog and my rantings. And those who sent letters and postcards to Italy! It’s hard to explain in words what your support meant to me, it meant more than you know, and I felt it every day while I was gone. To all of the friends I made in Italy and abroad, you’ve made a huge impact on me, and I think about you every day and miss you. That goes for you too, Italy.

Niko, you once told me something before I left that I had found again recently. I didn’t fully understand its meaning until now. I think it describes it all perfectly.

“Travel is more than the seeing of sights; it is a change that goes on, deep and permanent, in the ideas of living.”

Thanks for having me inside you, Florence.

Has been fantastic. Other than the jet lag royally kicking my arse, sleeping in my own bed has been PHENOMENAL, Mexican food is the eighth wonder of the world, my dog doesn’t stop licking my face, and Mexican food. I’ve been spending the last two days with my family, swimming, and resting, and it has been so refreshing. Seeing my uncle for the first time had me in tears, I was so happy. The first day being back and thinking about Italy made me sad. For lack of a better metaphor, it’s kind of like going through a break up. The first week or two is really hard, you can’t really think about it, and you just have to go out with your friends and dance the night away. After a month you start contemplating how you can get back and make it work. The last two days I’ve oddly enough been thinking about regrets, and wondering if I made the most of the semester. I know, this is dumb. This is probably the lack of sleep and sanity talking, and talking to my other friends that have studied abroad has quickly gotten me out of this funk. The strangest part about being back is that the entire semester feels like a dream, and I’m just waking up, back in my house, in my bed, like nothing happened and nothing has changed. But a lot has changed: me. The only proof I have that the last semester actually happened is my pictures and my memories. And of course the awesome people I got to share it with. The other difficult part is that the primary language I’ve been using for the last four months has immediately become obsolete. No one speaks Italian. Not that I would expect them too. Getting off the plane in New York, I went to ask for help and immediately realized, duh, everyone spoke English. That was one of those strange, Dorothy we’re not in Italy anymore, moments. I have a lot of those. Yesterday I used a dishwasher for the first time. And then I got to put my clothes in a dryer instead of hanging them up on the clothesline. And then I heard an American ambulance siren when I was at my hair appointment and shouted “OH! That’s what that sounds like!” I accidentally tried to pay for something with eurocents, and looked like the ultimate douchebag. Being able to drive my car and not using public transportation felt pretty natural, but part of me missed the trek to Santa Maria Novella, the sound of trains pulling into the station, and the hustle and bustle of everyone trying to get somewhere. I miss walking on the cobblestone streets and running to get a cappucino, or heading to class to see my friends and hilarious professors, and walking through Piazza Republica and the leather market. I miss my local Billa grocery store, grabbing a jar of clever or a 50 euro cent bread baguette, sun dried tomatoes from the central market, and making dinner and singing with my roommates. Well, I could create a super long list of the things I miss, but that is neither here nor there. I’m working on a last post for this blog, and I’m hoping to maybe stick a couple more posts in before that, maybe some updates on some adventures I never got to mention, and I’ve finally been able to upload pictures. But most of me feels like it’s time for this blog to come to an end, the semester in Italy to be closed, and for the next chapter of life to start. I can’t tell you how much it has meant to me, the incredible support you all have been while I’ve been gone, and even coming back. As soon as I get over this jet lag, I can’t wait to spend time with you guys. I couldn’t have done this last semester without you, I mean that from the bottom of my heart.

OPTION 1

“Well I drank, cooked, joined the mafia, boogied, ate at the secret bakery at 2am, saw some stuff, learned a sexy language, pasta, ran after transportation, got scrubbed down naked by a Turkish woman, got bit by a dog, got bit by Italians, slept in a train station, hung out with David Hasselhoff in an alley, and sometimes attended class.”

or

OPTION 2

“Great!”

I’m the happiest person in US customs right now. I feel really overwhelmed and major reverse culture shockage, but I’m so happy to be back in the US. Next stop, LOS ANGELES! ARRIVING AT MIDNIGHT!

My mom’s first trip out of the country. This is big time. Getting to show my mom around Florence and Rome was really nice for a lot of reasons. The first reason being, of course, that I missed her terribly and it was so much fun just getting to catch up with her and spend time with her. Whether it was wandering around museums and churches, or over kebabs and wine (these were my mom’s two favorite things), my mom and I spent hours talking about past experiences, love, marriage, religion, politics; I could tell our relationship had grown since I had last seen her. Or maybe I had. It was also cool to be able to show her what I learned, as far as Italian culture and language! Translating for her was fun and tested my knowledge and my ability to translate back, which takes a lot of brain power. “Errrr…”

This trip was my mom’s first time out of the country, and watching her see Italy for the first time took me back to when I had first arrived to Florence. Italy is an attack on the senses: the sight of hundreds of years old architecture, motorinos, and small streets, the sound of Italian speakers, ambulances and train whistles, and the smell of pasta cooking, bombolones baking, and leather markets on every corner. Its hard not to fall instantly in love with the place, and I could tell my mom would fall in love with its charm just like I did.
Despite our hotel being on the third floor (fourth floor in America) and there being no elevator, it was nice to have a clean living space that I didn’t share with a bunch of other people. Except I have really become accustomed to hostel life and I’ve loved all the new friends I’ve made in them, but after a while its nice to shower in a clean bathroom and have clean linens everyday.
I loved showing my mom around my city, eating at the restaurants my friends and I loved and showing her where my classes were, a day in the life. But in reality we were eating 49 euro cent pasta, staring at the bidet contemplating its use, and stealing toilet paper from the school bathrooms. An actual day in the life. Sorry for not being sorry, LdM.
Afterwards, we headed to Rome, bit not without running into a guy I had been dating and hadn’t spoken to for a while. So he awkwardly met my mom, I said goodbye for the last time, cursed Florence for being so small of a friggin city, and off we went!
While I could go on and on about the time my mom and I spent together this week, I know it wouldn’t mean as much to anyone else as it does to me, so I’ll only describe one thing worth mentioning. We had set aside Saturday for the Vatican Museum and St. Peter’s, which my mom was most looking forward to and I will admit is my favorite part of Rome. We went through the museum, making sure to spend extra time in the Sistine Chapel, and a few hours later finally headed inside The Vatican City to St. Peter’s basilica. There was an extremely long line, we weren’t sure what time the basilica would close, and we almost contemplated leaving. But no way. I told my mom she wasn’t coming to Rome without going to St. Peters. Eventually we got through the line and I grabbed her hand and lead her into the church. We stopped upon entering and she looked up. You know those moments in life when you see something, and you know that you’ll never be the same after that moment? You may think I’m over exaggerating, and if you do, that’s fine. But if you are reading this and you have been to St. Peter’s, you know exactly what I am talking about. And in that moment my mom understood what my words had failed to explain. If you are raised Catholic or even Christian, its like everything you’ve ever learned about comes together in this place. Granted that I have a lot of qualms with the Catholic church and my faith, but at that moment, none of that matters. Its just you and God. In this incredible space.
We walked through the basilica, seeing Michelangelo’s sculpture of Mary and Jesus, and John Paul II’s tomb that had been moved inside the basilica! We went to the back where it looked like they would be having mass at the main alter of the basilica. I asked the guards in Italian if we could attend mass, and they let us through the gates. Score! (Take that, Cappuchin Monk Cemetary Nun! Oh yeah, I got kicked out of there for a second time.) The alter was beautiful, and a choir from Notre Dame was singing. My mom sat completely stunned at this series of events. She squeezed my hand, “Its incredible what can happen when you stop being afraid or worried and take chances. I never thought I would be sitting in St. Peter’s, in Rome, and attending mass! And experiencing this with you has made it all the better.” It really was the perfect end to the trip. Tomorrow we fly home to California. A last week in Italy well spent.

“Uno per l’aeroporto, per favore.”
“Five euro.”
“Really?” They never respond to me in Italian. My casual acquaintances, the ones working either at my grocery store or regular gelato joint, spoke only Italian for the first month, even when I didn’t know a single phrase. Up until this week when all of the tourists show up, and suddenly their English and customer service skills make a guest appearance. Peachy.
Took the bus an hour and a half early, and ran into the arrivals gate. Flight delayed. Gah. The Italian gentleman next to me watched as I paced up and down the lane. He told me whoever I was waiting for was very lucky. I nervously laughed, “Grazie,” and went back to pacing. Every time the automatic doors would open I would stop to look up, hoping, just to see a family or a businessman walk out. Shoot. Just as I had started to wonder if something had gone wrong or if I had the wrong airport, the doors flew open once more. A familiar face came forward, her eyes lit up as they found mine across the terminal. Welling up with the biggest tears, I danced around, anxiously awaiting for the gate to open. She gave me the biggest, warmest hug that only your mom could give you after not seeing you for many months. I had forgotten there was anyone else in that airport as I stood there hugging her for what felt like an hour. She is my best friend, my moral compass, my banter buddy, my instant laugh, my motivation to suceed in life, and the best mother God could have possibly created. Havinh her here is such a blessing, and it makes me ao happy to show her around my street, my school, and my favorite historic buildings in the city that has become my second home. I have the best of both of my worlds with me, and I am so happy. But come Sunday, I will be thankful to return home.

Such an awesome week. Sorry my writing has been lacking, I’ve been running all over the place. I will definitely be sitting down next week to bust out a lot of writing, there are definitely some stories to be told. Weird, I’ll be home next week, back in my living room, cracking jokes with my family, eating Mexican food, and seeing friends. I’m really excited to see you all. Today I’m showing around friends I’ve met at the hostel in Munich and here in Florence, probably seeing the David and getting good paninis. Tommorow, picking my mom up from the Florence airport tomorrow and enjoying my last week in Italy. Sorry these posts are lacking excitement, I definitely have some Germany and Amsterdam stories to tell. See you in 8 days!