Random Acts of Kindness

Blame it on the holidays, but I am feeling very sentimental these days. Throughout my time in Europe, random people have extended selfless acts of kindness. I want to share some of these experiences with you because they have restored my faith in the inherent goodness of people. I'll warn you, this is a long blog without any pictures, but it was important for me to share my appreciation for the kindness I have received since landing in Europe two months ago.

Natalie, a business consultant who sat next to me on the plane trip to Rome invited me to tag along with her from the airport to Rome's main train station Because she knew the train system quite well after several business trips to Italy. I do not know if Natalie sensed that I was close to vomiting on her because I was so shaken by what I had just left behind, but she sure did jump in and save the day! Natalie showed me how to maneuver through the confusing airport to the airport's train terminal. She showed me how to avoid lines at the ticket counter by using the self service ticket machines. She showed me which train to board, and she walked me to the taxi stand when we reached our final destination. Natalie also gave me her business card and told me to keep in touch. But more importantly, she offered herself as a local contact if I needed help. I might still be at the airport in Rome trying to figure it all out if it were not for her unsolicited help.

Brenda and Patrick, a married couple from Canada traveling in Italy for their yearly vacation (Brenda a business manager and Patrick an IT guru) sat next to me in a small cafe in the Tuscan village of Cortona. The three of us struck up a conversation. After discovering that I was traveling alone, Patrick and Brenda invited me to dinner that evening because, as Brenda put it, "Eating alone sucks!" We ended up having dinner for the next 3 nights (every night we were together in Cortona). These guys gave up their personal vacation time to make sure a perfect stranger did not have to eat alone. Who does that?  By the way, Brenda and I are talking about meeting in January to travel together in Prague.

I contacted Gio (pronounced Joe), through an international Website that connects those renting rooms with those searching for rooms to rent. Before I left for Italy, I made plans to meet with Gio on my first night in Rome to check out her room for rent. After 10 minutes of speaking with her, she invited me to dinner with her and a few of her friends.

Gio was born in Korea, but was adopted by Italian parents. Italian, of course, is her native tongue. She also speaks English very well thanks to a year-long study abroad program. Gio's exchange program took place in Pittsburgh, PA. I am originally from a suburb outside of Pittsburgh, PA. I met this woman over the Internet!

Gio spoke English to me the entire night and helped interpret for her friends who could not speak English. That night (October 11, 2009) I agreed to move in with her for 3 months. My lease with her would start on November 1. But, as I have said in other blogs, from the moment I arrived in Rome, I did not connect with the city. Which is to say, I hated it.

After a few days I regretted my decision to start my trip in Rome. But now, I had committed to 3 months there. Normally, I would just suck it up and say to myself, "Well, Valerie, this is what you said you were going to do, so just deal with it and make the best of it." But something inside me did not want to do that this time.

I took a chance and shared my feelings with Gio. I told her I wanted to travel to Florence to see if that area was a better fit. If it were a better fit, I would come back to Rome and rent for the month of November so that she would have time to find a new flat mate. Gio said that she would never get in the way of my dream. Although she could have been very unpleasant about loosing a flat mate, she was nothing but gracious and helpful.

Katrina is an Italian transplant. Originally from Scotland, she moved to Sorrento 13 years ago after coming here with her cousin for an impromptu week-long vacation. Sorrento is located by Naples in the South of the country. After the week-long vacation Katrina's cousin left. Katrina did not. Italy captured her soul. I can understand why. Italy gets into your blood. The lifestyle, the food, the cadence of the language, and, of course, the wine is intoxicating.

While in her mid-thirties, Katrina, an accomplished business woman went home to Scotland to sell her car, her house, her clothes, and give notice at her long-time employer so that she could move to a country where she knew no one, did not speak the language, and did not have a job. Sound familiar?

I used the same international apartment search to find the room that Katrina was renting in South Florence. We agreed that I would stay with her for 11 days. That would give me time to experience Florence and she and I could see if we were compatible to live together. As I mentioned in a previous blog, Katrina lived too far from the city center for me. When I explained to her that I wanted to live closer to the center, she could have done nothing to help me, but instead, she warned me about areas to avoid due to safety concerns.

Katrina is a travel tour manager. She knows all of the ins and outs of Florence (and most of Italy). Without having to ask, she took me into Florence several times to show me the typical sites that tourists should see, but added tons of places that only locals would know. It was awesome and dramatically reduced my learning curve of getting to know the city.

She helped me buy my first pair of amazing Italian leather riding boots (and later, my second pair of amazing Italian leather riding boots) which was extremely helpful because it's not easy to tell a sales person in a foreign language that you have "special needs" due to your enormous calfs!

Last Saturday, Katrina took me to the December meeting of a group called YAWN, short for Young Anglo Women's Network. This group is made up of native English speaking women who live in Florence. Within 2 hours I connected with several great women from different countries and backgrounds; Gabby from London, Nadia from Toronto, Christine from Atlanta, Michele from LA, and Jennifer from NYC. Each woman has her own distinct personality. I had a lot of fun. Okay, I admit it, I was in heaven! I love meeting and getting to know new people. It's one of my favorite things to do. We all already have plans to get together again this week.

Quick reminder here: I met Katrina on the Internet. I have known her for less than 2 months and she has already made a huge and positive impact on my experience in Italy.

Agnes is my new flat mate in Florence. Again, I met her over the Internet. Agnes is originally from Paris, but has lived in Florence for over 25 years. She teaches French at the University of Florence. She and I have shared several meals and long talks together. Agnes has a kind and giving heart. I sense a strength in her that I am not even sure she recognizes in herself.

Agnes hosted a small dinner party for me on my first night back in Florence.  She invited two of her American friends, Barbara and Henry who also live in Italy. The very next night, Barbara and Henry called to invite me to dinner so that I could meet one of their English speaking friends.  Barbara even contacted me to offer me work so that I could earn some extra spending money!  Perfect strangers have gone out of their way to make me feel welcome in Florence.

Agnes has also helped me learn the city and my new neighborhood. She showed me a charming park nestled in the hillside of Florence where one can see a phenominal panoramic view of the city from above! She took me to the best pastry shop in the area, (man those French know their pastries!) and she pointed out the one and only sushi restaurant I have seen in Florence. That reminds me. I'm really craving sushi!

On my second day here, Agnes took me to her gym to try out one of the classes and then helped me understand the contract details and membership dues. These things may seem small, but I assure you, there is nothing small about someone giving up large quantities of personal time to help a stranger in a foreign country.

Tuesday, December 15 marks the one year anniversary of the death of my former husband, Steve. Perhaps this is also why I'm feeling so sentimental. Although it will be a day of introspection, I have made plans to see some of the best works of art known to man. I will do this to remember the artist that Steve was, and to celebrate life, not mourn the loss of it. After all, his passing gave me more resolve to move my life toward something a little less ordinary. 

Thank you again everyone for your extraordinary acts of kindness!

Reflection on my first two months in Italy

Today marks two months that I have been in Italy. About a month and a half of this time was spent in Rome. The other time was spent traveling to Florence or other towns throughout the Tuscany Region.

My days in Rome were filled with productive and non-productive activities. I slept 9 to 11 hours a day. I worked out when I could. I checked my email constantly. I explored Rome and took pictures when something moved me. I did quite a lot of nothing in particular. Sometimes I didn't even leave my apartment. I generally had things to do throughout the day, but nothing with any significance.

This was new for me. It’s not easy doing nothing when your last 18 years have been filled with almost constant activity. I like being alone, I honestly do. But alone in a different country is different from alone at home where you’re surrounded by your own things; when you can understand what everyone around you is saying; and when your friends are only 20 minutes away. For me, Rome was more about feeling isolated than feeling liberated.

I’ve always wanted to travel to Italy. I’ve only met one person in my life who didn’t always want to travel to Italy. The art; the architecture; the food; the wine; the pace and passion of the people all seemed so charming. Movies and books help promulgate this myth of course, and I wanted in. I wanted to live here; to experience the culture here; and maybe to start a new life here. Anything was possible in my mind. I wanted no restrictions and no safety net.

I had no expectations of Italy or what it might be. Actually, I never planned anything less in my life than this trip. I just wanted to get here. I felt that I needed to shake things up in my life. I wanted to have an incredible experience. I was not okay with having the typical Washington, DC life that is dedicated to work and the pursuit of career success.

Of course the time before my move was stressful. C'mon, I had to do a lot to get here. I sold my car. I gave away or sold most of my things. I rented my condo and moved in to a friend’s basement. I hired and trained my replacement at work. I moved away from the great guy I thought I could fall in love with.

To any normal person, these are big things. I put my entire life on hold to move to a country I had never even visited and where I didn’t speak the language.  As soon as the plane landed, I regretted my decision. I truly wanted to vomit. I immediately thought to myself, “What have I done? Why did I do this? Why do I always have to push? Why can’t good be good enough?”

I talk a lot with my friends about following gut instincts. I have said repeatedly that whenever I ignore my instinct, things don't work out. When I listen, they do. I came to Italy because I wanted to challenge myself. I wanted to test the strength of the woman I had become. I was not prepared to be so sad the moment we landed. I hated Rome almost immediately, and was never able to fully recover from my bad first impression of the city. Instantly my “strength” was tested.

Luckily, I understand that strength comes in many ways. Sometimes strength means reaching out when you need help. And, of course, a few of my good friends from home were able to give me encouragement when I was afraid; to make me laugh when I was sad; and to help me work things out in my own mind when the “great guy” I was dating before I left turned out to be the “not so great guy” I was no longer dating when I was here.

What I have realized over these last two months is that I had become so accustomed to moving my life forward and creating the life I wanted, I didn’t realize it was the life I already had. In the months leading up to my departure for Italy, I knew I was the happiest I had ever been, but I attributed much of the happiness to my upcoming adventure. In reality, I was happy because I actually love my life in Washington, DC. It's the life I’ve always wanted and I worked very hard to get. I have a beautiful condo. I have a wonderful and supportive circle of friends. I have the career balance I sacrificed quite a bit to obtain.

I have also learned to accept more things about myself. I always push and move myself forward because that is who I am.  It’s just the way I am made. Luckily, I also frequently do pulse checks to make sure where I am moving is where I want to be!  I don't settle. I don't accept things if they don’t feel right in my core. “Know thy self” my friend Mike always says to me, and then he usually adds, “And then accept it ‘cuz you’re pretty great!”

Yeah, I told you I had great friends.

I’m in Florence now for the next few months. As soon as I walked out of the train station here on December 5th I was reminded Florence is where I want to be. Although I love my life in Washington, DC and I do miss my friends, I’m not ready to come home yet. I still have a lot to do and a lot to discover.  And I’m really, really, REALLY looking forward to what my future brings. I’ll keep you posted!

Park at your own risk

Much has been said about the horrors of driving in Rome. Upon first blush the criticism is understandable. Driving in Rome is a fast paced melee of buses, cars, and motorcycles. Traffic seems to come from all directions with no rhyme or reason as to who has the right of way. Taxis unexpectedly cross over traffic from the left lane to take a street on the right. Motorcycles pass buses and cars from all sides, and most of Rome does not have stop signs. It’s not that the drivers don't abide by them. Rome doesn’t have them.

Parking here seems similarly chaotic. Sidewalks are used as parking lots. Motorcycles are jammed into long rows or huge clusters where it seems impossible to even find your bike let alone have the room to walk up to it, throw your leg over it and move it out of the jumble.

Double parking for hours and hours and blocking entrances to buildings and sidewalks is the norm. Put simply, cars, motorcycles and trucks park wherever and however they can. Roman neighborhoods have no provisions for those with handicaps. It must be terribly inconvenient, but the fact is Rome is just not designed for those with disabilities.

But unlike in Washington, DC where you’re never really sure what the yahoo behind you is doing or how he or she will respond, driving here is actually very predictable. It’s predictably crazy. There is no such thing as “unexpectedly crossing over traffic” because anything is expected; therefore drivers are always prepared.

Romans are practical and alert drivers who use foresight and prediction to their advantage. After a little over a month in Rome, and hours and hours of walking, I have never seen a traffic accident; not a fender bender, an overturned bike or any twisted wreckage at all. I just hear a lot of honking; lots and lots AND LOTS of honking. Romans have no patience for those who hesitate in traffic and they certainly don’t have time for those who don’t know where they are going!

Again, parking is similarly practical. Compact cars will park horizontally if it makes more sense to do so and drivers think ahead. They don't take space because it’s available; they pull up as far as possible to make room for the next driver who may come.

Italians don't mandate “no parking” near a curb or near the end of the block just because it is easier to see the other car coming from road. They believe it is the driver’s responsibility to pay attention and use the right amount of caution. I like the common sense in this. Things are not over mandated here and parking tickets are, to this day, unseen to me.

Although I sometimes have to go around 4 cars or so to have enough room to gain entrance to a sidewalk, I don't mind. The anticipation of the next crazy parking job that will give me a chuckle is well worth it.

Un tavolo per uno

Tuesday, November 24

Today was a good day. I was feeling particularly empowered, spurred on perhaps by a great conversation with my friend from home, Sherrie and recent download of fantastic female artists like Adele, Meaghan Smith, and Duffy.

I cooked a meal from scratch this evening. I haven’t done that in quite a while. I love to cook, but cooking for one pretty much sucks. There’s always too much food left over and the same meal for several days gets old. Writing about cooking for one reminds me of a time I was waiting to order at the seafood counter in Washington, DC. When it was my turn I asked for one Tilapia. The fish monger asked, “Just one?” I looked at the substantial line of people waiting behind me and replied, “Yes, just one and thanks for the painful reminder!” The people behind me laughed. I’m sure they could relate at some point in their lives.

It is in no way an exaggeration to say that most Italians eat some form of pasta every day. Have you ever checked out the calories involved in a box of pasta? I did once and then immediately admonished myself for doing so. Pasta has never really been the same since. How do these people stay thin when they eat so many carbs? The bread here alone will wreck any sensible diet. Then add the fussily, the ravioli, the gnocchi. OH MY GOD, I NEED SOME VEGETABLES STAT!

And that’s what I did. I went to the market and purchased some fresh eggplant, potatoes, zucchini, and yellow peppers. I just wanted some sautéed veggies. No pasta. No risotto. No rice, just veggies; and lots and lots of wine. You know what they say, "When in Rome…"

Feeling inspired, I stopped into the large wine shop on the corner that I had wanted to try for a while but was hesitant to do so (yes, because of the language thing. WHY DON'T THESE PEOPLE SPEAK ENGLISH FOR GOD’S SAKE?).  I started by asking the shop keeper in Italian if she spoke English. When she said, “no” in her very matter of fact tone and stared at me defiantly, I was forced to pull the words I needed in Italian. If I were to translate in English literally, I asked her, “What is there of good from a bottle of red wine from Tuscany for around $10 Euros.” I used hand signals for “around.”  She smiled and more “empowerment” came my way from getting it right!  When, I wonder, will I learn to trust myself? Every time I do, it works out. When I don't, I’m a wreck. It’s really not that difficult, but I still trip on this one way more than I’d like to.

I had fun cooking for myself. I cracked open one of my new bottles of wine, roasted the yellow pepper on the flame of the gas range, chopped up the eggplant, potatoes and zucchini and cranked up some Joss Stone on the iPod. I even imitated the professional chefs and flipped the veggies in the pan instead of using a spatula! I lit some candles and set the table for one. It felt good and the veggies were yummy.

I’m learning quite a bit by being here. And being okay with being “me” is one of the most important lessons I want to leave with. Lessons may come later in life than you would like, but if you’re open to them they do come. Life is good. I am happy.

Just do it

To dress improperly in Italy is to ask to be shunned. One does not wear “active wear” on the street unless one is working out. And, as I discovered the hard way, one does not do such a vial act as run on the streets of Rome. Running is done in the park or in a gym… only.

There is little forgiveness given to those persons actually walking to the required park in which to run. Piercing stares from un-approving Italians at all socio-economic levels are to be expected until the running actually begins. At that point there seems to be a collective sigh of relief from the Italian citizens keeping guard of decorum while sitting on the park bench; each seeming to turn to their fellow sentinels and nod as if to say, it’s okay. It’s okay. She’s running.

The disapproval starts again when one reaches the 2 block threshold outside of the park. The other day, a garbage man looked at my sneakers and shook his head in disgust.

I understand that appearance is paramount in Italy but, really, must I be treated like a leper while clearly heading to and fro a little healthy recreation?

Henry Kissinger is my new BFF!

OH MY GOD! I was walking down a side street the other night on my way to my apartment in Rome, but I wasn’t walking the typical easy peasy lemon squeezy Roman pace. My step was full-on fast-paced city walk. You know the speed that says, don’t mess with me. I’m a very busy person!

So, there I am walking when all of the sudden this little old man pops out of the doorway of the Commissione Tributaria Centrale building I was walking past (yeah, I have no idea what that is, but it sounds REALLY important!). I barely had enough time to stop myself from crashing into him. I ended up about 1 inch away from his face.

“Oh Scusami” I offer, as I pull my body away from his.

I recognized him immediately and my face did nothing to mask this recognition. I could feel my eyes widen and my lips turn into a huge smile at the sight of who I had practically knocked to the ground. It was… It was… umm… umm… OH CRAP! I CAN’T REMEMBER HIS NAME!

So I kept on walking.

“C’mon Val,” I say to myself, former Secretary of State, diplomat, Nobel Peace Prize winner. I had nothing. His name would not come to me. But I had to do something, so I turned around to discover that he had turned to look as well.

This was my chance. I had to say something, and so with the biggest, cheesiest, stupidest smile on my face I waved and said, “HI!”

Yep, that’s the best I could come up with… a loud, high-pitched little girl, “HI!” He didn’t seem to mind.  Afterall he did smile and wave back.

I walked on with a new bounce to my step, now only two blocks away from my apartment door. His name, what was his name? Very important man. German born. Nixon. I arrived at my door, inserted the key into the keyhole and yelled out loud, “HENRY KISSINGER!”

I ran up the six flights of stairs to my apartment. I had to Google him to see if I was right. Two short minutes later I was reading his bio on Wikipedia. Staring back at me was the picture of Henry Kissinger, the man I had just, almost, knocked to the ground. I couldn’t believe it. I just ran into Henry Kissinger on the streets of Rome, AND he smiled back at me! 

Think what you want, but I know he and I shared a moment!

A Lesson in Humility

Italy is an exciting and beautiful place. Although I have been here a little over a month, I still cannot believe this is my life; that I actually get to live in Italy. I have nothing but appreciation for this opportunity, but the reality is it’s not that easy to be here. Living in a foreign country sounds ideal, but let’s face it, when a dog understands more Italian than you do, it’s a humbling experience.

I’ve had many lessons in humility over these last few weeks. Of course there’s the typical, I can’t figure out how to work my Italian mobile phone because all of the instructions are in Italian, or the,"Oh! You’re not supposed to enter the bus in the middle section because that’s where people exit." kind of stuff. But recently I had a great reminder regarding the importance of not taking yourself too seriously and being humble.

Two weeks ago, I arrived back in Rome after 11 days in Florence. The night I got back an acquaintance of mine, named Pam called out of the blue to say she was in Italy for the next two weeks and could we meet up.

I wasn’t expecting a visitor for another week when my long-time friend Jen would fly to Rome for a short visit. Now, I feared, I would have to change what I had planned for the week and focus my energy on making sure Pam was taken care of and having a good time in Rome. I resented the intrusion on my time in Italy and was not that excited to meet up with her.

I made plans to meet her the next day by the Spanish Steps; Spagna as the Italians call it. I had not done any significant sightseeing yet in Rome so this was my first time in that area. I got lost several times and had to pull out my map to gain my bearings. This frustrated me because I didn’t want to look like a tourist. I kept getting turned around in the confusing narrow streets of Rome.  For quite a while I could not find my way, but was too intimidated to ask for directions because of my limited Italian. I was grumpy, frustrated, and resented that I was in this situation in the first place.

After 45 minutes of being lost within the same 5 block radius, I eventually found the café Pam was waiting in. As I walked up to her she stood and gave me a big smile and hug. She started speaking English a mile a minute as loudly as she wanted. She wasn’t obnoxious; she just did not bother to hide the fact that she was American.

Seeing her was like a breath of fresh air! I hadn’t spoken full-on-rapid-fire-girl-style English in weeks. My bad mood melted away and I jumped into the conversation with just as much enthusiasm as she had.  I realized immediately I had been a selfish jerk.  I didn't have to take care of Pam, she was quite capable on her own!

Pam wasn’t ashamed that she stood out as an American, she embraced it. And, at 5 feet 10 inches tall with platinum blonde hair it’s a good thing she embraced it because there was really no hiding it. Her approach was that she was on a once-in-a-lifetime vacation and she was going to enjoy every moment of it.

That was such a great reminder for me to relax, enjoy the experience, go with the flow, and not worry so much about looking stupid or even worse, looking like a tourist! After all, I AM a tourist; just a longer term one.

Pam and I were practically inseparable for the next two weeks. In that first week together I did things on my own that I had not tried before, like driving a car in Rome and conquering Rome’s underground Metro system. Both were not as hard as I imagined they would be.

I traveled to places I had not even heard about, like a tiny town in the Mountainous Abruzzo Region of Italy named Calascio (kind of pronounced like kah-lodge-e-oh, without the d in lodge), where Pam and I had wonderful Italian dishes that were just added to the fall menu, as most Italian restaurants prepare dishes with what is available in season.

Pam had a chestnut and ridiccio filled ravioli with venison, olive oil, and a little sea salt served on top of the pasta. She said it was the best meal she had ever eaten! Of course the pasta, and ricotta cheese (from my tomato ravioli) was made fresh in the restaurant that very day.

The owner of the restaurant treated us like royalty and provided many extras to our meal like several after dinner drinks that are specialties of the local area.

We had a fantastic time and saw breathtaking views of the mountains and the countryside on the 3 hour drive from Rome to Calascio.

Earlier in the week, we stayed up until 4 AM dancing in a “high end” night club. Night clubs in Rome are just as bad as night clubs in Washington DC, but the drinks are more outrageously priced (a glass of no-name champagne was 15 euros!) and there are more men than women. Most of the Italian men in this club were on the prowl for American woman.  As one man explained to us, they do this because they think American women are “easy.” DAH! Considering most American woman in Rome are either college students or on vacation, I imagine they are “easier” to get than Italian women who are looking for their future husband.

Although “clubbing” is not my thing, it was fun watching the dynamics of the crowd. Imagine a typical dance floor with disco ball turning, lights flashing, music blaring and EVERY Italian man singing American songs at the top of their lungs with a horrible English accent. I still can’t get the sound of this out of my head… “I got a fill-ing, that to-night gonna be a goohd night. That to-night gonna be a goohd, goohd niiiigh…” It was great!

My friend, Jen joined us exactly one week after Pam arrived in Rome. Jen was happy to have the extra company and was up for anything that week. The three of us had a blast! We toured around the sights of Rome, went shopping at the local market, and drank way too much wine! We were on a mission to find the best Aperitivo and Gelato in Italy.  We went shopping in Florence.  We toured Sienna (one of the most beautiful Tuscan towns I have seen yet!).  And we just had a fun laughing and being in good company!

After Jen left, Pam and I jumped a train to Venice for the weekend. SERIOUSLY, who gets to say that?  Who gets to say, “Okay, I’ll meet you at the Coliseum in 30 minutes.” or, “Hey, do you want to go to Venice this weekend?” I am indeed a fortunate woman!

Venice is like no other place on earth. The bridges, the architecture, the canals, the morning mist that hangs over the water, all add to the romance and mystery of this place.  I have decided that I must live in Venice for a short time while in Italy.

These past two weeks have been exceptional and have served as a great reminder for me to be appreciative, to be humble, to be up for anything, and to not take myself too seriously.

Thank you Pam for being you and for reminding me that it’s okay to be me!

Expressly Espresso: The rhythm of making an Italian Coffee

It’s quick. It’s intense. Just, as I imaging, is an Italian man in bed.

It starts with a quick and loud bang to get the spent coffee grounds out of the single-sized, spouted-cup that will be swiftly shoved back into the massive stainless steel espresso machine.

BANG! BANG! BANG! The fourth bang empties the cup completely.

The bean grinder hums a quick hum and dispenses a perfectly portioned amount of grounds back into the spouted cup.

The tiny espresso cup "chings" when it is placed under the spout to receive the coffee.

Then the hot water chimes in and floods through the coffee grinds to create an intense and insanely hot cup of espresso.

Gulp one. Gulp two. Gulp three. It’s over... and I’m spent!

Happy Hour Should be Ashamed of Itself!

In Italy it is completely unacceptable to sit at a table or at a counter while in a bar or restaurant unless you pay extra for service. Same food, same drinks, but if you order at the bar and stand at the bar it’s cheaper. If you sit, you’re charged a service fee. Same concept as in the States, but you don't tip based on the cost of the meal, you pay a flat fee.

The exception to this rule is Aperitivo. You can sit during Aperitivo and not pay a service fee. Aperitivo is similar to Happy Hour, but it starts later and ends later (around 6:30 to 9:30 PM) and provides an extensive and free buffet of make-your-mouth-water Italian dishes.

Warm penne pasta with pesto? Sure. Why not? Mini faccia sandwiches with salami and pecorino cheese?  Why, yes, thank you! Caprese salad; thin crust pizza; creamy risotto with asparagus; bow tie pasta with olives and cherry tomatoes; pistachio nuts; marinated olives… YES, YES, YES! And all for around 6 to 9 euro, the price for one glass of wine. OH MY GOD, I LOVE APERITIVO!

I must find a way to get this tradition instituted in the United States. Happy Hour must be adjusted from measly drink specials and discounted mini burgers to a full buffet of Italian wonderment for less than $10! C’mon my American compatriots! Who’s with me?

October 29 - A Foreigner in Florence

I spent the entire day traveling within the Historic Center of Florence meeting potential roommates and visiting new apartments to live in while staying in Florence.

I am quite fond of Katrina (pronounced Kat-air-ee-na in Italian) the woman I have been renting a room from for the last 11 days in Sud Firenze (south Florence), but the bus trip from her house into the heart of the city is taking up to an hour due to construction. Florence has captured my heart and I want to be a part of it. Living on the outskirts of the city isn’t real enough. I want to be in the center. I want to be part of the city; part of its energy. I want to be a Florentine! Allora, the outskirts will not do!!!

My first stop of the day ended up being the apartment I selected. My new flat mate is a French woman who has 47 years. Italians don't say “years old.” Agnès (pronounced An-yay) teaches French at the University of Florence and speaks French, Italian, and (thank God) English fluently. Of course she speaks English with that amazing French accent that every man melts for and every woman would love to have... Oh, oui, Val-au-ray, I wood lik to off-air you zis flat, az I think you air a lovely perzon, noh? 

My room is large and bright, thanks to a nice-sized window that lets in tons of natural light. It’s been painted a soft yellow, has a queen bed, and a big white desk and bookcase from IKEA. French posters are hung on each wall. The cutest antique chair rests in the room.

My view out of the window is of the terracotta rooftops next door. I love terracotta roof tops! The color, dimension, and texture give the roofs their own personality. Too me they are art.

It’s about a 15 minute walk to the Historical Center from my new home. I can see the very top of the Duomo from my new street. My neighborhood is chock-full of beautiful buildings with character and style that new construction simply cannot recreate. The area is blissfully free from the graffiti that plaques much of Italy.

After my new domicile was secured with the required deposit, I ventured out to discover my neighborhood. An Italian girl, who looked to have about 25 years, stopped me to ask for directions. When I hesitated at her question she said in broken English, “Oh, you no speak Italiano,” and I quickly replied in Italian, “Yes, I speak a little!” I motioned for her to go ahead with her question. She asked if I knew a particular street in the area, which, of course, I did not. BUT, I had a map of the city.

I whipped out my map and found her street in less than 5 seconds (it was only one street over from where we were standing). She looked at me, laughed, and said in English, “I can’t believe a foreigner had to give me directions!” I smiled and walked on thinking to myself, “Yeah, well, THIS foreigner just handled that situation pretty well.”

Feeling proud of myself, I walked into the self service market at the end of the block to buy a bottle of water. I pulled at the refrigerator door lightly at first and then with more gusto, but I couldn’t get it open. I pulled again, with no luck. Oh god! Was it not really self service? I tried to look casual. The shop keeper said something to me in Italian. After seeing the confused look on my face he rolled his eyes, walked from behind his counter, pulled the door open from the opposite side I had been tugging on, and handed me a bottle of water.

I paid the man, smiled, and thought to myself, “Yeeaaah, this foreigner could have handled THAT situation a little better!”