it's me!
posted by Laura at 8:12 PM
0 comments
Tuesday
25 Nov. 2005
Clermont, Florida
A couple of days before I left for my year in Italy, my mom gave me a present. It was a small box with marbles in it. “Strange,” I remember thinking to myself, yet knowing that there would be some secret meaning to what was inside. And there was. My mom explained to me, through her tears and mine, there were 52 marbles in the box -- one for every week in a year, the amount of time that I would be away in Italy. “Each week, take one out.” she told me, “This way, if you ever get homesick, you can see that there aren’t that many left. But as you begin to form a life there,” she went on, “they will also remind you that your time there is precious and that it will go by so very fast.”
And, in fact, she was right. The marbles have all been gone through, each week spent and used up, and an empty box now remains, replaced with weeks of memories that I will never forget. And, alas, my year in Italy has come to a beautiful end.
It was a bit surreal – the end of a year such as the one that I have just experienced. You can’t really just say goodbye to something like that, especially when there are very dear friends, a second family, relatives, and unforgettable moments involved. It was so very strange to me and I don’t think it really hit me until I was actually on the plane home and began, I am sure to the dismay of those next to me, to ball my eyes out.
There was a party. A surprise going away party that I simply must share because even now it brings such a flattering and humbling feeling to my heart. It was the Sunday before I left and Federico and Paola had asked me to watch the girls because they had a dinner with a patient of theirs. “Fine,” I thought, “more time to spend with the girls before I leave.” But it was when they left and the girls started acting a bit strange that I got a bit suspicious. They wanted to play princesses (which is normal) but instead of dressing up in the play clothes, they wanted to dress up in real clothes, pulling out my short, strapless black dress for me to wear along with my black heels. At first I almost objected, but thought, "who cares," and put the thing on. They proceeded to find outfits for themselves and then we played and danced and had fun together.
By 9:30pm, though, I was about to call it quits and make them go and get ready for bed when Bea peeped her head out the balcony window and said, “Laura, do you hear something?” I looked at her strangely, thinking, “Are they planning some kind of party outside on a cold night in the dark? Surely not.” I slowly made my way out onto the balcony (black dress and all) where I heard voices singing a beautiful classic Italian song that talks about someone they love leaving. And I looked below out into the small courtyard below me and there were all of the people I know in Italy, standing there looking up at me, holding small candles in their hands and singing to me….singing to me….I just stood there. I didn’t cry, I didn’t shout, I didn’t do anything for a few moments because it was something that was simply amazing and so unexpected and so beautiful and wonderful and flattering and humbling all at the same time.
I have a lot of different groups of friends in Italy, as I have told you about…friends from church, fellow babysitters, family friends, relatives, train friends, school friends…but not all of them have ever met in the same place before. For this to happen was simply something that I cannot describe. Finally I started shouting to them all that I couldn’t believe it, and they continued to sing with their candles until the song was about over and then they all made their way upstairs and we had drinks and dessert and music and presents!! Presents?! Guys, it was something so surreal and so amazing, wow, it made it that much harder to leave, to see all these beautiful faces that I had come to love so very much over my year there. It was such a lovely and incredible night. To think of how much work Paola and Federico had put into it made it even more of a huge deal. Then, of course, Laura had to have “share time” with everyone and tell everyone what they meant to me, and that was really nice to be able to just let these people know how special they were and what they meant to me and my time there. I will never ever forget such a night.
The babysitter crew and I had another official farewell, we dressed up and went out for drinks and just talked and remembered. It was a really nice ending.
My final night with my precious Balzola family, we went to a pizzeria and had good family time with lots of laughs and then lots of tears too. Like I have said before, its so incredibly wonderful when you truly feel like you are apart of a family. Yes, of course it took time…but a year is quite a while and it was a gift and something so beautiful that I was apart of, I count myself so very lucky. The next day I left midmorning and Paola and Federico let the girls skip school so they could come to the airport with Paola and I. I left from Milan so it was a nice 2 hour drive there, we checked in, we had a coffee and some juice and then we cried and let the tears come because it just feels better when you do! Even Paola couldn’t hold them back and she had told herself she was going to. Ahh, it was bittersweet, but I would not have wanted it any other way. It was then that I left, and went down to security that I realized I had a bit farther to go to my gate than I thought. I actually started running when I heard my name being called over the intercom in the Milan airport that I needed to come and board my plane…um, yeah, maybe we shouldn’t have had that coffee after all…I made it, however, all 4 carryon pieces, teary faced and all…not sure how, but I did….
And what can I say? It was a year that I will truly never forget…well, how could I? But even though it will always be described as, “Yeah, I spent a year in Italy…” to me it will always be so much more than that that I won’t really be able to explain to many people. It was an experience, a life, really. And though I wish so very much that I could make you all understand it 100 percent, it will always be a part of me, and that is a comfort. How blessed I have truly been. I think back now to about two years ago as a senior in college -- stressing over the decision of what to do when I graduated -- moving to Italy to be a nanny being one of the options, though a bit “out there.” Thank God for such confirmations to go! It’s so very strange to think back … that should give me some hope for the next step, ha, which continues to be a mystery!
And then, after the 10-hour traveling day, after the long flight and running and the long walk off of the plane, there were smiling faces of my beautiful parents and aunt. There was a Welcome Home balloon and there was this crazy moment that I had imagined in my mind for almost an entire year … walking off that plane and into my parents arms after such a long time away --after such a year! It was as great as I had imagined it. The homecoming to beautiful Florida and my much-missed family at home was one that I was honestly a bit nervous about. I didn’t want to go through some terrible culture shock and be that annoying girl who can never shut up about how things are done in Italy. Praise the Lord, the transition of being back in the US of A has been a smooth one so far. Being able to be with my family 24/7 after an entire year of nothing has been so wonderful. Being able to go to John’s games, to the grocery store with my mom, or just to have a meaningful conversation with my dad (we’re not the best with the phone …) has been something so great and something that we all needed after a year away. My parents just moved into a house that they have been renovating for the past year, it’s right on the lake and is absolutely beautiful! That has been so fun to be apart of and amazing to come home to! It’s such a blessing when you know that you have friends for life no matter how little you talk to them or see them. I am blessed with quite a few of these and seeing them after a year, a few emails and a few phone conversations has been so wonderful too … something I have been looking forward to for such a long time.
And so now, to the question I know each of you are wondering about the 24-year-old who just moved back in with her parents …“So, what exactly are you going to do now, Laura?” Yeah, yeah, I'm getting to that.
Right now I am in a bit of a holding area. As most of you know, the 2006 Winter Olympics are going to be in Torino (where I lived in Italy) in February 2006. While I was there, I was thinking how sad it would be to be here in Florida, watching the Olympic Games take place in my beloved city only a few months after I had left … so I got a job with them! It was a long process that started back in February of this year, but through a few friends I became aware of the broadcast division of the Olympics (called Tobo) … I saw on their website that they hire students/young people for jobs such as drivers, cameramen, logistics, stuff like that. Sweet!
Then I saw a position called a Liaison Officer. The thing about this position is that you have to be fluent in English (no problem there, I hope). The other great thing is that it is more people-oriented. Anyway, I applied for this position and got accepted to go to the week training program required to even be considered for the job. I took a week off of work (nannying) and went to the intense week of training, interviewed and finally (a few months later) found out that I had gotten the job!! (Now, I’m not the only one, don’t get too excited!) So, basically, I will be a liaison between the Broadcast division of the Olympics (Tobo) and all of the journalists/broadcasters who come from all over the world to cover them … I will be working specifically at the ice skating venue which is where I requested! It’s a big job and I am really so excited about it! Not only will it be an incredible experience, but hopefully I will be able to at least meet some people or make some connections with people who can steer me in the right direction career-wise (since NBC basically runs the Olympics), that is, if Katie Couric doesn’t just hire me on the spot … ha, keep dreaming, Laura. Another awesome thing is that I am actually getting paid pretty well for it, which I wasn’t expecting at all! And since we all know that Laura isn’t the best money saver (since I haven’t actually gotten into the whole salary job situation yet), this is a really good thing!
All that to say, that right now, I am in a bit of a holding period, which is really nice because I get to just hang out with the family and be home. I have a part-time job working in an office close to my house, am trying to continue to cook Italian for the fam, see old friends, and seriously do some research on what exactly I am going to do about a real job/career (what?) come March when I get back from Italy.
The fact that I get to go back to Italy so soon made it that much easier for us to say goodbye …knowing that I get to return just three months after I left was really nice. I will go back the beginning of February and come home the middle of March, working the Olympics in between and seeing everyone before and after they take place! I will stay with the Balzolas, which they insisted upon, and become roommates with their new nanny who I am dying to meet after we became friends over the phone and email before I left.
So, that’s the situation … I'm really excited to see what the next six months hold … after February, I really have no idea at this point where I will be and I have found that though this can be really pretty stressful and scary, it can also be so awesome at the same time. It forces me to simply trust in the Lord and His timing and His plan. I surly don’t have a plan right now, so I literally have no other choice but to trust that His will unfold -- and sometimes I need these extremities to allow me to NOT be in control.
And, so that’s that. My year was simply unexplainable, though I have tried my best to make you feel like you were there with me. It was simply wonderful and a time that continued to grow me and shape me, which is quite exciting to think about.
Thanks for taking the journey with me, and thanks for being so excited as if you were really here, experiencing each moment. I truly appreciate it, your kind words and your willingness to read and listen to a really excited and babbly girl. You guys are the best.
For now, the marbles are done. The box is empty … but my memories are so very full.
Clermont, Florida
A couple of days before I left for my year in Italy, my mom gave me a present. It was a small box with marbles in it. “Strange,” I remember thinking to myself, yet knowing that there would be some secret meaning to what was inside. And there was. My mom explained to me, through her tears and mine, there were 52 marbles in the box -- one for every week in a year, the amount of time that I would be away in Italy. “Each week, take one out.” she told me, “This way, if you ever get homesick, you can see that there aren’t that many left. But as you begin to form a life there,” she went on, “they will also remind you that your time there is precious and that it will go by so very fast.”
And, in fact, she was right. The marbles have all been gone through, each week spent and used up, and an empty box now remains, replaced with weeks of memories that I will never forget. And, alas, my year in Italy has come to a beautiful end.
It was a bit surreal – the end of a year such as the one that I have just experienced. You can’t really just say goodbye to something like that, especially when there are very dear friends, a second family, relatives, and unforgettable moments involved. It was so very strange to me and I don’t think it really hit me until I was actually on the plane home and began, I am sure to the dismay of those next to me, to ball my eyes out.
There was a party. A surprise going away party that I simply must share because even now it brings such a flattering and humbling feeling to my heart. It was the Sunday before I left and Federico and Paola had asked me to watch the girls because they had a dinner with a patient of theirs. “Fine,” I thought, “more time to spend with the girls before I leave.” But it was when they left and the girls started acting a bit strange that I got a bit suspicious. They wanted to play princesses (which is normal) but instead of dressing up in the play clothes, they wanted to dress up in real clothes, pulling out my short, strapless black dress for me to wear along with my black heels. At first I almost objected, but thought, "who cares," and put the thing on. They proceeded to find outfits for themselves and then we played and danced and had fun together.
By 9:30pm, though, I was about to call it quits and make them go and get ready for bed when Bea peeped her head out the balcony window and said, “Laura, do you hear something?” I looked at her strangely, thinking, “Are they planning some kind of party outside on a cold night in the dark? Surely not.” I slowly made my way out onto the balcony (black dress and all) where I heard voices singing a beautiful classic Italian song that talks about someone they love leaving. And I looked below out into the small courtyard below me and there were all of the people I know in Italy, standing there looking up at me, holding small candles in their hands and singing to me….singing to me….I just stood there. I didn’t cry, I didn’t shout, I didn’t do anything for a few moments because it was something that was simply amazing and so unexpected and so beautiful and wonderful and flattering and humbling all at the same time.
I have a lot of different groups of friends in Italy, as I have told you about…friends from church, fellow babysitters, family friends, relatives, train friends, school friends…but not all of them have ever met in the same place before. For this to happen was simply something that I cannot describe. Finally I started shouting to them all that I couldn’t believe it, and they continued to sing with their candles until the song was about over and then they all made their way upstairs and we had drinks and dessert and music and presents!! Presents?! Guys, it was something so surreal and so amazing, wow, it made it that much harder to leave, to see all these beautiful faces that I had come to love so very much over my year there. It was such a lovely and incredible night. To think of how much work Paola and Federico had put into it made it even more of a huge deal. Then, of course, Laura had to have “share time” with everyone and tell everyone what they meant to me, and that was really nice to be able to just let these people know how special they were and what they meant to me and my time there. I will never ever forget such a night.
The babysitter crew and I had another official farewell, we dressed up and went out for drinks and just talked and remembered. It was a really nice ending.
My final night with my precious Balzola family, we went to a pizzeria and had good family time with lots of laughs and then lots of tears too. Like I have said before, its so incredibly wonderful when you truly feel like you are apart of a family. Yes, of course it took time…but a year is quite a while and it was a gift and something so beautiful that I was apart of, I count myself so very lucky. The next day I left midmorning and Paola and Federico let the girls skip school so they could come to the airport with Paola and I. I left from Milan so it was a nice 2 hour drive there, we checked in, we had a coffee and some juice and then we cried and let the tears come because it just feels better when you do! Even Paola couldn’t hold them back and she had told herself she was going to. Ahh, it was bittersweet, but I would not have wanted it any other way. It was then that I left, and went down to security that I realized I had a bit farther to go to my gate than I thought. I actually started running when I heard my name being called over the intercom in the Milan airport that I needed to come and board my plane…um, yeah, maybe we shouldn’t have had that coffee after all…I made it, however, all 4 carryon pieces, teary faced and all…not sure how, but I did….
And what can I say? It was a year that I will truly never forget…well, how could I? But even though it will always be described as, “Yeah, I spent a year in Italy…” to me it will always be so much more than that that I won’t really be able to explain to many people. It was an experience, a life, really. And though I wish so very much that I could make you all understand it 100 percent, it will always be a part of me, and that is a comfort. How blessed I have truly been. I think back now to about two years ago as a senior in college -- stressing over the decision of what to do when I graduated -- moving to Italy to be a nanny being one of the options, though a bit “out there.” Thank God for such confirmations to go! It’s so very strange to think back … that should give me some hope for the next step, ha, which continues to be a mystery!
And then, after the 10-hour traveling day, after the long flight and running and the long walk off of the plane, there were smiling faces of my beautiful parents and aunt. There was a Welcome Home balloon and there was this crazy moment that I had imagined in my mind for almost an entire year … walking off that plane and into my parents arms after such a long time away --after such a year! It was as great as I had imagined it. The homecoming to beautiful Florida and my much-missed family at home was one that I was honestly a bit nervous about. I didn’t want to go through some terrible culture shock and be that annoying girl who can never shut up about how things are done in Italy. Praise the Lord, the transition of being back in the US of A has been a smooth one so far. Being able to be with my family 24/7 after an entire year of nothing has been so wonderful. Being able to go to John’s games, to the grocery store with my mom, or just to have a meaningful conversation with my dad (we’re not the best with the phone …) has been something so great and something that we all needed after a year away. My parents just moved into a house that they have been renovating for the past year, it’s right on the lake and is absolutely beautiful! That has been so fun to be apart of and amazing to come home to! It’s such a blessing when you know that you have friends for life no matter how little you talk to them or see them. I am blessed with quite a few of these and seeing them after a year, a few emails and a few phone conversations has been so wonderful too … something I have been looking forward to for such a long time.
And so now, to the question I know each of you are wondering about the 24-year-old who just moved back in with her parents …“So, what exactly are you going to do now, Laura?” Yeah, yeah, I'm getting to that.
Right now I am in a bit of a holding area. As most of you know, the 2006 Winter Olympics are going to be in Torino (where I lived in Italy) in February 2006. While I was there, I was thinking how sad it would be to be here in Florida, watching the Olympic Games take place in my beloved city only a few months after I had left … so I got a job with them! It was a long process that started back in February of this year, but through a few friends I became aware of the broadcast division of the Olympics (called Tobo) … I saw on their website that they hire students/young people for jobs such as drivers, cameramen, logistics, stuff like that. Sweet!
Then I saw a position called a Liaison Officer. The thing about this position is that you have to be fluent in English (no problem there, I hope). The other great thing is that it is more people-oriented. Anyway, I applied for this position and got accepted to go to the week training program required to even be considered for the job. I took a week off of work (nannying) and went to the intense week of training, interviewed and finally (a few months later) found out that I had gotten the job!! (Now, I’m not the only one, don’t get too excited!) So, basically, I will be a liaison between the Broadcast division of the Olympics (Tobo) and all of the journalists/broadcasters who come from all over the world to cover them … I will be working specifically at the ice skating venue which is where I requested! It’s a big job and I am really so excited about it! Not only will it be an incredible experience, but hopefully I will be able to at least meet some people or make some connections with people who can steer me in the right direction career-wise (since NBC basically runs the Olympics), that is, if Katie Couric doesn’t just hire me on the spot … ha, keep dreaming, Laura. Another awesome thing is that I am actually getting paid pretty well for it, which I wasn’t expecting at all! And since we all know that Laura isn’t the best money saver (since I haven’t actually gotten into the whole salary job situation yet), this is a really good thing!
All that to say, that right now, I am in a bit of a holding period, which is really nice because I get to just hang out with the family and be home. I have a part-time job working in an office close to my house, am trying to continue to cook Italian for the fam, see old friends, and seriously do some research on what exactly I am going to do about a real job/career (what?) come March when I get back from Italy.
The fact that I get to go back to Italy so soon made it that much easier for us to say goodbye …knowing that I get to return just three months after I left was really nice. I will go back the beginning of February and come home the middle of March, working the Olympics in between and seeing everyone before and after they take place! I will stay with the Balzolas, which they insisted upon, and become roommates with their new nanny who I am dying to meet after we became friends over the phone and email before I left.
So, that’s the situation … I'm really excited to see what the next six months hold … after February, I really have no idea at this point where I will be and I have found that though this can be really pretty stressful and scary, it can also be so awesome at the same time. It forces me to simply trust in the Lord and His timing and His plan. I surly don’t have a plan right now, so I literally have no other choice but to trust that His will unfold -- and sometimes I need these extremities to allow me to NOT be in control.
And, so that’s that. My year was simply unexplainable, though I have tried my best to make you feel like you were there with me. It was simply wonderful and a time that continued to grow me and shape me, which is quite exciting to think about.
Thanks for taking the journey with me, and thanks for being so excited as if you were really here, experiencing each moment. I truly appreciate it, your kind words and your willingness to read and listen to a really excited and babbly girl. You guys are the best.
For now, the marbles are done. The box is empty … but my memories are so very full.
Random things I missed about America:
- The convenience of 24-hour service
- Good customer service
- Jamoca milkshakes from Arby’s
- Thanksgiving
- Pick-up trucks
- American pride
- Rap music
- Southern accents
- Starbucks
- Baseball
- Baseball hats
- Free refills with ice
- Reading the newspaper (in English)
- Driving my car
- Dick Clark on New Year’s
- Medicine that works really well (so maybe we have a high tolerance)
- Our neighbors
- The smell of fresh cut lawn
- Mexican food
- Genuine friendliness
- Hugs
- Cheap contact solution
- Going to the movies (in English)
- The amazing convenience of SuperTarget
- church
Random things I will miss about Italy:
- coffee and cappuccino
- the Italian language
- the hometown feel in a big city
- going out for aperitivo (appetizers instead of a meal)
- pizza, pasta, bread, chocolate…food in general
- hanging clothes out to dry
- walking in the city center
- the buildings
- history everywhere you look
- the markets
- loud talking & hand gestures
- the ability to hop on a train and go anywhere
- the ability to go shopping in Milan for the day (what?)
- kissing on both cheeks when greeting anyone
- feeling like you are in a movie
- soccer and soccer fans
- the music
- the beautiful surroundings
- the superstitions (don’t get caught in a breeze, you’ll catch a cold…)
- scooters
- old balconies
- cheese
- tiny grocery stores one block away
- parties with family friends that last all night
- Italian movies
- The International church
posted by Laura at 6:36 PM
0 comments
10 Oct. 2005
Torino, Italia
There are those summers that you will never forget. That one when your parents took you to Disney World and you actually met Mickey or when you had your first crush on that cute boy at camp, or when you planned a road trip with your best friends and actually did it. As the school year ended and June began to bring hot days, I wasn’t really sure what to expect of the Italian summer that I would be experiencing. Not only was my schedule, that I’d grown used to, going to be turned upside down, but I also knew that it would be a new phase in the Italian nanny experience – a new comfort zone to be tackled and a new stage in my time here. What I didn’t know was that this summer would be one of those summers that I will never forget. One of those summers that you look back on even as you are just finishing and can’t really believe you did what you did. One of those summers that makes you feel blessed and amazingly lucky, a summer that makes you simply sad when it is all over. It was truly a summer that will be with me for always.
And if it was this kind of summer, you must, of course, hear about it.
With that said, Happy Fall, to you – all my beautiful friends and precious family! Hope all is well in your worlds and that your summers were relaxing with unforgettable moments.
It was June when the girls finished school and about a week later began the real summer. Each June Federico and Paola and three other families they are best friends with rent a villa in Tuscany for a week. I knew this was in the plans, but the American girl really had no idea what to expect from a villa (what?) or from the Tuscan region of Italy which I had never laid eyes on (save for the calendar photos at Target). And as we made the three-hour drive there and began to slowly come into the Tuscan vineyards, the lines of tall green trees, and the yellow hills speckled with old houses and rows of sunflowers, I began to get a feel for how the week would be. It was, in fact, a villa just as they said, built in something crazy like the 16th century. The reason for this week in Tuscany was not only to enjoy the beauty surrounding us and the time with friends, but it was to relax, plain and simple. Our villa was in the middle of fields and trees with a view and a dirt road to reach it.
And our days consisted of waking up around 9:30 am, eating a breakfast of fresh bread and croissants bought that morning by one of the men who took turns waking up early, along with coffee and juice, the newspaper and daily magazines for the women to read. Then we headed to the pool which was attached to the villa, where we swam under the hot sun, tanned our winter skin and watched the kids play and splash as if they were, in fact, fish instead of children. A big lunch would be made around 1 pm, pool it again after that and then it was either a big dinner at home, made by all, or one out at a restaurant in some old village that is too small for cars. This was the week and quite relaxed we were. Living here in Italy, this type of thing becomes quite normal, but when I would step out of the situation and at times realize where I was and what I was doing, I couldn’t help but laugh, but feel crazy-blessed, but be really so excited for such a week in such a place with such people. I wish I could write the entire email about this one week, but alas the summer goes on and so must I so that you will not be angry with another “Laura blog” of ridiculous length.
It was the beginning of July when we returned from Tuscany and it started getting so hot that I felt like I was back home in Florida. Who knew that there was another place with just as much humidity and just as much heat? The interesting (if you could call it that) thing about Italy is that there is no air conditioning. So, whereas we Floridians complain about having to go out in the deadly heat when we move from our cold houses to our cold cars to our cold stores, here there is no such thing as cold in the summer. It’s always, always hot (as in sitting in your house, doing nothing and sweating). An experience, ladies and gentlemen, an experience indeed. It’s for this reason that most people who live in the city try to get out during summer. Here, the heat gets trapped and there is no where to go to escape it. In summer, it’s a normal thing for children to go with either their moms to their family houses in the mountains or by the sea or to be shipped off to their grandparents house outside the city to be able to run around and not be stuck up in a hot house the whole day.
The month of July was spent like this. Paola’s parents live in the country about 45 minutes outside of the city; therefore a few degrees cooler with a little portable pool to cool off in, a field of grass to run through, dogs, chickens, and turtles to play with and grandparents who will do anything for their grandbabies. It was here at this house that I spent about two and a half weeks with Maghi (while Bea was at an ice skating camp). Imagine, if you will, days that begin with dogs barking around 8 am with nothing to do but talk to two sweet Italian grandparents (in Italian), play with a 6-year-old girl, and eat a lot of whatever the grandmother puts on your plate. These days made me think of times long ago when people really didn’t do anything in the summer because it was so hot … they woke up early to cook the lunch so the kitchen didn’t make the house hot in the afternoon, they went for a swim, a walk. The children played house and colored and made up stories. They just were there while the hours passed and somehow, they were tired at night. At least this is how it was for us and that’s how I imagine it being a hundred years ago. It was nice and a forced relaxation. Some days were long, but never bad with such people and such beauty surrounding us. As we played in the tree house in the yard, we looked out onto a corn field; as we played in the grass, we found a ladybug family; as we kneaded dough, we helped make homemade bread. It was a nice stage of summer, to just be, and to once again be completely immersed in this culture as Paola and Federico were in Turin working and only came to stay on the weekends -- the American girl at the Italian grandparents … and Italian was improved for lack of desperation.
The last week of July Maghi and I joined Bea at another ice skating camp in a small village town at the base of the Italian Alps. I was the “cheerer” at the day-long practices, became friends with the young teachers, and was stared at by the fellow campers as “the American girl who speaks English.” But our surroundings were once again crazy-beautiful, the grey peaks rising above us and the greens and pinks and yellows of the flowers decorating the small, but upscale Italian village was lovely to see in the summer. And once again, as I roomed with Bea, Maghi and two of their friends, Laura had to practice her Italian and I was so thankful that I was forced to speak it even though I was not so confident.
On the 31st of July began my adventure without my Italian family. I took my remaining two weeks of vacation and spent them with my brother Christopher and one of his best friends, Wade Durham. We had planned and talked and planned for months before. The two had been travelling Europe and Italy for about three weeks prior to our meeting time and place: on a train headed from Turin (me) through Rome (them) to Naples (us together). The two weeks we spent together was a time so wonderful. To be able to be in such places with my brother was truly a blessing and something I know that we will share forever. Our first destination was Napoli, where we stayed for about 2 days seeing the sights, meeting the friendliest people in Italy (southern people are always more friendly no matter what country you are in!), eating the best pizza in the world (as Naples is where the pizza was invented), getting lost, being really, really hot, and laughing at every situation we got ourselves into. One highlight was going about 100 feet below ground to see Greek and Roman ruins which had been built over and later discovered. From Naples we headed to the eerie yet crazy-interesting city of Pompeii which was completely preserved by the eruption and hot ash of a volcano close by. After five hours in the hot sun and becoming best friends with our listening guides, we felt like experts on the place, but still couldn’t believe that we were actually there.
The boys dubbed me the “slave driver” after about this point in the trip as I had planned a lot of things to do and see though we had very little time. (Who needs to eat lunch anyway when there is someplace famous to get to?) We passed through the picturesque town of Sorrento which is right on the coast, south of Pompeii, to catch our ferry that took us to Capri. And though we only stayed one night (one the boys loved me for because our hotel had air conditioning) and the weather wasn’t crystal, we all fell in love with this enchanting island. As we approached it on the ferry it reminded me of Neverland from Peter Pan as its a large green mountain coming out of the water with a low hazy mist that encircles the bottom of it. It was a magical sight and actually being there was even better. We swam in the waters, drank the local wine, and explored the tiny streets. Though maybe being there with a guy other than my brother and Wade would have been a little more romantic … it was an awesome experience! After a sad goodbye to this island and its friendly people, and the ferry back to the mainland, we battled Italian lines (nonexistent, really just a mass of people) and got on the bus that took us along the Amalfi coast. Though crowded, the views from the window were spectacular -- the rugged coastline jutting into the sea and the afternoon sun falling on the water and mountains allowing them to sparkle as if in a dream.
We stopped off in the town of Positano and soon saw why many movies have been filmed there as it is a place built into the mountains and down the sides to the sea, overflowing with colourful buildings and places that show off its history yet boast of wealth and glamour. On its pebbly shore, we rested our bodies and took in the fact of where we actually were. Wade went for a swim and Christopher and I just sat and watched as the sky turned pink and the little yellow lights up the peak started to twinkle on around us. But only a little over an hour of this could be had (ahem … slave driver?) before we had to catch the bus once again to reach the last town on the coast where we stayed the night. And after a dinner of gelato and some Pringles, after getting soaked in a pelting rainstorm, and after walking much farther to reach our hostel than we thought, we made it to bed that night to rest up for our next big adventure.
Bright and early in the morning we started our 48-hour journey to get to Greece. Greece! Have I really been to such a place? Now it seems like a dream far off somewhere. But to get there, because the airfares were outrageous, we took the overnight ferry. But the ferry did not leave from the West coast of Italy (where we were), it left from the East coast hence the beginning of about 5 forms of transportation and hours upon hours to get to the infamous Greek isles.
We started by train to cross the country of Italia, used a bus part of the way and then train again before we made it to the port town of Brindisi. Here is where our travelling party enlargened. I have become great friends with a fellow “English-speaking nanny” who lives just a few blocks away from me in Torino. Her name is Tiana, she’s from New Zealand, and is absolutely hilarious. As she had time off in the summer as well and after I told her to come with us to Greece, she met us in Brindisi and hopped on the ferry with us. It was a long overnight ferry, but after sleeping across a few seats and on the floor, we made it to the mainland of Greece, about a four-hour train ride from Athens. Of course, Athens was where we needed to be so after our night ferry, we lugged our tired bodies onto a crowded four-hour train to get to the capital city.
Now let me stop here for a moment just to say when we awoke that morning (before arriving in Greece) from our light slumber on the ferry and stepped outside onto the deck, we were surrounded not only by a sunny and gorgeous day, but with green islands on either side of us. Non-inhabited, just islands of green rising out of the water to our happy and excited faces that we were, in fact, in the waters of Greece. When we did finally reach land, we were greeted with the stark realization that we understood nothing. At least in Italy, we have the same alphabet so usually if you don’t understand everything you can at least read it and sound it out. In Greece, I felt like a first grader who hadn’t yet learned how to read. Not only could we not read, we didn’t even recognize the letters that made up the words … welcome to being humbled and vulnerable at pretty much every moment. Sure, there were some signs in both Greek and English, but still, it was crazy.
The train dropped us off in Athens and after catching a taxi to the port in Athens (and having to have a few old men translate to the driver where the travellers needed to go), we finally boarded our second ferry. Now, I know what you’re thinking here. Why are you leaving Athens when you just got there and where are you going on another ferry? The plan was to use our 5 days to not only see Athens, but to see a Greek island as well. But the problem was that when you get four gung-ho travellers together, you can’t just go to the closest island and be satisfied. Who knows when the next time you’ll be back in Greece will be? So, we went for one of the most famous, though it was also the farthest away. Our second ferry was headed for the island of Santorini – the place you see in all the Greek photos with the blue sea, the white stucco, round-roofed church, and the blue paint allowing it to match with its surroundings of sky and water. This is what I had dreamed of seeing as this was the picture in my mind when I thought of Greece and, of course, I wanted to see if it really existed.
So night ferry for the second night in a row took us to this heaven. (Thankfully on this ferry, we had a cabin and were able to sleep soundly while pretending we were on the Titanic.)
Santorini was formed by a volcano so it’s beaches are more colourful from the rock and lava and its shape is really steep cliffs on the side with a platue on the top. It’s for this reason that it is dark rock on all sides rising straight up from the small port and on top you see the houses and villages decorating it like a hat or icing on a cake. We were picked up by the owner of our small hotel and driven up the steep zig-zag road. We saw for ourselves that on top it was completely flat and when you couldn’t see the sea, it seemed you were somewhere like Nebraska or someplace like that … very strange. Our hotel was perfect, family owned with air conditioning, a great breakfast, a balcony and situated about 25 feet from one of the most popular beaches. On our first day, we simply relaxed and tried to believe that we were actually there. We swam in the waters, rested our feet in the warm pebbly beach and stared in awe at the yellow cliffs that surrounded us. It was the second day that we had one of those days so wonderful that when you lay your head down on your pillow afterwards, you want to save the feeling forever in a bottle to be opened some other time to experience again.
On this day, Tiana and I decided to go on a tour of the island which entailed being taken from the port on a sailboat that reminded us of a pirate ship to a smaller island close by where the still-active volcano is. We hiked the volcanic island completely made of volcanic rock in the sweating sun, caught a glimpse of green sulphuric gas escaping, soaked in the view of Santorini, and then made our way back to the ship. Next was swimming in the hot springs caused by the volcano. When I think of hot springs, I think inland somewhere, but we were pleasantly surprised when they took us to an alcove in the sea! The brown muddy bottom of the springs gave the color of the warm water a brownish tint that made us feel like we were in a spa getting a treatment. The best part of it was that since the water was shallow close to the springs, the boat could not get too close, giving Tiana and I and our tour group the need to jump off the boat into the middle of the sea and swim to the springs ourselves. It was an experience that is quite indescribable and was simply incredible.
We were then dropped off at another smaller island close-by for two hours to eat lunch and explore the little area. We decided to take a swim before getting our gyros for lunch and this is the part where I saw the bluest water I have ever seen in my entire life. As we made our way into the calm water, I put my goggles on and discovered that the water was not only clear, it was a blue abyss. So that you can understand just how blue it is, we dubbed it the color of Blue Powerade. Go to Walgreens and have a look, this is the water in Greece. Tiana and I really couldn’t get over it and we just kept dunking our heads and floating wide-eyed at the water before us. After lunch, we boarded again to head back to Santorini, but this time they dropped us off at a village at the very northern tip where the sunsets are most famous. Once again, everything is built on the top of the island and at this port there is no place for cars hence the need to take a donkey up the 250 stairs instead of walking them yourself in the glistening heat. (That’s a story in and of itself.)
It was here, in this village of Oia -- as we wandered in and through the tiny and ancient streets with white stucco and blue as every accent, with small restaurants and souvenir shops, high houses and ancient Greek people waddling in and out of tourists -- that we came upon the church … the infamous church. And after that view, that exact view that we both had seen so many times in photos, we were done and satisfied. How could we really have been there? But its real, guys, its very real indeed. We finally made our way to the “sunset spot” and found a tiny outside restaurant with a perfect view of the setting sun. Egged on by a phone call of, “You guys have to meet us here, it is amazing!” the guys found us at the restaurant and there we ate and watched, with hundreds of others taking over the small streets, the unforgettable Greek sunset as it warmed the small village where we were, surrounded by small white buildings on all sides, almost seeming to be built on top of each other … a windmill, a Greek flag, and the sea in front of us. It was a day I will remember forever.
Our last day in Santorini Tiana and I took a bus to another beach called the Red Beach and once we hiked a bit to seemingly nowhere, and came around a bend, we realized why it had such a name. The cliffs were of red rock and stretched hundreds of feet high, leaving directly below them about 50 feet of red sand beach, as if tucked away only to be found by those who just happened to be going for a walk or a climb. The sand was red from the cliffs and black and red smooth stones also made the beach sparkle. The waves were large here and we enjoyed such a different place for the afternoon. It was that night that we left the beautiful island on yet another night ferry to go back to the city of Athens. It was difficult to leave such a place, especially to go back to a city. The thing that struck me the most while we were there was the fact that we were literally on a tiny piece of land in the middle of the sea … with nothing else for miles and miles. I had studied the map for so long that this was how I imagined it, and though I was in fact there, it was very difficult to believe it myself.
We had two days in Athens and though it was short, it was enough time to get a feeling for the city and to see the incredible sights and history that make it up. Tiana left us the morning we arrived to meet her mom in Croatia (another story as well) and so it was back to the three of us which was a nice way to end such a trip. We did most of the sights all in one morning as they are all very close to each other. Being at such places with such history, even after being in Italy for so long and seeing it here, was amazing. The Acropolis? The Parthenon? All those Greek theatres and temples and stories … it was all there and we saw everything, amazed and never being surprised at something else older or bigger or more historic.
The main highlight (other than finding one of my favorite stores with cheap, Greek prices and having a hay-day while the boys napped) of being in Greece was going to a performance in the ancient Greek theatre right underneath the Acropolis hill. Of course when we were touring it, I told the guys that I at least needed to try to get a ticket, I didn’t care what was being performed, but if I could go, I was going. Though they weren’t interested, they waited for me to ask about prices and if there was a show while we there. It turned out that not only were the student tickets available and cheap and that there was a show that night, but it just happened to be an orchestra and choir performing music from The Lord of the Rings movies, conducted by the composer himself. When the boys found this out, they somehow become really interested and, to my delight, we all three went back that evening for an amazing experience … listening to the music of The Lord of the Rings in an ancient Greek theatre? C’mon now, this is starting to get a bit ridiculous. We also walked to the hill that is written about in Acts 17 of the Bible, where Paul preached the gospel to the people of Athens … being there was something a bit unreal … to think that such a man of the Bible had stepped on the very same ground…
And as quickly as it started, it ended -- our time together. I flew home and left Greece, promising myself to return to such an incredible place.
The following week, the girls and I were transported up to the village of Champoluc where Federico’s parents have their cabin (the one where we spent Christmas, where it feels like a film). His parents stay there most of the summer and the girls and I joined them for the week, taking day-long hikes through the towering mountains around us, through forests and valleys, along tiny trails and large paths with lunches on our backs and a feeling of “good tired” when we rested our heads at night. The weather was to die for, warm during the days and cool at night, and the cabin itself was a dream with wildflowers at every turn, a trickling fountain in the front yard and a view of the village and valley below with the icy glacier high above on the peaks beyond. And again Laura practiced her Italian and soaked up such a time and place.
The entire summer was really a build-up to the last three weeks which were spent in a place that is even more difficult to describe than those I just have. Every year Federico and Paola (and usually most of Federico’s family) spend about three weeks on the Italian island of Sardegna. It’s a huge place, off the western coast of Italy, about the size of the state of Georgia and its completely wild and not very touristy. There, Federico’s parents have two small, connecting places that reminded me of timeshares, though these they actually own. And this is where we spent three glorious weeks.
The island itself is very strange, there are hardly any trees, but most of the terrain is made up of large bushes and hundreds of huge boulders scattered everywhere as if someone simply grabbed a pile of pebbles and tossed them across the island. Though somewhat mountainous, it is mostly flat, not built-up and inhabited with people who were born there, who don’t really like the tourists and who don’t really try their hardest to accommodate them as they know the tourists will come anyway. The island itself is ok, of course its beautiful and, in some parts, quite breathtaking. But what makes Sardegna a place of dreams is the coastal shore, and ultimately, the water. The water is something indescribable. I have never in my life seen water so clear, so aquamarine, so blue (even compared to Greece, this water was just different), so calm.
Everyday I saw it, I was surprised and amazed and completely in awe. There are not waves, hence the sand doesn’t get mixed up in the water, hence the water is crystal and clear. Clear enough and smooth enough to swim laps with goggles on, snorkling at the same time just by looking at the water below you. It was honestly like swimming in a pool. Usually the bottom would be shallow for 50 to 75 feet out, so you would not only swim and dive, but you could swim far away to explore without being in the middle of the sea. Because the bottom of the sea was either white sand or smooth boulders, the water reflected it and become colors of light blue, aquamarine and greens of jade and emerald, bluer than the sky above. I swam above and followed schools of fish, watched a diver capture a small octopus (only to put in foil once on land for dinner that night), gawked at jellyfish and watched snails come out of shells tinier than my pinky fingernail.
Because Sardegna is an island, there are more beaches than you can count and most of them are too difficult to reach by car. Luckily my family has a small fishing boat that transported us almost daily to a different beach, small island or shoreline made of boulders. The beauty of going in the boat is reaching places that are not able to be reached by car, thus being on a beach with only 25 or so other people … a beach that is in the middle of nowhere, surrounded on either side by bushes and cliffs, giving me the feeling we had just entered the Swiss Family Robinson adventure or else just happened on the set of Gilligan’s Island.
There’s lots of things that happen in three weeks, that’s quite a long time to be away on vacation, especially in the same place. We had friends come to stay for a week and met others who were vacationing there, as well, for dinners and beach days together. We had two of Bea and Maghi’s cousins with us which added to the family make-up and lots of time spent together. When you vacation with someone, you can’t help but grow closer to them, and after three weeks of being apart of this family, though I had almost been here a year before we left and felt close to them then, after these three weeks there was something there that I can’t really describe, a comfort and some sort of bond and understanding that is really nice.
It was a beautiful three weeks, but also a bit difficult at times. It was during these three weeks -- when we were in a tiny village without TV, internet or English newspapers -- that the Katrina fiasco took place. Waking up in the morning on an Italian island only to be told by Italians that thousands of people in my county are dead, dying, lost, and going out of control is a feeling and experience that was truly terrible. Sure, I could get the gist of what was happening from the Italian newspapers, but I missed the details and didn’t like being told them by people who didn’t share my same concern, my same claim to home, my same patriotic desire to somehow stand up for a place where things were going so very wrong. And all the while, spending the day on a beautiful beach. It was a strange time, and finally I did get my English newspapers and I did get a call on my cell phone from my mom who explained every detail while I eagerly listened and the girls splashed away in the blue water in front of us. It was strange.
Though I loved it, it was also strange to be on such a vacation with a family that is not your own. However close I do feel to them, they still are not my family and there were times, as the year mark crept quickly, that I longed for my own family and my own friends to share such a magnificent place with. Times that I knew it was almost time for me to, in fact, go home. But through the emotions and thoughts of Laura (which we all know can get to be a bit much at times), it was three weeks that were from a dream with late mornings, boat rides in the middle of the sea, deserted beaches and lots of sandcastles, relaxing and being more tan than every before, swimming, jumping off boulders into the crystal water, eating big dinners with lots of friends and lots of Italian, speaking Italian more than English and actually understanding it, feeling part of this family more than ever before, experimenting with seafood, laughing a lot, and spending three weeks in such a place. When we left, I promised myself I would return. It’s a place that gets in your blood, I think, and you can’t help but desire to go back.
And, it was one of those summers you never forget.
And then it was back to Torino, and after three weeks, we were all pretty much ready to return to the routine and schedule of normal life. The girls started school, Maghi in her first year of elementary school and Bea now in her last. I reunited with my “Babysitters club” group of fabulous friends from all over the world, but all English-speaking and all in the same situation as I am. And it was strange to start over because I began to pass the place in which I came last year. September 15th came and went and all of a sudden it was a year mark and here things were starting over again, but this time for my second time and this time I was comfortable and not scared out of my mind.
My trusty sidekick, Jen, is gone however. She left in early July to return home and start teaching (like a responsible person!) and it is strange being here without her. Now her replacement has arrived just three weeks ago, she is a great girl who is so excited about being here, whom I have shown all around and helped get accustomed to this incredible life here, but who has trouble understanding that I am nervous and sad about leaving such a life and family and time in Italy. She will understand after being here longer and falling in love with it herself.
So, now it is 18 days left! I will write again before I leave as now this letter has once again become quite too long. I am now soaking up each memory, each moment and each friend here; so very anxious to see all of you, and a knowledge that it is time to be home, but with a bit of sadness in my heart to leave such a stage of this life.
Torino, Italia
There are those summers that you will never forget. That one when your parents took you to Disney World and you actually met Mickey or when you had your first crush on that cute boy at camp, or when you planned a road trip with your best friends and actually did it. As the school year ended and June began to bring hot days, I wasn’t really sure what to expect of the Italian summer that I would be experiencing. Not only was my schedule, that I’d grown used to, going to be turned upside down, but I also knew that it would be a new phase in the Italian nanny experience – a new comfort zone to be tackled and a new stage in my time here. What I didn’t know was that this summer would be one of those summers that I will never forget. One of those summers that you look back on even as you are just finishing and can’t really believe you did what you did. One of those summers that makes you feel blessed and amazingly lucky, a summer that makes you simply sad when it is all over. It was truly a summer that will be with me for always.
And if it was this kind of summer, you must, of course, hear about it.
With that said, Happy Fall, to you – all my beautiful friends and precious family! Hope all is well in your worlds and that your summers were relaxing with unforgettable moments.
It was June when the girls finished school and about a week later began the real summer. Each June Federico and Paola and three other families they are best friends with rent a villa in Tuscany for a week. I knew this was in the plans, but the American girl really had no idea what to expect from a villa (what?) or from the Tuscan region of Italy which I had never laid eyes on (save for the calendar photos at Target). And as we made the three-hour drive there and began to slowly come into the Tuscan vineyards, the lines of tall green trees, and the yellow hills speckled with old houses and rows of sunflowers, I began to get a feel for how the week would be. It was, in fact, a villa just as they said, built in something crazy like the 16th century. The reason for this week in Tuscany was not only to enjoy the beauty surrounding us and the time with friends, but it was to relax, plain and simple. Our villa was in the middle of fields and trees with a view and a dirt road to reach it.
And our days consisted of waking up around 9:30 am, eating a breakfast of fresh bread and croissants bought that morning by one of the men who took turns waking up early, along with coffee and juice, the newspaper and daily magazines for the women to read. Then we headed to the pool which was attached to the villa, where we swam under the hot sun, tanned our winter skin and watched the kids play and splash as if they were, in fact, fish instead of children. A big lunch would be made around 1 pm, pool it again after that and then it was either a big dinner at home, made by all, or one out at a restaurant in some old village that is too small for cars. This was the week and quite relaxed we were. Living here in Italy, this type of thing becomes quite normal, but when I would step out of the situation and at times realize where I was and what I was doing, I couldn’t help but laugh, but feel crazy-blessed, but be really so excited for such a week in such a place with such people. I wish I could write the entire email about this one week, but alas the summer goes on and so must I so that you will not be angry with another “Laura blog” of ridiculous length.
It was the beginning of July when we returned from Tuscany and it started getting so hot that I felt like I was back home in Florida. Who knew that there was another place with just as much humidity and just as much heat? The interesting (if you could call it that) thing about Italy is that there is no air conditioning. So, whereas we Floridians complain about having to go out in the deadly heat when we move from our cold houses to our cold cars to our cold stores, here there is no such thing as cold in the summer. It’s always, always hot (as in sitting in your house, doing nothing and sweating). An experience, ladies and gentlemen, an experience indeed. It’s for this reason that most people who live in the city try to get out during summer. Here, the heat gets trapped and there is no where to go to escape it. In summer, it’s a normal thing for children to go with either their moms to their family houses in the mountains or by the sea or to be shipped off to their grandparents house outside the city to be able to run around and not be stuck up in a hot house the whole day.
The month of July was spent like this. Paola’s parents live in the country about 45 minutes outside of the city; therefore a few degrees cooler with a little portable pool to cool off in, a field of grass to run through, dogs, chickens, and turtles to play with and grandparents who will do anything for their grandbabies. It was here at this house that I spent about two and a half weeks with Maghi (while Bea was at an ice skating camp). Imagine, if you will, days that begin with dogs barking around 8 am with nothing to do but talk to two sweet Italian grandparents (in Italian), play with a 6-year-old girl, and eat a lot of whatever the grandmother puts on your plate. These days made me think of times long ago when people really didn’t do anything in the summer because it was so hot … they woke up early to cook the lunch so the kitchen didn’t make the house hot in the afternoon, they went for a swim, a walk. The children played house and colored and made up stories. They just were there while the hours passed and somehow, they were tired at night. At least this is how it was for us and that’s how I imagine it being a hundred years ago. It was nice and a forced relaxation. Some days were long, but never bad with such people and such beauty surrounding us. As we played in the tree house in the yard, we looked out onto a corn field; as we played in the grass, we found a ladybug family; as we kneaded dough, we helped make homemade bread. It was a nice stage of summer, to just be, and to once again be completely immersed in this culture as Paola and Federico were in Turin working and only came to stay on the weekends -- the American girl at the Italian grandparents … and Italian was improved for lack of desperation.
The last week of July Maghi and I joined Bea at another ice skating camp in a small village town at the base of the Italian Alps. I was the “cheerer” at the day-long practices, became friends with the young teachers, and was stared at by the fellow campers as “the American girl who speaks English.” But our surroundings were once again crazy-beautiful, the grey peaks rising above us and the greens and pinks and yellows of the flowers decorating the small, but upscale Italian village was lovely to see in the summer. And once again, as I roomed with Bea, Maghi and two of their friends, Laura had to practice her Italian and I was so thankful that I was forced to speak it even though I was not so confident.
On the 31st of July began my adventure without my Italian family. I took my remaining two weeks of vacation and spent them with my brother Christopher and one of his best friends, Wade Durham. We had planned and talked and planned for months before. The two had been travelling Europe and Italy for about three weeks prior to our meeting time and place: on a train headed from Turin (me) through Rome (them) to Naples (us together). The two weeks we spent together was a time so wonderful. To be able to be in such places with my brother was truly a blessing and something I know that we will share forever. Our first destination was Napoli, where we stayed for about 2 days seeing the sights, meeting the friendliest people in Italy (southern people are always more friendly no matter what country you are in!), eating the best pizza in the world (as Naples is where the pizza was invented), getting lost, being really, really hot, and laughing at every situation we got ourselves into. One highlight was going about 100 feet below ground to see Greek and Roman ruins which had been built over and later discovered. From Naples we headed to the eerie yet crazy-interesting city of Pompeii which was completely preserved by the eruption and hot ash of a volcano close by. After five hours in the hot sun and becoming best friends with our listening guides, we felt like experts on the place, but still couldn’t believe that we were actually there.
The boys dubbed me the “slave driver” after about this point in the trip as I had planned a lot of things to do and see though we had very little time. (Who needs to eat lunch anyway when there is someplace famous to get to?) We passed through the picturesque town of Sorrento which is right on the coast, south of Pompeii, to catch our ferry that took us to Capri. And though we only stayed one night (one the boys loved me for because our hotel had air conditioning) and the weather wasn’t crystal, we all fell in love with this enchanting island. As we approached it on the ferry it reminded me of Neverland from Peter Pan as its a large green mountain coming out of the water with a low hazy mist that encircles the bottom of it. It was a magical sight and actually being there was even better. We swam in the waters, drank the local wine, and explored the tiny streets. Though maybe being there with a guy other than my brother and Wade would have been a little more romantic … it was an awesome experience! After a sad goodbye to this island and its friendly people, and the ferry back to the mainland, we battled Italian lines (nonexistent, really just a mass of people) and got on the bus that took us along the Amalfi coast. Though crowded, the views from the window were spectacular -- the rugged coastline jutting into the sea and the afternoon sun falling on the water and mountains allowing them to sparkle as if in a dream.
We stopped off in the town of Positano and soon saw why many movies have been filmed there as it is a place built into the mountains and down the sides to the sea, overflowing with colourful buildings and places that show off its history yet boast of wealth and glamour. On its pebbly shore, we rested our bodies and took in the fact of where we actually were. Wade went for a swim and Christopher and I just sat and watched as the sky turned pink and the little yellow lights up the peak started to twinkle on around us. But only a little over an hour of this could be had (ahem … slave driver?) before we had to catch the bus once again to reach the last town on the coast where we stayed the night. And after a dinner of gelato and some Pringles, after getting soaked in a pelting rainstorm, and after walking much farther to reach our hostel than we thought, we made it to bed that night to rest up for our next big adventure.
Bright and early in the morning we started our 48-hour journey to get to Greece. Greece! Have I really been to such a place? Now it seems like a dream far off somewhere. But to get there, because the airfares were outrageous, we took the overnight ferry. But the ferry did not leave from the West coast of Italy (where we were), it left from the East coast hence the beginning of about 5 forms of transportation and hours upon hours to get to the infamous Greek isles.
We started by train to cross the country of Italia, used a bus part of the way and then train again before we made it to the port town of Brindisi. Here is where our travelling party enlargened. I have become great friends with a fellow “English-speaking nanny” who lives just a few blocks away from me in Torino. Her name is Tiana, she’s from New Zealand, and is absolutely hilarious. As she had time off in the summer as well and after I told her to come with us to Greece, she met us in Brindisi and hopped on the ferry with us. It was a long overnight ferry, but after sleeping across a few seats and on the floor, we made it to the mainland of Greece, about a four-hour train ride from Athens. Of course, Athens was where we needed to be so after our night ferry, we lugged our tired bodies onto a crowded four-hour train to get to the capital city.
Now let me stop here for a moment just to say when we awoke that morning (before arriving in Greece) from our light slumber on the ferry and stepped outside onto the deck, we were surrounded not only by a sunny and gorgeous day, but with green islands on either side of us. Non-inhabited, just islands of green rising out of the water to our happy and excited faces that we were, in fact, in the waters of Greece. When we did finally reach land, we were greeted with the stark realization that we understood nothing. At least in Italy, we have the same alphabet so usually if you don’t understand everything you can at least read it and sound it out. In Greece, I felt like a first grader who hadn’t yet learned how to read. Not only could we not read, we didn’t even recognize the letters that made up the words … welcome to being humbled and vulnerable at pretty much every moment. Sure, there were some signs in both Greek and English, but still, it was crazy.
The train dropped us off in Athens and after catching a taxi to the port in Athens (and having to have a few old men translate to the driver where the travellers needed to go), we finally boarded our second ferry. Now, I know what you’re thinking here. Why are you leaving Athens when you just got there and where are you going on another ferry? The plan was to use our 5 days to not only see Athens, but to see a Greek island as well. But the problem was that when you get four gung-ho travellers together, you can’t just go to the closest island and be satisfied. Who knows when the next time you’ll be back in Greece will be? So, we went for one of the most famous, though it was also the farthest away. Our second ferry was headed for the island of Santorini – the place you see in all the Greek photos with the blue sea, the white stucco, round-roofed church, and the blue paint allowing it to match with its surroundings of sky and water. This is what I had dreamed of seeing as this was the picture in my mind when I thought of Greece and, of course, I wanted to see if it really existed.
So night ferry for the second night in a row took us to this heaven. (Thankfully on this ferry, we had a cabin and were able to sleep soundly while pretending we were on the Titanic.)
Santorini was formed by a volcano so it’s beaches are more colourful from the rock and lava and its shape is really steep cliffs on the side with a platue on the top. It’s for this reason that it is dark rock on all sides rising straight up from the small port and on top you see the houses and villages decorating it like a hat or icing on a cake. We were picked up by the owner of our small hotel and driven up the steep zig-zag road. We saw for ourselves that on top it was completely flat and when you couldn’t see the sea, it seemed you were somewhere like Nebraska or someplace like that … very strange. Our hotel was perfect, family owned with air conditioning, a great breakfast, a balcony and situated about 25 feet from one of the most popular beaches. On our first day, we simply relaxed and tried to believe that we were actually there. We swam in the waters, rested our feet in the warm pebbly beach and stared in awe at the yellow cliffs that surrounded us. It was the second day that we had one of those days so wonderful that when you lay your head down on your pillow afterwards, you want to save the feeling forever in a bottle to be opened some other time to experience again.
On this day, Tiana and I decided to go on a tour of the island which entailed being taken from the port on a sailboat that reminded us of a pirate ship to a smaller island close by where the still-active volcano is. We hiked the volcanic island completely made of volcanic rock in the sweating sun, caught a glimpse of green sulphuric gas escaping, soaked in the view of Santorini, and then made our way back to the ship. Next was swimming in the hot springs caused by the volcano. When I think of hot springs, I think inland somewhere, but we were pleasantly surprised when they took us to an alcove in the sea! The brown muddy bottom of the springs gave the color of the warm water a brownish tint that made us feel like we were in a spa getting a treatment. The best part of it was that since the water was shallow close to the springs, the boat could not get too close, giving Tiana and I and our tour group the need to jump off the boat into the middle of the sea and swim to the springs ourselves. It was an experience that is quite indescribable and was simply incredible.
We were then dropped off at another smaller island close-by for two hours to eat lunch and explore the little area. We decided to take a swim before getting our gyros for lunch and this is the part where I saw the bluest water I have ever seen in my entire life. As we made our way into the calm water, I put my goggles on and discovered that the water was not only clear, it was a blue abyss. So that you can understand just how blue it is, we dubbed it the color of Blue Powerade. Go to Walgreens and have a look, this is the water in Greece. Tiana and I really couldn’t get over it and we just kept dunking our heads and floating wide-eyed at the water before us. After lunch, we boarded again to head back to Santorini, but this time they dropped us off at a village at the very northern tip where the sunsets are most famous. Once again, everything is built on the top of the island and at this port there is no place for cars hence the need to take a donkey up the 250 stairs instead of walking them yourself in the glistening heat. (That’s a story in and of itself.)
It was here, in this village of Oia -- as we wandered in and through the tiny and ancient streets with white stucco and blue as every accent, with small restaurants and souvenir shops, high houses and ancient Greek people waddling in and out of tourists -- that we came upon the church … the infamous church. And after that view, that exact view that we both had seen so many times in photos, we were done and satisfied. How could we really have been there? But its real, guys, its very real indeed. We finally made our way to the “sunset spot” and found a tiny outside restaurant with a perfect view of the setting sun. Egged on by a phone call of, “You guys have to meet us here, it is amazing!” the guys found us at the restaurant and there we ate and watched, with hundreds of others taking over the small streets, the unforgettable Greek sunset as it warmed the small village where we were, surrounded by small white buildings on all sides, almost seeming to be built on top of each other … a windmill, a Greek flag, and the sea in front of us. It was a day I will remember forever.
Our last day in Santorini Tiana and I took a bus to another beach called the Red Beach and once we hiked a bit to seemingly nowhere, and came around a bend, we realized why it had such a name. The cliffs were of red rock and stretched hundreds of feet high, leaving directly below them about 50 feet of red sand beach, as if tucked away only to be found by those who just happened to be going for a walk or a climb. The sand was red from the cliffs and black and red smooth stones also made the beach sparkle. The waves were large here and we enjoyed such a different place for the afternoon. It was that night that we left the beautiful island on yet another night ferry to go back to the city of Athens. It was difficult to leave such a place, especially to go back to a city. The thing that struck me the most while we were there was the fact that we were literally on a tiny piece of land in the middle of the sea … with nothing else for miles and miles. I had studied the map for so long that this was how I imagined it, and though I was in fact there, it was very difficult to believe it myself.
We had two days in Athens and though it was short, it was enough time to get a feeling for the city and to see the incredible sights and history that make it up. Tiana left us the morning we arrived to meet her mom in Croatia (another story as well) and so it was back to the three of us which was a nice way to end such a trip. We did most of the sights all in one morning as they are all very close to each other. Being at such places with such history, even after being in Italy for so long and seeing it here, was amazing. The Acropolis? The Parthenon? All those Greek theatres and temples and stories … it was all there and we saw everything, amazed and never being surprised at something else older or bigger or more historic.
The main highlight (other than finding one of my favorite stores with cheap, Greek prices and having a hay-day while the boys napped) of being in Greece was going to a performance in the ancient Greek theatre right underneath the Acropolis hill. Of course when we were touring it, I told the guys that I at least needed to try to get a ticket, I didn’t care what was being performed, but if I could go, I was going. Though they weren’t interested, they waited for me to ask about prices and if there was a show while we there. It turned out that not only were the student tickets available and cheap and that there was a show that night, but it just happened to be an orchestra and choir performing music from The Lord of the Rings movies, conducted by the composer himself. When the boys found this out, they somehow become really interested and, to my delight, we all three went back that evening for an amazing experience … listening to the music of The Lord of the Rings in an ancient Greek theatre? C’mon now, this is starting to get a bit ridiculous. We also walked to the hill that is written about in Acts 17 of the Bible, where Paul preached the gospel to the people of Athens … being there was something a bit unreal … to think that such a man of the Bible had stepped on the very same ground…
And as quickly as it started, it ended -- our time together. I flew home and left Greece, promising myself to return to such an incredible place.
The following week, the girls and I were transported up to the village of Champoluc where Federico’s parents have their cabin (the one where we spent Christmas, where it feels like a film). His parents stay there most of the summer and the girls and I joined them for the week, taking day-long hikes through the towering mountains around us, through forests and valleys, along tiny trails and large paths with lunches on our backs and a feeling of “good tired” when we rested our heads at night. The weather was to die for, warm during the days and cool at night, and the cabin itself was a dream with wildflowers at every turn, a trickling fountain in the front yard and a view of the village and valley below with the icy glacier high above on the peaks beyond. And again Laura practiced her Italian and soaked up such a time and place.
The entire summer was really a build-up to the last three weeks which were spent in a place that is even more difficult to describe than those I just have. Every year Federico and Paola (and usually most of Federico’s family) spend about three weeks on the Italian island of Sardegna. It’s a huge place, off the western coast of Italy, about the size of the state of Georgia and its completely wild and not very touristy. There, Federico’s parents have two small, connecting places that reminded me of timeshares, though these they actually own. And this is where we spent three glorious weeks.
The island itself is very strange, there are hardly any trees, but most of the terrain is made up of large bushes and hundreds of huge boulders scattered everywhere as if someone simply grabbed a pile of pebbles and tossed them across the island. Though somewhat mountainous, it is mostly flat, not built-up and inhabited with people who were born there, who don’t really like the tourists and who don’t really try their hardest to accommodate them as they know the tourists will come anyway. The island itself is ok, of course its beautiful and, in some parts, quite breathtaking. But what makes Sardegna a place of dreams is the coastal shore, and ultimately, the water. The water is something indescribable. I have never in my life seen water so clear, so aquamarine, so blue (even compared to Greece, this water was just different), so calm.
Everyday I saw it, I was surprised and amazed and completely in awe. There are not waves, hence the sand doesn’t get mixed up in the water, hence the water is crystal and clear. Clear enough and smooth enough to swim laps with goggles on, snorkling at the same time just by looking at the water below you. It was honestly like swimming in a pool. Usually the bottom would be shallow for 50 to 75 feet out, so you would not only swim and dive, but you could swim far away to explore without being in the middle of the sea. Because the bottom of the sea was either white sand or smooth boulders, the water reflected it and become colors of light blue, aquamarine and greens of jade and emerald, bluer than the sky above. I swam above and followed schools of fish, watched a diver capture a small octopus (only to put in foil once on land for dinner that night), gawked at jellyfish and watched snails come out of shells tinier than my pinky fingernail.
Because Sardegna is an island, there are more beaches than you can count and most of them are too difficult to reach by car. Luckily my family has a small fishing boat that transported us almost daily to a different beach, small island or shoreline made of boulders. The beauty of going in the boat is reaching places that are not able to be reached by car, thus being on a beach with only 25 or so other people … a beach that is in the middle of nowhere, surrounded on either side by bushes and cliffs, giving me the feeling we had just entered the Swiss Family Robinson adventure or else just happened on the set of Gilligan’s Island.
There’s lots of things that happen in three weeks, that’s quite a long time to be away on vacation, especially in the same place. We had friends come to stay for a week and met others who were vacationing there, as well, for dinners and beach days together. We had two of Bea and Maghi’s cousins with us which added to the family make-up and lots of time spent together. When you vacation with someone, you can’t help but grow closer to them, and after three weeks of being apart of this family, though I had almost been here a year before we left and felt close to them then, after these three weeks there was something there that I can’t really describe, a comfort and some sort of bond and understanding that is really nice.
It was a beautiful three weeks, but also a bit difficult at times. It was during these three weeks -- when we were in a tiny village without TV, internet or English newspapers -- that the Katrina fiasco took place. Waking up in the morning on an Italian island only to be told by Italians that thousands of people in my county are dead, dying, lost, and going out of control is a feeling and experience that was truly terrible. Sure, I could get the gist of what was happening from the Italian newspapers, but I missed the details and didn’t like being told them by people who didn’t share my same concern, my same claim to home, my same patriotic desire to somehow stand up for a place where things were going so very wrong. And all the while, spending the day on a beautiful beach. It was a strange time, and finally I did get my English newspapers and I did get a call on my cell phone from my mom who explained every detail while I eagerly listened and the girls splashed away in the blue water in front of us. It was strange.
Though I loved it, it was also strange to be on such a vacation with a family that is not your own. However close I do feel to them, they still are not my family and there were times, as the year mark crept quickly, that I longed for my own family and my own friends to share such a magnificent place with. Times that I knew it was almost time for me to, in fact, go home. But through the emotions and thoughts of Laura (which we all know can get to be a bit much at times), it was three weeks that were from a dream with late mornings, boat rides in the middle of the sea, deserted beaches and lots of sandcastles, relaxing and being more tan than every before, swimming, jumping off boulders into the crystal water, eating big dinners with lots of friends and lots of Italian, speaking Italian more than English and actually understanding it, feeling part of this family more than ever before, experimenting with seafood, laughing a lot, and spending three weeks in such a place. When we left, I promised myself I would return. It’s a place that gets in your blood, I think, and you can’t help but desire to go back.
And, it was one of those summers you never forget.
And then it was back to Torino, and after three weeks, we were all pretty much ready to return to the routine and schedule of normal life. The girls started school, Maghi in her first year of elementary school and Bea now in her last. I reunited with my “Babysitters club” group of fabulous friends from all over the world, but all English-speaking and all in the same situation as I am. And it was strange to start over because I began to pass the place in which I came last year. September 15th came and went and all of a sudden it was a year mark and here things were starting over again, but this time for my second time and this time I was comfortable and not scared out of my mind.
My trusty sidekick, Jen, is gone however. She left in early July to return home and start teaching (like a responsible person!) and it is strange being here without her. Now her replacement has arrived just three weeks ago, she is a great girl who is so excited about being here, whom I have shown all around and helped get accustomed to this incredible life here, but who has trouble understanding that I am nervous and sad about leaving such a life and family and time in Italy. She will understand after being here longer and falling in love with it herself.
So, now it is 18 days left! I will write again before I leave as now this letter has once again become quite too long. I am now soaking up each memory, each moment and each friend here; so very anxious to see all of you, and a knowledge that it is time to be home, but with a bit of sadness in my heart to leave such a stage of this life.
posted by Laura at 6:29 PM
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16 May 2005
Torino, Italia
There have been more travels and friends becoming closer. Added acquaintances from new countries and even an addition to the Italian family. The sun is out and warm and I am starting to experiment with cooking. This city is my home for now and it’s actually starting to feel like it. And little things add up for new happenings and situations, new experiences and more learning. And so, as promised – to some of your delights and some of your dismays – here is the continuation of the “Laura update,” hoping my words find you rested, happy, and content.
To continue with the travel update, there isn’t too much more to tell. The day my family left, and right after our dinner with them in Milan, Jen and I took advantage of the long Easter weekend. So, since we had Monday off and found a cheap flight and were offered a free place to stay, we trekked it off to the beloved London. (this would be third country in a three-week period, but hey, you gotta do it!) It was so so wonderful to be back in this city after studying there for a semester. Jen had been there twice before so we didn’t feel pressured to do everything. I made Jen go back to all the places we hung out at while I was there including the Daniel House where we lived. It was like walking down memory lane and really wonderful, though a bit sad at the same time. It made me miss my group of girls from my time in London and reminded me of how lucky I am to have experienced such a semester, especially with them. We had a fab host as my cousin Kendra has lived in the city forever and knows her way around, drove us places, offered us her spare room, and took us to a hilarious restaurant that we never would have discovered on our own…she was awesome and patient to say the least!
We saw the show, The Producers, met up with a friend who was studying there, went to Westminster’s Abbey for Easter morning service and St. Paul’s for the evening one. We walked around a lot and really, really, really enjoyed being in an English-speaking country. It was as if someone had taken the cotton out of our ears because suddenly we could understand everything. Sure, now we’re getting to the point that we can understand Italian pretty well, but that involves concentration and usually doesn’t just come naturally, you have to work at it. But in England, all of a sudden we overheard conversations, understood every sign without thinking and didn’t hesitate to ask someone a question! As strange as it sounds, going to London was a bit like going home for us … there were Subway sandwiches, Dr. Peppers, Starbucks and green gum!! Not that we don’t love Italy, but a little comfort from home never hurt anyone. (Needless to say we drank a few too many Dr. Peppers and visited Starbucks about once or twice a day, just because we could.) Being there also made us realize that though both England and Italy are in Europe, they are so incredibly different, its amazing. What living in a place will do to you….I tell you what. It was a great long weekend and we both were so happy that we were able to go.
Last weekend Jen and I finally made it to a little piece of Heaven on Earth called Cinque Terre. This cluster of five small towns nestled into the cliffs of the Italian West Coast was a favorite of both Jen and I when we traveled Europe before and we couldn’t wait for the weather to get warm enough to make it worth our while to go back to such a place. It’s like stepping back in time, being there. The buildings in each town are almost built on top of each other and painted in every color imaginable. To top that, the towns are right on the water and the views of the cliffs descending right into the ocean are quite amazing. The last time I was there I stayed in the last and smallest town called Riomaggiore (with my traveling chicas) and Jen stayed in Corniglia up the cliff about 100 steps (literally).
This time we decided to go for the second largest town called Vernazza because it came highly recommended (any Rick Steves fans out there?) and because it is the town with the small beach perfect for laying out. After our 3-hour train ride, we arrived at the beautiful coast, were welcomed by Josepina the 60-ish short, plump, Italian woman who rented us a room “10-minutes walking distance” outside the village. 15 minutes later and after hearing Josepina’s stories about having a mole removed in a Torino hospital to how all the young people are moving away from Vernazza (in Italian, mind you) we made it to the house that we were renting for one night which was surrounded by a garden, a creek, and resting in the middle of Italian hills. After we got settled, changed into swimming gear (with no intention to actually swim), walked down to the water after passing by the foccaca place and picking up lunch, we found a place on a sunny boulder at the water’s edge where we ate and started the tanning process. It was a relaxing weekend, to say the least. We ate at a restaurant that I went to the last time I was there (!), the same owner greeted us and talked to us about where we were from. The ceiling is covered in flowers and the restaurant is so high up that the view (there were no walls) was quite a sight. Not to mention that the pesto lasagna was delicious as this region (Liguria) is known for this type of sauce. The next day was a repeat of the first and then in the late afternoon, we came home with a little more color and relaxed bodies. We already are planning to go back at least once before we leave.
Friends…
On to another topic, I will try to keep it short, but no promises. First there is Marco and Giuliana whom I wrote about before. Jen and I met this couple on the train coming back from Rome, weird and a bit sketchy, I realize, but nonetheless, that’s how it happened. After establishing that they, in fact, didn’t want to kill us or kidnap us, we finally just decided that these two people liked the two random American girls and also want to practice their English as they become friends with us. It’s great for us too because we get to hang out with Italians, meet new people, be taken to cool places and practice our Italian. Marco is hilarious and about as good at English as we are at Italian. Giuliana is fluent in English, but still struggles with sentence structure and phrases. Both are hilarious and, really, just plain wonderful. We have hung out with them, Marco’s cousin Cristian, and their group of friends numerous times now and each time it’s hilarious and Jen and I find ourselves glancing at one another throughout the night and thinking, “If only we could explain this to our friends/What is happening?/This is so random.”
One night we went to a place where they make beer aka “beereria” but that is also a restaurant. We met about 10 of their friends there, ate really wonderful chicken (with no silverware), and after the meal joined everyone else in the restaurant as they stood up on the table benches and danced to music such as the Grease theme song, YMCA, and Hey Baby among other Italian ones. It was hilarious. We are talking kids, parents, us … all dancing away and to these English songs! If only these people knew that they reminded Jen and I of a 6th grade afternoon dance and to be dancing to them with adults in Italy was quite a strange, yet hilarious experience.
A few weeks ago it was Marco’s birthday so Jen and I decided that we would make them the “American meal” that we have been promising for quite some time. We worked the entire day on Saturday (I had the house to myself), went to the grocery store with the English-Italian dictionary (though we kind of forgot the measurement converter chart), came home and started creating the meal. Now, mind you, neither Jen nor I are much of a cook so this was an interesting experience. The menu? Instead of being boring and cooking hamburgers (which seems like the only American food since we are pretty much a melting pot) we made chili, corn bread, twice-baked potatoes and an apple pie. (I know the apple pie doesn’t really go with the chili, but that was American for sure.) To add to the Southwest feel of the night, the whole day we blasted country music from Kenny Chesney to Trisha Yearwood and laughed at the irony of such music in Italy.
The two worlds are just too different to mix. When they came to pick us up, it looked like we had cooked for an army….and, well, we kind of had. We had doubled all the recipes because there was going to be 8 of us that night. Let’s just say that it was a really great evening and we really enjoyed one another. The fact that the chili was a tad bit too spicy (Northern Italian food doesn’t have too many hot spices in it and they just weren’t really used to it) so much so that poor Marco crumbled up two cornbread muffins inside his bowl and still couldn’t handle it and that they all were so confused that we would mix a sweet bread with a spicy chili, was beside the point. The potatoes were a huge hit (I think everyone was just hungry for something) and so was the apple pie with ice cream, though they were also bewildered by the fact that one thing was hot and the other was cold and we ate it together….how differently our kitchens work, eh? (they also got quickly tired of the country music that we definitely brought over and played for them…maybe that was taking it a bit far.) There have been other nights out with this couple that have always ended in pleasant evenings and conversations, laughs and new words learned in English and Italian. Though it may be a strange friendship (did I mention that they are 30?), it is one of our favorites here.
While saying goodbye to Bea one day in front of her school, Maghi and I heard someone speaking English on a cell phone. Immediately my English radar found the girl and I realized that she had to be a nanny like myself. I stopped her after her conversation and introduced myself and we have been friends ever since. Her name is Tiana, she’s from New Zealand, lives a few blocks from me and, oddly enough, has been here since December though we just met about a month ago! She’s a nanny as well, teaching English to her kids like Jen and I are. The great thing is that she actually has a group of other English-speaking nannies that she introduced me to! Two girls are from America, one other from New Zealand, one from South Africa, one from Poland and two from Australia. These girls have been fun and interesting to get to know.
Though we are all pretty different, what more could you want in common than babysitting experiences and English!? We can communicate and even talk about what is our lives right now … Italian children! I have really enjoyed getting to know them and hanging out a bit. They have allowed/forced me to get “out” a bit more than I had before and it’s just been nice to meet new people as they have Italian friends and then those people have friends and the list goes on. Tiana has been especially fun to get to know, she’s really hilarious and it’s amazing how much you can have in common when just knowing the same language. We always find ourselves having a ton to talk about, especially being in the exact same place in our lives.
Our school friends, Noam (Israeli car design student) and Michael (Austrian nanny for three boys) are also still in our friends picture, which is nice, though Michael is on a bit of a hiatus as he broke his leg and went home for surgery. Noam continues to join us at church almost every Sunday despite his Jewish background and heritage, which we love along with the always-interesting conversations he brings along with him. The church friends are always comforting as well, we have the most important thing in common with these people, though it is a crazy mix from all over the world and from all different walks in life. It is nice when you meet people and begin to know that you can count on them or ask them for help when you need it. (By the way, speaking of church, they just bought a building –we have been meeting in a hotel – and it is almost finished with the remodeling, so that is exciting. Also, just because I know you all went to know, the choir – that would be me included – definitely did a choreographed version of Swing Low, Sweet Chariot while wearing African costumes borrowed from African church members. Just thinking of what we did is absolutely hilarious to me… who does that?! But it turned out great and we had a ton of fun with lots of laughs and a great sound!)
It is through all these people that Jen and I are beginning to feel even more at home here in Torino…starting to have our place and making roots in friendships and just with people in general. Not that it wasn’t there before, but these things take more time that just knowing your way around the city. And it’s really, really nice. Not to mention, always interesting!
One thing I have realized living here is how I am really not used to such extreme seasons. The fact that everyone has a completely different wardrobe that is taken out and put away every winter and spring -- different shoes, different blankets for the beds…everything is changed! I realize this is quite normal and the fact that I think it is strange is strange in itself, but alas I think you already knew that about me. With this change of wardrobes has obviously come the Springtime. Finally it has arrived and I couldn’t be happier. The windows and balcony doors are opened when we wake up and aren’t closed until we go to sleep. The sweaters are finished , the boots are done and my beloved flip-flops are back in business. The sun is warm and the breeze still a bit cool which makes for perfect days which are clear enough to see the white-capped Alps in the distance. Because of this weather, we have played outside as much as possible. Maghi and I have ridden bikes, rollerbladed (scary), gone to the park a lot and simply played in the courtyard of our building. Jen and I couldn’t resist Valentino Park which is a huge park in the city with a few castles, playgrounds, food stands, a flower garden, lots of grass and which is located right on the river. We have gone a few times already and I look forward to going more.
The new addition to the extended Italian family came on Thursday, May 5 around 10 a.m. Jen’s Italian mom had a baby girl and she is beautiful! Her name is Matilde and she looks just like her older sister. Such exciting times in these families that we get to be apart of!
There have been other moments too. After my family left at the end of March and once we got home from London, Jen went off to travel with her parents, the girls were home from school for two weeks for Easter and voting, and I slowly began to realize that I was at my 6 month mark. I missed my family (they weren’t coming back), my friend wasn’t there for me to talk to and my daily routine was upset by a new schedule of staying at home with the girls and playing.
None of these things were bad, in fact I think they were good. It was the combination that was interesting and made me think a lot about my time here and what was to come. It made me come back to that ever-popular question of “What in the world am I doing with my life?” and made me think about what was next on the road that I am traveling down. Though a bit strange for me (I don’t really like being in such moods, as most of you know) I think it was good and a time where I could just think a lot and realize that, hey, it’s ok to miss home sometimes, and that didn’t make me any less of an adventurer, and maybe the fact that yes, independence is good, but let’s not get too extreme. Anyway, it was an interesting few weeks and once they were over – Jen was back, the girls were back in school, and I was into the seventh month – things were ok. Did a lot of praying, thinking, and realizing that I will never have all the answers, I will never know what is going to happen next, and that I need to be content with every circumstance (especially when living in Italy, hello…). I feel ok about the future year, though I am not sure of all it holds, I know that God will lead me, as He leads each of you if you are willing. And what a comfort that realization is.
Now, however, Jen and I are comfortable in our home here in Torino and don’t like to think about leaving it. Though I have until late October, she only has two more months in Italy as she is going home to hopefully start teaching in the fall. I know the next five months will fly by as there is something huge in each month to do, but still! What a crazy thought of having to leave! And yet to see all of your faces also excites my soul.
Enough of my rambling, you have been good enough to read the “continuation” and now I hope that I am fairly caught up. A huge thanks to all of you who have emailed encouragement and simple hellos, they are all so appreciated and loved! Life is good and I am so thankful to be experiencing it here.
Hoping all of you has a fabulous day, a beautiful night and an exciting week! (that could entail getting something free from the vending machine or finding out that you are pregnant, getting an amazing parking space, watching a baby laugh, or getting a raise…)
Ciao e buongiorno a tutti!
Torino, Italia
There have been more travels and friends becoming closer. Added acquaintances from new countries and even an addition to the Italian family. The sun is out and warm and I am starting to experiment with cooking. This city is my home for now and it’s actually starting to feel like it. And little things add up for new happenings and situations, new experiences and more learning. And so, as promised – to some of your delights and some of your dismays – here is the continuation of the “Laura update,” hoping my words find you rested, happy, and content.
To continue with the travel update, there isn’t too much more to tell. The day my family left, and right after our dinner with them in Milan, Jen and I took advantage of the long Easter weekend. So, since we had Monday off and found a cheap flight and were offered a free place to stay, we trekked it off to the beloved London. (this would be third country in a three-week period, but hey, you gotta do it!) It was so so wonderful to be back in this city after studying there for a semester. Jen had been there twice before so we didn’t feel pressured to do everything. I made Jen go back to all the places we hung out at while I was there including the Daniel House where we lived. It was like walking down memory lane and really wonderful, though a bit sad at the same time. It made me miss my group of girls from my time in London and reminded me of how lucky I am to have experienced such a semester, especially with them. We had a fab host as my cousin Kendra has lived in the city forever and knows her way around, drove us places, offered us her spare room, and took us to a hilarious restaurant that we never would have discovered on our own…she was awesome and patient to say the least!
We saw the show, The Producers, met up with a friend who was studying there, went to Westminster’s Abbey for Easter morning service and St. Paul’s for the evening one. We walked around a lot and really, really, really enjoyed being in an English-speaking country. It was as if someone had taken the cotton out of our ears because suddenly we could understand everything. Sure, now we’re getting to the point that we can understand Italian pretty well, but that involves concentration and usually doesn’t just come naturally, you have to work at it. But in England, all of a sudden we overheard conversations, understood every sign without thinking and didn’t hesitate to ask someone a question! As strange as it sounds, going to London was a bit like going home for us … there were Subway sandwiches, Dr. Peppers, Starbucks and green gum!! Not that we don’t love Italy, but a little comfort from home never hurt anyone. (Needless to say we drank a few too many Dr. Peppers and visited Starbucks about once or twice a day, just because we could.) Being there also made us realize that though both England and Italy are in Europe, they are so incredibly different, its amazing. What living in a place will do to you….I tell you what. It was a great long weekend and we both were so happy that we were able to go.
Last weekend Jen and I finally made it to a little piece of Heaven on Earth called Cinque Terre. This cluster of five small towns nestled into the cliffs of the Italian West Coast was a favorite of both Jen and I when we traveled Europe before and we couldn’t wait for the weather to get warm enough to make it worth our while to go back to such a place. It’s like stepping back in time, being there. The buildings in each town are almost built on top of each other and painted in every color imaginable. To top that, the towns are right on the water and the views of the cliffs descending right into the ocean are quite amazing. The last time I was there I stayed in the last and smallest town called Riomaggiore (with my traveling chicas) and Jen stayed in Corniglia up the cliff about 100 steps (literally).
This time we decided to go for the second largest town called Vernazza because it came highly recommended (any Rick Steves fans out there?) and because it is the town with the small beach perfect for laying out. After our 3-hour train ride, we arrived at the beautiful coast, were welcomed by Josepina the 60-ish short, plump, Italian woman who rented us a room “10-minutes walking distance” outside the village. 15 minutes later and after hearing Josepina’s stories about having a mole removed in a Torino hospital to how all the young people are moving away from Vernazza (in Italian, mind you) we made it to the house that we were renting for one night which was surrounded by a garden, a creek, and resting in the middle of Italian hills. After we got settled, changed into swimming gear (with no intention to actually swim), walked down to the water after passing by the foccaca place and picking up lunch, we found a place on a sunny boulder at the water’s edge where we ate and started the tanning process. It was a relaxing weekend, to say the least. We ate at a restaurant that I went to the last time I was there (!), the same owner greeted us and talked to us about where we were from. The ceiling is covered in flowers and the restaurant is so high up that the view (there were no walls) was quite a sight. Not to mention that the pesto lasagna was delicious as this region (Liguria) is known for this type of sauce. The next day was a repeat of the first and then in the late afternoon, we came home with a little more color and relaxed bodies. We already are planning to go back at least once before we leave.
Friends…
On to another topic, I will try to keep it short, but no promises. First there is Marco and Giuliana whom I wrote about before. Jen and I met this couple on the train coming back from Rome, weird and a bit sketchy, I realize, but nonetheless, that’s how it happened. After establishing that they, in fact, didn’t want to kill us or kidnap us, we finally just decided that these two people liked the two random American girls and also want to practice their English as they become friends with us. It’s great for us too because we get to hang out with Italians, meet new people, be taken to cool places and practice our Italian. Marco is hilarious and about as good at English as we are at Italian. Giuliana is fluent in English, but still struggles with sentence structure and phrases. Both are hilarious and, really, just plain wonderful. We have hung out with them, Marco’s cousin Cristian, and their group of friends numerous times now and each time it’s hilarious and Jen and I find ourselves glancing at one another throughout the night and thinking, “If only we could explain this to our friends/What is happening?/This is so random.”
One night we went to a place where they make beer aka “beereria” but that is also a restaurant. We met about 10 of their friends there, ate really wonderful chicken (with no silverware), and after the meal joined everyone else in the restaurant as they stood up on the table benches and danced to music such as the Grease theme song, YMCA, and Hey Baby among other Italian ones. It was hilarious. We are talking kids, parents, us … all dancing away and to these English songs! If only these people knew that they reminded Jen and I of a 6th grade afternoon dance and to be dancing to them with adults in Italy was quite a strange, yet hilarious experience.
A few weeks ago it was Marco’s birthday so Jen and I decided that we would make them the “American meal” that we have been promising for quite some time. We worked the entire day on Saturday (I had the house to myself), went to the grocery store with the English-Italian dictionary (though we kind of forgot the measurement converter chart), came home and started creating the meal. Now, mind you, neither Jen nor I are much of a cook so this was an interesting experience. The menu? Instead of being boring and cooking hamburgers (which seems like the only American food since we are pretty much a melting pot) we made chili, corn bread, twice-baked potatoes and an apple pie. (I know the apple pie doesn’t really go with the chili, but that was American for sure.) To add to the Southwest feel of the night, the whole day we blasted country music from Kenny Chesney to Trisha Yearwood and laughed at the irony of such music in Italy.
The two worlds are just too different to mix. When they came to pick us up, it looked like we had cooked for an army….and, well, we kind of had. We had doubled all the recipes because there was going to be 8 of us that night. Let’s just say that it was a really great evening and we really enjoyed one another. The fact that the chili was a tad bit too spicy (Northern Italian food doesn’t have too many hot spices in it and they just weren’t really used to it) so much so that poor Marco crumbled up two cornbread muffins inside his bowl and still couldn’t handle it and that they all were so confused that we would mix a sweet bread with a spicy chili, was beside the point. The potatoes were a huge hit (I think everyone was just hungry for something) and so was the apple pie with ice cream, though they were also bewildered by the fact that one thing was hot and the other was cold and we ate it together….how differently our kitchens work, eh? (they also got quickly tired of the country music that we definitely brought over and played for them…maybe that was taking it a bit far.) There have been other nights out with this couple that have always ended in pleasant evenings and conversations, laughs and new words learned in English and Italian. Though it may be a strange friendship (did I mention that they are 30?), it is one of our favorites here.
While saying goodbye to Bea one day in front of her school, Maghi and I heard someone speaking English on a cell phone. Immediately my English radar found the girl and I realized that she had to be a nanny like myself. I stopped her after her conversation and introduced myself and we have been friends ever since. Her name is Tiana, she’s from New Zealand, lives a few blocks from me and, oddly enough, has been here since December though we just met about a month ago! She’s a nanny as well, teaching English to her kids like Jen and I are. The great thing is that she actually has a group of other English-speaking nannies that she introduced me to! Two girls are from America, one other from New Zealand, one from South Africa, one from Poland and two from Australia. These girls have been fun and interesting to get to know.
Though we are all pretty different, what more could you want in common than babysitting experiences and English!? We can communicate and even talk about what is our lives right now … Italian children! I have really enjoyed getting to know them and hanging out a bit. They have allowed/forced me to get “out” a bit more than I had before and it’s just been nice to meet new people as they have Italian friends and then those people have friends and the list goes on. Tiana has been especially fun to get to know, she’s really hilarious and it’s amazing how much you can have in common when just knowing the same language. We always find ourselves having a ton to talk about, especially being in the exact same place in our lives.
Our school friends, Noam (Israeli car design student) and Michael (Austrian nanny for three boys) are also still in our friends picture, which is nice, though Michael is on a bit of a hiatus as he broke his leg and went home for surgery. Noam continues to join us at church almost every Sunday despite his Jewish background and heritage, which we love along with the always-interesting conversations he brings along with him. The church friends are always comforting as well, we have the most important thing in common with these people, though it is a crazy mix from all over the world and from all different walks in life. It is nice when you meet people and begin to know that you can count on them or ask them for help when you need it. (By the way, speaking of church, they just bought a building –we have been meeting in a hotel – and it is almost finished with the remodeling, so that is exciting. Also, just because I know you all went to know, the choir – that would be me included – definitely did a choreographed version of Swing Low, Sweet Chariot while wearing African costumes borrowed from African church members. Just thinking of what we did is absolutely hilarious to me… who does that?! But it turned out great and we had a ton of fun with lots of laughs and a great sound!)
It is through all these people that Jen and I are beginning to feel even more at home here in Torino…starting to have our place and making roots in friendships and just with people in general. Not that it wasn’t there before, but these things take more time that just knowing your way around the city. And it’s really, really nice. Not to mention, always interesting!
One thing I have realized living here is how I am really not used to such extreme seasons. The fact that everyone has a completely different wardrobe that is taken out and put away every winter and spring -- different shoes, different blankets for the beds…everything is changed! I realize this is quite normal and the fact that I think it is strange is strange in itself, but alas I think you already knew that about me. With this change of wardrobes has obviously come the Springtime. Finally it has arrived and I couldn’t be happier. The windows and balcony doors are opened when we wake up and aren’t closed until we go to sleep. The sweaters are finished , the boots are done and my beloved flip-flops are back in business. The sun is warm and the breeze still a bit cool which makes for perfect days which are clear enough to see the white-capped Alps in the distance. Because of this weather, we have played outside as much as possible. Maghi and I have ridden bikes, rollerbladed (scary), gone to the park a lot and simply played in the courtyard of our building. Jen and I couldn’t resist Valentino Park which is a huge park in the city with a few castles, playgrounds, food stands, a flower garden, lots of grass and which is located right on the river. We have gone a few times already and I look forward to going more.
The new addition to the extended Italian family came on Thursday, May 5 around 10 a.m. Jen’s Italian mom had a baby girl and she is beautiful! Her name is Matilde and she looks just like her older sister. Such exciting times in these families that we get to be apart of!
There have been other moments too. After my family left at the end of March and once we got home from London, Jen went off to travel with her parents, the girls were home from school for two weeks for Easter and voting, and I slowly began to realize that I was at my 6 month mark. I missed my family (they weren’t coming back), my friend wasn’t there for me to talk to and my daily routine was upset by a new schedule of staying at home with the girls and playing.
None of these things were bad, in fact I think they were good. It was the combination that was interesting and made me think a lot about my time here and what was to come. It made me come back to that ever-popular question of “What in the world am I doing with my life?” and made me think about what was next on the road that I am traveling down. Though a bit strange for me (I don’t really like being in such moods, as most of you know) I think it was good and a time where I could just think a lot and realize that, hey, it’s ok to miss home sometimes, and that didn’t make me any less of an adventurer, and maybe the fact that yes, independence is good, but let’s not get too extreme. Anyway, it was an interesting few weeks and once they were over – Jen was back, the girls were back in school, and I was into the seventh month – things were ok. Did a lot of praying, thinking, and realizing that I will never have all the answers, I will never know what is going to happen next, and that I need to be content with every circumstance (especially when living in Italy, hello…). I feel ok about the future year, though I am not sure of all it holds, I know that God will lead me, as He leads each of you if you are willing. And what a comfort that realization is.
Now, however, Jen and I are comfortable in our home here in Torino and don’t like to think about leaving it. Though I have until late October, she only has two more months in Italy as she is going home to hopefully start teaching in the fall. I know the next five months will fly by as there is something huge in each month to do, but still! What a crazy thought of having to leave! And yet to see all of your faces also excites my soul.
Enough of my rambling, you have been good enough to read the “continuation” and now I hope that I am fairly caught up. A huge thanks to all of you who have emailed encouragement and simple hellos, they are all so appreciated and loved! Life is good and I am so thankful to be experiencing it here.
Hoping all of you has a fabulous day, a beautiful night and an exciting week! (that could entail getting something free from the vending machine or finding out that you are pregnant, getting an amazing parking space, watching a baby laugh, or getting a raise…)
Ciao e buongiorno a tutti!
posted by Laura at 6:23 PM
0 comments
8 May 2005
Torino, Italia
I haven’t been taken in by the Italian mafia nor swept off my feet and eloped by a denim-and-dark-glasses-wearing romantic Italian. I haven’t moved to Tuscany and opened my own gelato shop, never to be heard of again, nor decided to become a hermit amongst the beauty and overwhelming presence of the Alps. I haven’t gotten lost on a train circling Italy nor decided to become a professional pizza maker and move in with Lucca and Rosy above the restaurant. I am still here in Torino, Italia. Still a nanny for a wonderful family. And still loving every minute of it.
Though I have failed to share my experiences with you for an embarrassingly long time, it was none of the above that kept me from emailing. It was life. It was laziness. It was an overwhelming thought of trying to explain such things and such people and such happenings.
But alas, I must try. For to not share such things with you would be a tragedy.
Allora, ciao da Italia dopo otto messi qua!
(So, hello from Italy after eight months here!)
How does the time pass so quickly? I hope all of you, my dear friends and family, are doing well. That the winter is officially gone and the summer sun is officially there, warming your faces and turning your skin brown and golden. I hope life is great, that God is teaching you, and that you have been challenged in some way to step out of your comfort zone…and now enough with the motivational speaker…let’s get down to some updates!
Since it has been such a crazy-ridiculously long time, I decided to break up this email so it’s a bit easier to read (in different sittings, if need be!) So, first things first….
Travel!
The first weekend of February Jen and I ventured to Venice. Only about a five-hour train ride from us, we were so pumped to revisit this city as it seems so unreal and fake when you are there, no matter how many times that you have been. We left on Friday night and so had a full two days there as we came back late Sunday night. We chose this weekend to go because it was the first weekend of Carnival in Italy and we wanted to experience it Venice-style. Carnival in Italy is a crazy and awesome event that the whole country involves itself in. It’s basically a clean-cut Mardi Gras without drunk people laying on the streets. It’s a huge party and celebration, the kids get dressed up like Halloween and they even get a few days off school. Each city celebrates it differently, and some more than others. Venice is known for their Carnival and they even have two weekends of it while most others only have one. So, off Jen and I went to experience Venice in all its glory. I have never seen so many masks in my life and we are talking full-blown cover-your-whole-face masks so you don’t know whose eyes are staring at you from under them. Not only that, but people are dressed up in full costume, huge dresses, wigs, make-up…everything. The weekend was full of festivities and we participated in all of them from the parade to face painting to the “crowning” of the seven maids to represent a past Venician rescue from pirates. We danced in the main square to some band playing ska and punk, we met some students who attended university there and even tried our hand at eating at a local joint (though that proved to be a bit awkward). We roamed the streets at night and got lost in the dark amongst the twisting and turning canals and small passageways, we met a Venician man who lead us around and showed us where we wanted to go, all the while talking to us and happy that we could understand his Italian. We met a couple who hand-makes leather journals and bought a few for ourselves, we marveled at the beauty of the little canals used for streets, went on a few “water buses,” and watched a boat parade. We toured the old Venetian palace as well as the prison. We walked across the famous Bridge of Sighs, which is named this because it was the prisoners last walk before going to the dungeon and “sighs” of horror were often heard as they passed over it. We got covered in confetti, were in awe of the Venetian glass, and I took about 500 pictures of everything we saw. Needless to say, it was a fabulous weekend and we were so happy we went during Carnival; it made it that much more interesting and exciting…something our eyes had never seen.
For the second weekend of Carnival, we went to a small town called Ivrea about an hour outside of Torino. We went with my family to experience the special festival of oranges. I wish I could explain to you the history of this festival, but I fear you would stop reading at page five, so I will just say that it’s a historical side of Carnival in this town where they have a literal battle using oranges. There are different teams with costumes, theme songs and histories who represent the villagers or the king’s soldiers. Each side fights against the other in each of the piazzas of the town with, yes, that’s right, oranges. We are talking people pelting one another, guys wearing football pads for protection, and people walking away with black eyes, bloody faces, and orange-soaked hair and bodies. The ground of each piazza is about two or three inches thick with a mixture of orange gunk, peels and horse poop (as they also use horses that are dressed up to throw the oranges from and during the parade). This sight was seriously one of the craziest things I have ever seen. The seriousness of these people about what they were doing and the fact that they were using oranges just made it that much more crazy. Thankfully, if you have anything red on (preferably hats) then the “fighters” know that you aren’t fighting, just watching, so they try not to involve you in the orange pelting process. But if a cart-full of a team comes by and you don’t cover your head in protection, you could be involved quite easily. I got pelted a few times and couldn’t stop laughing at what was going on around me. Needless to say, it’s a long-standing tradition that we were happy to experience, I know that I will never be able to compare it to anything else because it was so strange and wonderful at the same time. After the fighting and the parade, there was carnival food, confetti everywhere, and the crowning of the “maiden” of Ivrea. Such history for this American girl who thinks traditions from just 100 years ago are great. I still have to scrub my shoes, by the way, they are caked in orange and horse grime. Great.
The next weekend I went with my Italian family to their cabin in Champoluc aka the Italian Alps, where we spent Christmas. Their British friends came to meet us there for a holiday and we skied with them for a long weekend. It was great for me because we all spoke in English the entire weekend, and I even taught the girls a bit if a British accent to try out before we arrived so they could be prepared for their friends. Once again, it was a beautiful weekend and the surrounding Alps and snow-capped peaks truly take the breath away, especially when you are staying in an 18th century cabin. Hmm. So despite getting sick on the winding road up there (when you throw up in front of people, you know you have become close to them…) and getting lost while skiing (about 10 minutes before the lifts closed having forgot my cell phone in the car and the numbers of Federico and Paola, not remembering what to say in Italian and being in valley #3 when our cabin is about a 2-hour drive away in valley #1, and finally being helped by some wonderful, English-speaking Italians who took me back to their place because the slopes were closed and then drove me to meet Federico….um, yeah, can we say humbling? Humiliating? Stupid American?…).. despite these two minor things, it was a fab weekend, really. The beauty surrounding us and the laughter that encompassed everything was really wonderful.
The last weekend in Feb. Jen and I did three towns near Venice: Verona, Padua and Vicenza. All of them were really lovely and quaint with their own characteristics. Verona is the setting for Romeo and Juliet where there is a fake home of Juliet and a balcony where you can go up and pretend that you are she. In the “romantic” courtyard of the balcony young Italian lovers have graffitied on the walls who they love as well as posted messages on paper and securing the notes to the walls with previously chewed gum. Yeah, we are talking high class and romantic, let me tell you. Though it sounds quite gross (and is, in a way) it’s also quite interesting to go around and read the notes and, of course, to pretend you are Juliet for just a moment. Verona is also home to a Roman arena, smaller than the coliseum, but in better shape and still used for concerts and operas today. Padua is famous for its HUGE cathedral honoring St. Antonio (another “lost” moment for Jen and I came when we got confused with another church in Padua called St. Antonino…our hotel was supposed to be right next to the cathedral, but only after a group of sweet Italian teenage girls walked around with us for about 30 minutes did we realize that we were at St. Antonino (little Anthony) not to be confused with the normal Anthony (Antonio)…good lessons, I tell you.) At this basilica they have remnants of St. Anthony’s tongue, jaw, and vocal chords on display – something hard for me to understand, but interesting all the same. Vicenza is much smaller than the other two and is more quaint with a charm reflected in its colored buildings, small narrow streets, and friendly faces.
Though for college I was away from home and my family, it just seems longer when you are in a different country than they are. So March was a month that I had been anticipating since before Christmas, as I knew that the five months of separation from my family would come to a standstill when they came over to visit. The month finally arrived, but before their visit came Avoriaz. Avoriaz is a tiny village in the French Alps. Once you get into France from Italy, you pass a few big towns and then start getting higher and higher into the mountains. Just when you think you can’t go any higher, there is a place where you must stop and put chains on your car wheels as the roads are slick with snow and ice not to mention they are steep and windy. Once and the chains were on, we were on our way up. I was told by my family about Avoriaz before we went. “It’s a small village,” they said, “You can’t take your cars there, it’s on the top of a mountain…yadda yadda yadda.” My family here goes there every other year for a week in March and stays at a time-share that was a gift from Federico’s parents and where he used to go himself as a child. They go for the sole purpose of skiing, as there is not much else to do, but skiing here for the French and Italian is how skiing in Vail is for us Americans. There are more slopes than your can count and they span across France and Switzerland in all different categories of difficulty with ski and snow boarding schools, multiple towns and villages in between, and higher mountains than I have dreamed existed. So, they told me about this Avoriaz, but it wasn’t until we pulled up that freezing cold night, exchanged our tennis shoes for our snow boots, unloaded our many bags full of clothes, food, ski gear, jackets, stuffed animals and ice skates and waited for Federico to park the car. It wasn’t until I realized that the “taxis” we were taking to our time share building were actually horse-drawn carriages that we sat on as the snow came down and we rounded the bend from the parking lot – the horse’s bells ringing all the while and Bea and I clinging to one another from the cold wind – that I saw and realized what exactly Avoriaz was and why they went to the trouble of coming to such a place. It’s right out of Disney World or a movie…a seemingly fake place that is hard to believe is actually real. No cars are allowed and so everyone either walks the two snow-covered streets or takes a horse-drawn carriage as we did first. It is made up of brown, tall mountain-looking buildings which are full of small spaces (time-shares/flats) with a kitchen and some beds – the essentials for before and after a day of skiing. The buildings are on different levels as the entire village is built into the side of a mountain peak and the whole village looks over a larger city below. Two ski slopes go directly through the town and pass cafes, restaurants, and a grocery each brimming with French cuisine that seems to melt in your mouth, especially after a long day of exhilarating skiing. There is an ice-skating rink, a merry-go-round, a kid’s play area. There are slopes in front of you that go straight down and skiers can be seen out the window of our flat as early as when we wake up, some passing directly under our window.
After lugging all of our luggage finally inside the tiny timeshare and finding a place for everything, going to sleep and waking the next morning, we were ready to go. Well, they all were at least. I was a bit, shall we say, intimidated? So, yeah, I had had some practice over Christmas and a few weekends previous, but all the people here seemed as though they were born with skis on their feet compared to me who has lived in such places as CA and FL…but, there that American nanny goes anyway, in her hodgepodge ski outfit. Though, for some reason, Federico thought it would be appropriate (I think funny is more the word) to take us (more importantly me) on a black level slope that just happened to be the slope that was used for the Woman’s Downhill Skiing 2002 World Cup for the very first run that we did, and despite me falling about 50 times (um, hello…) it was really actually fun and when I looked up to see what I had done after it was all over (and the small fact that I didn’t have any broken bones and was still breathing) I felt very accomplished and did fairly well for the rest of the 6 days of skiing.
For the most part, the weather was to die for and since it was March, the sun was out and it wasn’t necessary to wear tons of layers to ski in. The beauty of these Alps is something that is so difficult for me to describe to you. Every day my breath was literally taken away by the amazing beauty that surrounded us, that put the mountains in Champoluc to shame. We skied on slopes in the middle of nowhere. Sometimes we were on a slope and nothing else could be seen … no other people, no ski lifts, no villages…it was like you and God in His magnificent creation as the cool wind refreshed our faces and warmth of the sun and body heat from skiing combined with the incredible feeling of being able to experience such a place and such a moment. The peaks were taller than I imagined and the snow that covered the ground outside of the slopes was fresh from the night before and looked like a blanket had been gently laid over the mountain. One day we skied from Avoriaz in France, to a village in Switzerland. Another day we took a few ski lifts so high that we were literally skiing in and through clouds as we came down the mountain. One slope took us through a forest, twisting and winding us down so that you just stood on your skis and let the slope take you, looking around you, through the trees, and over the edge into peaks and mountains and valleys below.
It was an experience I so wish I could have shared with any of you…one that you have to talk about to others but can never describe it fully because it is a feeling as much as a description. Even my photographs cannot capture such moments. It’s a place that proves God’s existence, for such beauty and power in a place cannot happen by sheer accident. We ate French food such as croissants, baguettes, escargot (twice!) and French fries. We slept well at night, exhausted from the day, and at the end of the week, I was sad to leave…though I had my family’s visit to look forward to. It was a settimana bellisima…a beautiful week. One I will not forget, one that was another bonding experience with this Italian family, one where I learned how to ski much better, one where my eyes were yet again opened to new things.
We arrived home on a Saturday afternoon which gave me the night to do some wash, re-pack and sleep so I could get up the next morning to catch the 10am train to Paris. (I know, it’s a hard life….actually, March was kind of embarrassingly crazy as far as destinations in a certain amount of time. I was in four different countries by the time the month was over!) Mom, dad and John (youngest bro of 14 years, for those of you not up with my family) planned a trip to come over to tour Italy for about 10 days with a group from John’s school made up of parents, teachers, and kids. I planned to meet them for a a few days of their travels and use some of my vacation time. But the closer their time came, the more mom and I were thinking that we might need a little more time than a weekend with a group of Clermontians. So, though my dad and John could not come early due to school and work, my mom checked it out…changed her flight to a bit earlier…and even changed the destination for no extra charge. That destination? Paris, only a five-hour train ride from Torino and quite a grand place for a five-month mother-daughter meeting, if I do say so myself. So, I took the train to Paris the day after we got back from Avoriaz, spent the night at the hotel and then awaited her in the lobby the next morning as she came in from the crazy-long flight over. Being in Paris with my mom and being able to experience it with her was simply crazy and wonderful, but it was the time spent together that was really what I needed. To see her face and be by her side was enough. However, we did explore Paris since we were there! Though staying in the hotel room and just talking and ordering room service for every meal was actually a bit tempting, I did have an itinerary mapped out of what we needed to see in the short time we were there. We explored, saw the Mona Lisa, the Eiffel Tower, walked the River Seine, ate macaroons from a favorite spot on the Champ-Elysees, admired the Arc de Triumph, and even got snooted at by a Frenchman. We ate some good pastries, stayed out late, and even went to the ballet at the Opera Garnier (where the Phantom of the Opera was inspired). It was a fabulous 2 days of catching up and pinching ourselves to make sure we were in such a city together.
Wednesday morning we caught a train back to Torino where we stayed one night in my home here and with my Italian family. Being able to show mom around my world, introduce her to my family and friends, my favorite places and my routines was quite wonderful. She can now understand my experience here that much easier and can picture my life and my city. Jen and I gave her a tour, introduced her to the beautiful thing called gelato and enjoyed foccaca in our favorite piazza. We had dinner with my family and played Memory with the girls who were sad to see her go the next afternoon.
From Torino, the next afternoon, we hopped on a plane to Rome to meet Dad and John who were flying in with the rest of the tour group the next morning. We explored Rome a bit that night and found an adorable hole-in-the-wall restaurant, then met the boys at the Vatican Museum the next morning after they arrived. After already being in Rome twice, it was really so wonderful to be able to know my way around a bit and to watch my family as they experienced such a place for the very first time…seeing things that are simply photos in history books and don’t seem to really still exist. They stayed in Rome from Friday until Sunday morning and so did I, showing them my favorite gelato place (what a great thing to have favorite places in such a city!), have extended conversations of catching up over lunch and dinner, and simply enjoying being around my family no matter the crazy things surrounding us. It was a joy to experience it with them. Though Christopher (21-year-old brother) was absent, since he is coming in July I can wait to see him! And though my Italian family and I went to meet my family in Milan (about an hour and a half away from Torino) the night before they flew out and about a week after the Rome visit…on Sunday morning when I had to say goodbye and send them on to other Italian sights and take a flight back to Torino, I was unexpectedly emotional. Not that I didn’t think I would miss my family, but I think the thought of having to wait another six months to see their faces again suddenly became a reality that I hadn’t really thought about. It was difficult, but something that was comforting at the same time. The dinner in Milan was fabulous and I was so grateful to my Italian family for wanting to meet my dad and brother so badly that they drove so far for only one night. It was wonderful to have my two worlds collide, for each of them to know the other and be able to understand me that much more.
And, now, my dear, patient readers, I think I must stop writing. Though my travels are not quite up to date yet, I simply cannot ask you to continue to sit and read more of such a novel! However, I will send the next update next week with the remaining travels so far and the other details of this life in Italy such as new friends, revelations, humbling experiences, and God’s hand in it all.
I thank you for your friendship and interest in my time here and for reading this far…you are the troopers if you made it here. I appreciate your willingness to read of my adventures and time here away from our home soil and on a foreign one. It is interesting, to say the least. And what could be next?!
I hope your day is beautiful, that your air conditioning works, and that you appreciate our country. I hope that you plan a visit to this beautiful place called Italy sometime in your life if you have not done so already! I hope you enjoy the little moments of this week, for they seem to be the most important, even in a place such as this.
Torino, Italia
I haven’t been taken in by the Italian mafia nor swept off my feet and eloped by a denim-and-dark-glasses-wearing romantic Italian. I haven’t moved to Tuscany and opened my own gelato shop, never to be heard of again, nor decided to become a hermit amongst the beauty and overwhelming presence of the Alps. I haven’t gotten lost on a train circling Italy nor decided to become a professional pizza maker and move in with Lucca and Rosy above the restaurant. I am still here in Torino, Italia. Still a nanny for a wonderful family. And still loving every minute of it.
Though I have failed to share my experiences with you for an embarrassingly long time, it was none of the above that kept me from emailing. It was life. It was laziness. It was an overwhelming thought of trying to explain such things and such people and such happenings.
But alas, I must try. For to not share such things with you would be a tragedy.
Allora, ciao da Italia dopo otto messi qua!
(So, hello from Italy after eight months here!)
How does the time pass so quickly? I hope all of you, my dear friends and family, are doing well. That the winter is officially gone and the summer sun is officially there, warming your faces and turning your skin brown and golden. I hope life is great, that God is teaching you, and that you have been challenged in some way to step out of your comfort zone…and now enough with the motivational speaker…let’s get down to some updates!
Since it has been such a crazy-ridiculously long time, I decided to break up this email so it’s a bit easier to read (in different sittings, if need be!) So, first things first….
Travel!
The first weekend of February Jen and I ventured to Venice. Only about a five-hour train ride from us, we were so pumped to revisit this city as it seems so unreal and fake when you are there, no matter how many times that you have been. We left on Friday night and so had a full two days there as we came back late Sunday night. We chose this weekend to go because it was the first weekend of Carnival in Italy and we wanted to experience it Venice-style. Carnival in Italy is a crazy and awesome event that the whole country involves itself in. It’s basically a clean-cut Mardi Gras without drunk people laying on the streets. It’s a huge party and celebration, the kids get dressed up like Halloween and they even get a few days off school. Each city celebrates it differently, and some more than others. Venice is known for their Carnival and they even have two weekends of it while most others only have one. So, off Jen and I went to experience Venice in all its glory. I have never seen so many masks in my life and we are talking full-blown cover-your-whole-face masks so you don’t know whose eyes are staring at you from under them. Not only that, but people are dressed up in full costume, huge dresses, wigs, make-up…everything. The weekend was full of festivities and we participated in all of them from the parade to face painting to the “crowning” of the seven maids to represent a past Venician rescue from pirates. We danced in the main square to some band playing ska and punk, we met some students who attended university there and even tried our hand at eating at a local joint (though that proved to be a bit awkward). We roamed the streets at night and got lost in the dark amongst the twisting and turning canals and small passageways, we met a Venician man who lead us around and showed us where we wanted to go, all the while talking to us and happy that we could understand his Italian. We met a couple who hand-makes leather journals and bought a few for ourselves, we marveled at the beauty of the little canals used for streets, went on a few “water buses,” and watched a boat parade. We toured the old Venetian palace as well as the prison. We walked across the famous Bridge of Sighs, which is named this because it was the prisoners last walk before going to the dungeon and “sighs” of horror were often heard as they passed over it. We got covered in confetti, were in awe of the Venetian glass, and I took about 500 pictures of everything we saw. Needless to say, it was a fabulous weekend and we were so happy we went during Carnival; it made it that much more interesting and exciting…something our eyes had never seen.
For the second weekend of Carnival, we went to a small town called Ivrea about an hour outside of Torino. We went with my family to experience the special festival of oranges. I wish I could explain to you the history of this festival, but I fear you would stop reading at page five, so I will just say that it’s a historical side of Carnival in this town where they have a literal battle using oranges. There are different teams with costumes, theme songs and histories who represent the villagers or the king’s soldiers. Each side fights against the other in each of the piazzas of the town with, yes, that’s right, oranges. We are talking people pelting one another, guys wearing football pads for protection, and people walking away with black eyes, bloody faces, and orange-soaked hair and bodies. The ground of each piazza is about two or three inches thick with a mixture of orange gunk, peels and horse poop (as they also use horses that are dressed up to throw the oranges from and during the parade). This sight was seriously one of the craziest things I have ever seen. The seriousness of these people about what they were doing and the fact that they were using oranges just made it that much more crazy. Thankfully, if you have anything red on (preferably hats) then the “fighters” know that you aren’t fighting, just watching, so they try not to involve you in the orange pelting process. But if a cart-full of a team comes by and you don’t cover your head in protection, you could be involved quite easily. I got pelted a few times and couldn’t stop laughing at what was going on around me. Needless to say, it’s a long-standing tradition that we were happy to experience, I know that I will never be able to compare it to anything else because it was so strange and wonderful at the same time. After the fighting and the parade, there was carnival food, confetti everywhere, and the crowning of the “maiden” of Ivrea. Such history for this American girl who thinks traditions from just 100 years ago are great. I still have to scrub my shoes, by the way, they are caked in orange and horse grime. Great.
The next weekend I went with my Italian family to their cabin in Champoluc aka the Italian Alps, where we spent Christmas. Their British friends came to meet us there for a holiday and we skied with them for a long weekend. It was great for me because we all spoke in English the entire weekend, and I even taught the girls a bit if a British accent to try out before we arrived so they could be prepared for their friends. Once again, it was a beautiful weekend and the surrounding Alps and snow-capped peaks truly take the breath away, especially when you are staying in an 18th century cabin. Hmm. So despite getting sick on the winding road up there (when you throw up in front of people, you know you have become close to them…) and getting lost while skiing (about 10 minutes before the lifts closed having forgot my cell phone in the car and the numbers of Federico and Paola, not remembering what to say in Italian and being in valley #3 when our cabin is about a 2-hour drive away in valley #1, and finally being helped by some wonderful, English-speaking Italians who took me back to their place because the slopes were closed and then drove me to meet Federico….um, yeah, can we say humbling? Humiliating? Stupid American?…).. despite these two minor things, it was a fab weekend, really. The beauty surrounding us and the laughter that encompassed everything was really wonderful.
The last weekend in Feb. Jen and I did three towns near Venice: Verona, Padua and Vicenza. All of them were really lovely and quaint with their own characteristics. Verona is the setting for Romeo and Juliet where there is a fake home of Juliet and a balcony where you can go up and pretend that you are she. In the “romantic” courtyard of the balcony young Italian lovers have graffitied on the walls who they love as well as posted messages on paper and securing the notes to the walls with previously chewed gum. Yeah, we are talking high class and romantic, let me tell you. Though it sounds quite gross (and is, in a way) it’s also quite interesting to go around and read the notes and, of course, to pretend you are Juliet for just a moment. Verona is also home to a Roman arena, smaller than the coliseum, but in better shape and still used for concerts and operas today. Padua is famous for its HUGE cathedral honoring St. Antonio (another “lost” moment for Jen and I came when we got confused with another church in Padua called St. Antonino…our hotel was supposed to be right next to the cathedral, but only after a group of sweet Italian teenage girls walked around with us for about 30 minutes did we realize that we were at St. Antonino (little Anthony) not to be confused with the normal Anthony (Antonio)…good lessons, I tell you.) At this basilica they have remnants of St. Anthony’s tongue, jaw, and vocal chords on display – something hard for me to understand, but interesting all the same. Vicenza is much smaller than the other two and is more quaint with a charm reflected in its colored buildings, small narrow streets, and friendly faces.
Though for college I was away from home and my family, it just seems longer when you are in a different country than they are. So March was a month that I had been anticipating since before Christmas, as I knew that the five months of separation from my family would come to a standstill when they came over to visit. The month finally arrived, but before their visit came Avoriaz. Avoriaz is a tiny village in the French Alps. Once you get into France from Italy, you pass a few big towns and then start getting higher and higher into the mountains. Just when you think you can’t go any higher, there is a place where you must stop and put chains on your car wheels as the roads are slick with snow and ice not to mention they are steep and windy. Once and the chains were on, we were on our way up. I was told by my family about Avoriaz before we went. “It’s a small village,” they said, “You can’t take your cars there, it’s on the top of a mountain…yadda yadda yadda.” My family here goes there every other year for a week in March and stays at a time-share that was a gift from Federico’s parents and where he used to go himself as a child. They go for the sole purpose of skiing, as there is not much else to do, but skiing here for the French and Italian is how skiing in Vail is for us Americans. There are more slopes than your can count and they span across France and Switzerland in all different categories of difficulty with ski and snow boarding schools, multiple towns and villages in between, and higher mountains than I have dreamed existed. So, they told me about this Avoriaz, but it wasn’t until we pulled up that freezing cold night, exchanged our tennis shoes for our snow boots, unloaded our many bags full of clothes, food, ski gear, jackets, stuffed animals and ice skates and waited for Federico to park the car. It wasn’t until I realized that the “taxis” we were taking to our time share building were actually horse-drawn carriages that we sat on as the snow came down and we rounded the bend from the parking lot – the horse’s bells ringing all the while and Bea and I clinging to one another from the cold wind – that I saw and realized what exactly Avoriaz was and why they went to the trouble of coming to such a place. It’s right out of Disney World or a movie…a seemingly fake place that is hard to believe is actually real. No cars are allowed and so everyone either walks the two snow-covered streets or takes a horse-drawn carriage as we did first. It is made up of brown, tall mountain-looking buildings which are full of small spaces (time-shares/flats) with a kitchen and some beds – the essentials for before and after a day of skiing. The buildings are on different levels as the entire village is built into the side of a mountain peak and the whole village looks over a larger city below. Two ski slopes go directly through the town and pass cafes, restaurants, and a grocery each brimming with French cuisine that seems to melt in your mouth, especially after a long day of exhilarating skiing. There is an ice-skating rink, a merry-go-round, a kid’s play area. There are slopes in front of you that go straight down and skiers can be seen out the window of our flat as early as when we wake up, some passing directly under our window.
After lugging all of our luggage finally inside the tiny timeshare and finding a place for everything, going to sleep and waking the next morning, we were ready to go. Well, they all were at least. I was a bit, shall we say, intimidated? So, yeah, I had had some practice over Christmas and a few weekends previous, but all the people here seemed as though they were born with skis on their feet compared to me who has lived in such places as CA and FL…but, there that American nanny goes anyway, in her hodgepodge ski outfit. Though, for some reason, Federico thought it would be appropriate (I think funny is more the word) to take us (more importantly me) on a black level slope that just happened to be the slope that was used for the Woman’s Downhill Skiing 2002 World Cup for the very first run that we did, and despite me falling about 50 times (um, hello…) it was really actually fun and when I looked up to see what I had done after it was all over (and the small fact that I didn’t have any broken bones and was still breathing) I felt very accomplished and did fairly well for the rest of the 6 days of skiing.
For the most part, the weather was to die for and since it was March, the sun was out and it wasn’t necessary to wear tons of layers to ski in. The beauty of these Alps is something that is so difficult for me to describe to you. Every day my breath was literally taken away by the amazing beauty that surrounded us, that put the mountains in Champoluc to shame. We skied on slopes in the middle of nowhere. Sometimes we were on a slope and nothing else could be seen … no other people, no ski lifts, no villages…it was like you and God in His magnificent creation as the cool wind refreshed our faces and warmth of the sun and body heat from skiing combined with the incredible feeling of being able to experience such a place and such a moment. The peaks were taller than I imagined and the snow that covered the ground outside of the slopes was fresh from the night before and looked like a blanket had been gently laid over the mountain. One day we skied from Avoriaz in France, to a village in Switzerland. Another day we took a few ski lifts so high that we were literally skiing in and through clouds as we came down the mountain. One slope took us through a forest, twisting and winding us down so that you just stood on your skis and let the slope take you, looking around you, through the trees, and over the edge into peaks and mountains and valleys below.
It was an experience I so wish I could have shared with any of you…one that you have to talk about to others but can never describe it fully because it is a feeling as much as a description. Even my photographs cannot capture such moments. It’s a place that proves God’s existence, for such beauty and power in a place cannot happen by sheer accident. We ate French food such as croissants, baguettes, escargot (twice!) and French fries. We slept well at night, exhausted from the day, and at the end of the week, I was sad to leave…though I had my family’s visit to look forward to. It was a settimana bellisima…a beautiful week. One I will not forget, one that was another bonding experience with this Italian family, one where I learned how to ski much better, one where my eyes were yet again opened to new things.
We arrived home on a Saturday afternoon which gave me the night to do some wash, re-pack and sleep so I could get up the next morning to catch the 10am train to Paris. (I know, it’s a hard life….actually, March was kind of embarrassingly crazy as far as destinations in a certain amount of time. I was in four different countries by the time the month was over!) Mom, dad and John (youngest bro of 14 years, for those of you not up with my family) planned a trip to come over to tour Italy for about 10 days with a group from John’s school made up of parents, teachers, and kids. I planned to meet them for a a few days of their travels and use some of my vacation time. But the closer their time came, the more mom and I were thinking that we might need a little more time than a weekend with a group of Clermontians. So, though my dad and John could not come early due to school and work, my mom checked it out…changed her flight to a bit earlier…and even changed the destination for no extra charge. That destination? Paris, only a five-hour train ride from Torino and quite a grand place for a five-month mother-daughter meeting, if I do say so myself. So, I took the train to Paris the day after we got back from Avoriaz, spent the night at the hotel and then awaited her in the lobby the next morning as she came in from the crazy-long flight over. Being in Paris with my mom and being able to experience it with her was simply crazy and wonderful, but it was the time spent together that was really what I needed. To see her face and be by her side was enough. However, we did explore Paris since we were there! Though staying in the hotel room and just talking and ordering room service for every meal was actually a bit tempting, I did have an itinerary mapped out of what we needed to see in the short time we were there. We explored, saw the Mona Lisa, the Eiffel Tower, walked the River Seine, ate macaroons from a favorite spot on the Champ-Elysees, admired the Arc de Triumph, and even got snooted at by a Frenchman. We ate some good pastries, stayed out late, and even went to the ballet at the Opera Garnier (where the Phantom of the Opera was inspired). It was a fabulous 2 days of catching up and pinching ourselves to make sure we were in such a city together.
Wednesday morning we caught a train back to Torino where we stayed one night in my home here and with my Italian family. Being able to show mom around my world, introduce her to my family and friends, my favorite places and my routines was quite wonderful. She can now understand my experience here that much easier and can picture my life and my city. Jen and I gave her a tour, introduced her to the beautiful thing called gelato and enjoyed foccaca in our favorite piazza. We had dinner with my family and played Memory with the girls who were sad to see her go the next afternoon.
From Torino, the next afternoon, we hopped on a plane to Rome to meet Dad and John who were flying in with the rest of the tour group the next morning. We explored Rome a bit that night and found an adorable hole-in-the-wall restaurant, then met the boys at the Vatican Museum the next morning after they arrived. After already being in Rome twice, it was really so wonderful to be able to know my way around a bit and to watch my family as they experienced such a place for the very first time…seeing things that are simply photos in history books and don’t seem to really still exist. They stayed in Rome from Friday until Sunday morning and so did I, showing them my favorite gelato place (what a great thing to have favorite places in such a city!), have extended conversations of catching up over lunch and dinner, and simply enjoying being around my family no matter the crazy things surrounding us. It was a joy to experience it with them. Though Christopher (21-year-old brother) was absent, since he is coming in July I can wait to see him! And though my Italian family and I went to meet my family in Milan (about an hour and a half away from Torino) the night before they flew out and about a week after the Rome visit…on Sunday morning when I had to say goodbye and send them on to other Italian sights and take a flight back to Torino, I was unexpectedly emotional. Not that I didn’t think I would miss my family, but I think the thought of having to wait another six months to see their faces again suddenly became a reality that I hadn’t really thought about. It was difficult, but something that was comforting at the same time. The dinner in Milan was fabulous and I was so grateful to my Italian family for wanting to meet my dad and brother so badly that they drove so far for only one night. It was wonderful to have my two worlds collide, for each of them to know the other and be able to understand me that much more.
And, now, my dear, patient readers, I think I must stop writing. Though my travels are not quite up to date yet, I simply cannot ask you to continue to sit and read more of such a novel! However, I will send the next update next week with the remaining travels so far and the other details of this life in Italy such as new friends, revelations, humbling experiences, and God’s hand in it all.
I thank you for your friendship and interest in my time here and for reading this far…you are the troopers if you made it here. I appreciate your willingness to read of my adventures and time here away from our home soil and on a foreign one. It is interesting, to say the least. And what could be next?!
I hope your day is beautiful, that your air conditioning works, and that you appreciate our country. I hope that you plan a visit to this beautiful place called Italy sometime in your life if you have not done so already! I hope you enjoy the little moments of this week, for they seem to be the most important, even in a place such as this.
posted by Laura at 6:17 PM
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3 April 2005
Torino, Italia
The Italian workday is pretty much the good life. Now, if you are Federico and Paola who are doctors, you might not have it so easy, but right now I’m talking about the shop owners on my street – the two men who stand outside their copy shop and say hello to everyone passing by, the family who owns the little corner grocery store, the woman inside the Tobbacci shop who recognizes my face when I go in to by phone cards once a week. These people have what is called a “lunch break.” Now, we’re not talking about someone coming in during lunch and covering for them while they go eat their fast food in the back room. Oh no. We’re talking about full fledge shutting the store completely down, locking up, and saying goodbye for the early afternoon. And not just for an hour, “Oh, that’s nice,” you say. Oh no, I’m talking about closing for a good three hours – enough time for lunch, a few errands and maybe even a nice nap in there if you’re lucky. That means that the average worker’s day is from about 8:30 or 9 in the morning to 12:30 or 1 in the afternoon. And then from about 3 or 3:30 in the afternoon to 7 at night. Nice life? I think so. The thing about Italian work mentality that I have understood so far is that instead of living to work like the trap we Americans seem to fall into, Italians simply work to live. Sure, they could make more money if they stayed open during lunch or later at night, but why should they if they are doing fine with the comfortable hours they are keeping now? This mentality is a welcome breath of fresh air to the American nanny who is used to 24 hour service, drive-through everything, and immediate customer help. Every day when I see these stores closed, it baffles my mind that they aren’t open during the busiest time of the day, but makes me appreciate their pace of life and what they value as being important. I admire it and wish we could have a happy medium in my own country. Well, that is until I’m making cookies in the middle of the day and run out of butter and only remember when I reach the store front that I can’t buy butter anywhere for another two hours. At these moments, commercial, florescent and American Walgreen’s is looking really nice.
Torino, Italia
The Italian workday is pretty much the good life. Now, if you are Federico and Paola who are doctors, you might not have it so easy, but right now I’m talking about the shop owners on my street – the two men who stand outside their copy shop and say hello to everyone passing by, the family who owns the little corner grocery store, the woman inside the Tobbacci shop who recognizes my face when I go in to by phone cards once a week. These people have what is called a “lunch break.” Now, we’re not talking about someone coming in during lunch and covering for them while they go eat their fast food in the back room. Oh no. We’re talking about full fledge shutting the store completely down, locking up, and saying goodbye for the early afternoon. And not just for an hour, “Oh, that’s nice,” you say. Oh no, I’m talking about closing for a good three hours – enough time for lunch, a few errands and maybe even a nice nap in there if you’re lucky. That means that the average worker’s day is from about 8:30 or 9 in the morning to 12:30 or 1 in the afternoon. And then from about 3 or 3:30 in the afternoon to 7 at night. Nice life? I think so. The thing about Italian work mentality that I have understood so far is that instead of living to work like the trap we Americans seem to fall into, Italians simply work to live. Sure, they could make more money if they stayed open during lunch or later at night, but why should they if they are doing fine with the comfortable hours they are keeping now? This mentality is a welcome breath of fresh air to the American nanny who is used to 24 hour service, drive-through everything, and immediate customer help. Every day when I see these stores closed, it baffles my mind that they aren’t open during the busiest time of the day, but makes me appreciate their pace of life and what they value as being important. I admire it and wish we could have a happy medium in my own country. Well, that is until I’m making cookies in the middle of the day and run out of butter and only remember when I reach the store front that I can’t buy butter anywhere for another two hours. At these moments, commercial, florescent and American Walgreen’s is looking really nice.
posted by Laura at 6:13 PM
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27 Jan. 2005
Torino, Italia
When I was young, my mom always used to tell me, “Expand your horizons.” And with the rolling of my eyes and the groan of, “mommm!” I would be as annoyed as any 13-year-old usually is with her parents, thinking the never-ending saying was cheesy and really uncool. But then one day, out of the blue, I listened to her. And I realized that maybe, just maybe, her words were full of good advice. Advice from someone who was a bit older and wiser than my now 14-year-old self; from someone who had probably learned through experience that “expanding” whatever it was that your horizons were, was a good thing.
And so, as her encouragement rang in my ears when I booked my flight to come to Italy, I booked no flight to return home for Thanksgiving or Christmas or New Year’s. I was going to Italy, so why not take full advantage to experience it in its entirety? So maybe this year there would be no Thanksgiving Day Parade, no It’s a Wonderful Life, no Dick Clark or Times Square (which, for this sentimental holiday girl, can be a bit hard). But there would be an Italian turkey celebration complete with Italian cheeses and my homemade sweet potatoes, there would be the elaborate Italian nativity scene that is the prime Christmas focus in each household, there would be a seven-course New Year’s Eve meal with dancing and excited children.
So I say hello and ciao to you, my dear friends and wonderful family, from Italy once more! With holidays experienced Italian style, horizons expanded in the midst of it all, and now as a four-month resident of this fabulous country!
So, maybe I skipped an email and maybe this one is a bit late. I guess when you are only writing about once a month, that becomes quite a long time. So, apologies again and a pleading to have patience with another long, yet full and hopefully interesting email to update you all on this Italian life since early November! I hope this finds you all wonderful, healthy and enjoying life.
First I must start with the holidays…
As I said above, Thanksgiving was celebrated here for the two American nannies, cooked mostly by Jen’s family who lived in the states for two years and became acquainted with our turkey tradition. (If you will remember, no one else except us celebrates this holiday since it has to do with, you know, settling in America.) Though we did celebrate it, we actually didn’t do it until the next day, which was more convenient. How strange it was walking around the streets having a normal day on Thursday, looking at people who had no idea that in America there were turkeys in the oven, televisions tuned to the Thanksgiving Day Parade, and children out of school (having already made their turkey and pilgrim drawings to hang on the refrigerator). Jen and I brought as much as we could of our nation’s holiday to our families, however. I showed Maghi how to draw a turkey by tracing her hand (that is, after I showed her what a turkey was on the internet because she didn’t know – what?), I went to about five different stores and spent half of my week’s salary on ingredients for the sweet potato casserole that I make every year at home, and I almost made everyone go around the table during dinner and say what they were thankful for, but then decided against it since the language was leaning toward Italian most of the time anyway, with Jen and I simply enjoying the comfort meal. It was so nice and, like in the movies, Federico’s dad rolled out the turkey on a little trolley and carved it at the table as everyone sat and watched. Jen and I tried to tell them that this is usually only done in the movies, but why spoil the fun, right? The only thing that was different about the meal (there was homemade pecan pie and everything) was the cheese platter after dinner (there had to be something Italian in there). The evening was fabulous, though strange to be away from home and my beloved family.
And then comes December and the crisp, cold air that makes you shiver even with a scarf and mittens. I have never really spent Christmas someplace that was truly cold. Florida is a joke when trying to get into the Christmas mode weather-wise and California is better, but not by much. So being here, not only someplace that is really cold for Christmas, but also in a city, was something truly spectacular. And I realized that the cold really does make it feel more like Christmas, there’s no getting around it. The lights in the city went up the first week of December, along big streets and even small ones. White lights going back and forth from building to building and draping the entire city in an enchanting glow that makes you want to just go out and walk around.
And then there is spending a holiday such as Christmas with a family not your own. Virtually becoming their family during such a wonderful and intimate time of year. It was such a delight, not only to become even closer to this family, but to learn their traditions, their excitements and their special holiday routines. We decorated the Christmas tree, each ornament having a story or a special place where it went. The girls and Paola introduced me to their nativity scene (as excited as I was as a child when I got to set up my mom’s ceramic Christmas village with fake snow and lights) which is the largest nativity scene I have ever seen -- complete with a mountain, a river made of foil, a bridge, a family of ducks, a whole herd of sheep, shopkeepers, more than the average three shepherds, little houses that went on the mountain, and star wrapping paper which was hung on the wall behind the whole thing for the backdrop. I was then educated that the Baby Jesus is not put in the manger until Christmas Day (naturally, because that is when He was born) and the Three Kings are not put out until January 6th (around the time that they supposedly arrived), but in the meantime they are put somewhere else in the house to show that they are making their way to see Jesus. It’s taken very seriously and as I went to other people’s houses, I began to see that the ‘nativity scene’ is even more important than the Christmas tree. Though every other one that I saw was quite nice and some pretty extravagant as well, none compared to ours (yes, it became mine, too, even just for this year).
There were big dinners, Christmas caroling with our church in the city center, a Christmas market with food and crafts, and Christmas music dancing in our ears (all mostly in English which confused, yet pleased Jen and I).
There were two Christmas class performances of Bea and Maghi and one with the choir during the Christmas program at church that Jen and I definitely took part in. There were gifts and smiles, 15 minutes of snow one day, Christmas gospel singers at some random Christmas village, and letters to Santa that are written to him a few weeks before Christmas and set out on the balcony to be picked up during the night. My taste buds were introduced to two special sweet holiday breads eaten for breakfast or dessert, one called Pandoro and the other Panetone – both delicious. You begin to eat them in late November, therefore “the first taste” of the holiday season, and stop buying them after early January (except if they are on sale until March, which they are).
We spent Christmas Eve at Paola’s parent’s house with her sister’s family there, as well. A huge dinner was eaten and many presents were unwrapped from one another and from Santa who happened to arrive at that house just after dark and right before dinner, while we weren’t watching. By Adriana and Gianni (the grandparents) I was given a great pair of gloves (the kind that prove you live somewhere cold, unlike mine that I bought for 2 euros at the market). Paola and Federico gave me two days of skiing (boots, skis, and ski passes) which I will get to in a moment. Both presents were just what I needed! We left late that night and drove the 45 minutes home, looking out the window for a glimpse of Santa or a reindeer and staring at the snow (in the country) for footprints or paw prints.
Christmas morning reminded me how wonderful it is to have children in the house with their excitement and innocence and willingness to believe in magic. Their faces were priceless as they tapped on my door to tell me it was time to go check if Santa had come. And as I groggily got out of bed (and realized that all of my Echinacea and vitamin C had not prevented me from catching Maghi’s horrible cough and fever and headache and runny nose, ahh to be sick on Christmas) it was so wonderful to watch them open the gifts, one by one just like in my family at home, and see them light up when they would open something they asked for or just really loved (like the Beauty and the Beast Barbie that mom bought for me to give to Maghi or The Babysitters Club book I found in Italian for Bea). And though it was simply pleasant and wonderful to be here for Christmas and be able to really be apart of this family during such an intimate time, it was quite strange to be away from my own family at home. I could picture exactly what they were doing, where they were sitting to open their presents, what they would eat after presents were finished and even what would be said throughout the day and that I missed. I kept these thoughts to myself, as secrets for when I wanted to remember my holidays while in the midst of someone else’s. And yet, my Christmas here was different but the same. We ate breakfast, lounged around in our pajamas, relaxed, put presents together, opened them, or tried them on, decided how to fit them all in the girls’ room and searched for batteries for the talking dog and crying baby whose stomach moves when she breathes.
And then we packed for the next five days in the Italian Alps.
Yes, you read that correctly.
Christmas Day around 4pm, we loaded the car with tons of bags, food, snow boots and ski jackets and made the drive to Champoluc, a small ski village in the Italian Alps, about 2 hours north of Turin. Since Federico was little, he and his family have retreated to Champoluc where they have a cabin up on a mountain that overlooks the village below. Every Christmas his three siblings and their families go back to stay for one or two weeks, skiing, eating and enjoying the incredible beauty that surrounds them. This year I got to accompany them to this winter wonderland. I stepped out of the car that night and realized there was about four or five feet of snow surrounding me. We began carrying all of our stuff to the cabin about 50 feet away from where you can park the cars, down a shoveled pathway that doubles as a sleigh run (that I later would have no success on).
If I didn’t describe the cabin to you, it would be a disservice. Imagine a life-size Lincoln Log house and you have basically got it. It sits on the edge of a mountain complete with a front and back porch. The story is that it used to be a storage house for hay down in the village (we are talking no insulation here, built in the 1700s) until about 30 years ago when Franco and Louisa (Federico’s parents) bought the land it is now on, bought the “cabin” and had it moved. When I think about moving a house, I think about those huge trucks on the highway that say ‘wide load’ and as you drive by you see an entire house on the back of this truck.
Yeah, this wasn’t the case 30 years ago with a storage-house in the Alps.
If you look at each log, you can see Roman numerals that showed where each was to be placed after they were moved one by one. Um, yeah. When Federico was a child there wasn’t even a road that went up to the cabin, so the family had to hike up the mountain in the snow with food and clothes for the weeks they were there. Hopefully this gives you a rough picture and the history of which I was about to enter into as I walked the cold pathway to the house. I entered in and immediately felt like I was in a movie. It was warm by the lighting, all the bodies inside that greeted us, and from the Christmas spirit. All of Federico’s family was there (that’s about 13 people without us – not all of them slept there), the champagne opened and the bread and sausage cut to eat. Presents were waiting to be unwrapped, Christmas music was playing, and Federico’s older brother, Mario, was adorned in a Santa hat and red-checked suspenders for the occasion. From then on, I was amazed. I toured the house of three floors with four bedrooms and two bathrooms. The bottom floor serves as the dining room when the kitchen can’t fit so many people, like that night. Everything is small from the low ceilings to the kitchen and beds that we slept in, yet it was an experience and a place that I immediately fell in love with. There was, of course, a huge meal cooked by Louisa (I think about 6 courses) with the American nanny buried at the table in between about 50 conversations and laughter and food, observing and sometimes entering in myself. I awoke the next morning to snow falling softly on the pine trees and hills that my window looked out on and also with the feeling of being very sick. The girls joined me in “feverland” and coughing more than we breathed and we began to call the cabin “the hospital.” But after finally getting some antibiotics (praise the Lord) and one more day spent in bed with just a walk in the snow, we were ready to conquer the skiing and snow-playing that awaited us.
Let’s just say that skiing in North Carolina with your church youth group about 6 years ago doesn’t really cut it in the Alps with people who have been doing it since they could count. Um, yeah. But after the first morning of practicing on the bunny hill and having some instructions from Federico and Paola, I was ready to hit the big time and didn’t do too bad, only having a tiny fall the first day. (I quickly realized that with youth group, it was just normal to fall and that even though I thought I was skiing correctly, I think it was pretty much wrong.) The second day was to die for. The sun was out so the air was warmer and the mountains and sky were incredible and quite indescribable. One of the ski lifts went so high that it took about 15 minutes and once you reached the top, the silence was crisp and the beauty around me couldn’t help but prove that there is a God. I tried to tell Paola and Federico (and their thousands of family friends or cousins or cousin’s cousins who seemed to be everywhere and anywhere we went) that it was so beautiful and amazing. They agreed for sure, but I just don’t think they realize what they have! That day I did have a bit of a “doozy” you might say when it came to falling (actually crashing would be a better word).
Federico kind of lead me off course a bit to another slope and it was awesome, the only thing was that after a while I started going really fast (not a problem, I know how to stop) but then the sun suddenly turned to shade and I couldn’t see (especially with my huge black sunglasses that I was wearing) and then there started to be little bumps here and there on the mountain and that combination pretty much did me in. I went flying by Federico with a bit of a scream, tipped his ski and shot into the side of the slope, thankfully in the fresh snow which cushioned my fall and caused me to laugh out loud as Federico yelled, “Don’t move!” So maybe my skis were in opposite directions and my poles were buried in snow, I was okay and enjoyed the refreshing dip in the cool white stuff. (Federico has since told this story probably about 10 or 15 times, always exaggerating it a bit and causing the audience to laugh at the poor nanny from Florida. At least I have that excuse.) We ice skated (Bea and Maghi tried to teach me some moves), we played cards, we sleighed, we drank Italian hot chocolate (that’s basically like drinking a melted chocolate bar), we ate a lot and slept a lot and enjoyed five days in the Alps.
On New Year’s Eve we made the drive home, and though it was a fabulous week, I was ready to have my room back along with some space. New Year’s has never really been that huge of a holiday to me. Yeah, it’s fun, but it’s not terribly sentimental like Christmas or even Thanksgiving. But this year it was the third holiday in a month that I was away from my home and my family and when the Italian friends and children started arriving for the big dinner we had that night at our house, I couldn’t help but wish I could be transported back home for that night. Just to speak English (the way you speak it with someone else who speaks it as his first language), just to watch the ball drop, just to do fireworks in our cul-de-sac and sit around our bonfire with my family and our neighbors. But after the Italian friends talked to me in English, after we ate fried custard and drank some champagne, after the seven choices of cheese during dinner and then the kid/adult dance party we had until 2am, I felt a little better. I also came to the conclusion that it’s okay to be homesick sometimes, actually it’s probably healthy, just hard for this independent girl to admit.
And now that I’m finished with telling you about the holidays and you are ready to take your fourth snack break, let me continue on a bit more for those trusty friends and family who really actually want to keep reading.
Our travels since December have been wonderful, but our weekends have also been relaxing, too, since we were home a lot during December for Christmas activities. Jen and I have taken four day-trips, which we have really grown a liking to. They are cheap, easy, and usually relaxing and beautiful. Brainçon is a small village in France, just over the borders in another part of the Alps. We went here on a day trip organized by our church and it was an awesome time to get to know more people and become better friends with those we had already met. The town itself was beautiful with breathtaking views, good food, and even a castle (which makes any town for me). We went in mid November so the weather was cold but the sun was shining and made for a lovely day. Saluzzo was next. About an hour from Turin, it’s not your average tourist town, shall we say. “Why are you going there?” was the question from Jen and I’s parents, but we enjoyed it and climbed the bell tower, looked through it’s market and asked about 10 people where the tourist office was before a man finally just took us there and let us see that it was, in fact, closed. Just two weekends ago we ventured to Sacre Di San Michele (Monastery of Saint Michael), about a half hour train ride away and an hour and a half hike up a mountain, located right on the top. Jen and I (ok, so it was mostly me) had an inkling to go hiking and we really wanted to see this monastery that had so much history to it. So we headed out early one morning. When we stepped off the train and saw how high the monastery was in relation to us, we were a little worried, but once we were off on the trail we enjoyed the hike and entire trip. (So, maybe we are a little out of shape, but the monastery was worth it.)
And just last weekend we booked it to Courmayeur, another small ski village on the border with France. We didn’t ski, but just walked around, enjoyed the bus and train rides there, and went even to a higher part of the town where the snow was untouched, like a blanket over everything. It snowed almost the entire day and we so enjoyed the town center and the cold snow beneath our feet. Our big trip since November was Florence. Such a feminine and romantic city, we fell in love with everything it has to offer. We spent half of the day in the HUGE market that Florence is known for (bought our Christmas presents and a few things that we couldn’t resist), we saw the duomo (huge church), walked the streets, enjoyed the Christmas decorations, sat amazed at the David, and walked the famous bridge called the Ponte Vecchio with stores and shops on either side of it. We toured the Uffizi (huge art museum) and I gained a love and appreciation for the artist Botticelli and was surprised, once again, at how excited I was to see such famous art. We stayed in a house-turned-hotel where the little old lady who owned it greeted us in the stairway and kissed us hello before she even showed us our room. It was a lovely weekend in a lovely city, to say the least.
The other thing that Jen and I have thoroughly been enjoying is our random, hilarious, strange, and wonderful friendship with two guys from our Italian class, Noam (here studying car design, Jewish from Israel, 26) and Michael (here as a fellow nanny for a family with three boys, Austrian, 18). After one day of talking after class, Jen and I laughed about us four becoming some sort of click and hanging out all the time. And, of course, it definitely happened. Though we are all really different and a totally random group, we have in common the fact that none of us are actually from Italy, none of us speak Italian very well, none of us have many friends and are desperate for people to communicate with our own age, and all of us are pretty open to new things (I mean, we’re here, aren’t we?) So, when Jen and I invited Noam and Michael to come to our Christmas service at church, they came and have continued to come almost every Sunday since, despite Noam’s jokes of “I’m the only Jewish guy there.”
When Noam’s parents came to visit him in December and brought him a ton of Israeli food, he had us all over to his apartment to experience real Israeli cooking. Let me tell you that sitting at a table of two Americans, an Austrian, and two Israelis (one was a roommate of Noam’s) we had some pretty interesting discussions and viewpoints, to say the least. Not to mention the fact that four different languages were being spoken sporadically -- English, Hebrew, Italian and German. Bush, the war, Americans in general, languages, Italy’s government, Israel’s status, Europe’s feelings, Jewish customs, friendship, New York dancers, food, and movies were all included in the topics. And we realized, though we may differ on some, we can still be friends and at least learn from one another. It was an interesting night and Jen and I had so much to talk about after we left.
And with that last update, I think I will depart for now. Things have gotten back on schedule after the girls went back to school on the 10th of January and I went back to my Italian class, not necessarily any better in Italian, but nevertheless, I went back. Besides going to the theatre to see Singin’ In The Rain in Italian, buying a pair of boots, preparing for my family to come in March (!), dancing in the living room with Maghi, singing girls to sleep at night, trying to learn how to cook, watching The Sound of Music in Italian (twice), teaching the girls the Fifty Nifty United States song along with Lean on Me, eating snow, watching ice skating, and praying about the next step in life…everything is pretty normal around here, in this section of Italy with this sweet family. The fact that you have read this far and are interested in such details of this girl’s life here in Italy is truly flattering and encouraging. Thanks for the letters and emails. Enjoy this week, enjoy our Lord and the amazing love and grace that He gives, and enjoy America.
Torino, Italia
When I was young, my mom always used to tell me, “Expand your horizons.” And with the rolling of my eyes and the groan of, “mommm!” I would be as annoyed as any 13-year-old usually is with her parents, thinking the never-ending saying was cheesy and really uncool. But then one day, out of the blue, I listened to her. And I realized that maybe, just maybe, her words were full of good advice. Advice from someone who was a bit older and wiser than my now 14-year-old self; from someone who had probably learned through experience that “expanding” whatever it was that your horizons were, was a good thing.
And so, as her encouragement rang in my ears when I booked my flight to come to Italy, I booked no flight to return home for Thanksgiving or Christmas or New Year’s. I was going to Italy, so why not take full advantage to experience it in its entirety? So maybe this year there would be no Thanksgiving Day Parade, no It’s a Wonderful Life, no Dick Clark or Times Square (which, for this sentimental holiday girl, can be a bit hard). But there would be an Italian turkey celebration complete with Italian cheeses and my homemade sweet potatoes, there would be the elaborate Italian nativity scene that is the prime Christmas focus in each household, there would be a seven-course New Year’s Eve meal with dancing and excited children.
So I say hello and ciao to you, my dear friends and wonderful family, from Italy once more! With holidays experienced Italian style, horizons expanded in the midst of it all, and now as a four-month resident of this fabulous country!
So, maybe I skipped an email and maybe this one is a bit late. I guess when you are only writing about once a month, that becomes quite a long time. So, apologies again and a pleading to have patience with another long, yet full and hopefully interesting email to update you all on this Italian life since early November! I hope this finds you all wonderful, healthy and enjoying life.
First I must start with the holidays…
As I said above, Thanksgiving was celebrated here for the two American nannies, cooked mostly by Jen’s family who lived in the states for two years and became acquainted with our turkey tradition. (If you will remember, no one else except us celebrates this holiday since it has to do with, you know, settling in America.) Though we did celebrate it, we actually didn’t do it until the next day, which was more convenient. How strange it was walking around the streets having a normal day on Thursday, looking at people who had no idea that in America there were turkeys in the oven, televisions tuned to the Thanksgiving Day Parade, and children out of school (having already made their turkey and pilgrim drawings to hang on the refrigerator). Jen and I brought as much as we could of our nation’s holiday to our families, however. I showed Maghi how to draw a turkey by tracing her hand (that is, after I showed her what a turkey was on the internet because she didn’t know – what?), I went to about five different stores and spent half of my week’s salary on ingredients for the sweet potato casserole that I make every year at home, and I almost made everyone go around the table during dinner and say what they were thankful for, but then decided against it since the language was leaning toward Italian most of the time anyway, with Jen and I simply enjoying the comfort meal. It was so nice and, like in the movies, Federico’s dad rolled out the turkey on a little trolley and carved it at the table as everyone sat and watched. Jen and I tried to tell them that this is usually only done in the movies, but why spoil the fun, right? The only thing that was different about the meal (there was homemade pecan pie and everything) was the cheese platter after dinner (there had to be something Italian in there). The evening was fabulous, though strange to be away from home and my beloved family.
And then comes December and the crisp, cold air that makes you shiver even with a scarf and mittens. I have never really spent Christmas someplace that was truly cold. Florida is a joke when trying to get into the Christmas mode weather-wise and California is better, but not by much. So being here, not only someplace that is really cold for Christmas, but also in a city, was something truly spectacular. And I realized that the cold really does make it feel more like Christmas, there’s no getting around it. The lights in the city went up the first week of December, along big streets and even small ones. White lights going back and forth from building to building and draping the entire city in an enchanting glow that makes you want to just go out and walk around.
And then there is spending a holiday such as Christmas with a family not your own. Virtually becoming their family during such a wonderful and intimate time of year. It was such a delight, not only to become even closer to this family, but to learn their traditions, their excitements and their special holiday routines. We decorated the Christmas tree, each ornament having a story or a special place where it went. The girls and Paola introduced me to their nativity scene (as excited as I was as a child when I got to set up my mom’s ceramic Christmas village with fake snow and lights) which is the largest nativity scene I have ever seen -- complete with a mountain, a river made of foil, a bridge, a family of ducks, a whole herd of sheep, shopkeepers, more than the average three shepherds, little houses that went on the mountain, and star wrapping paper which was hung on the wall behind the whole thing for the backdrop. I was then educated that the Baby Jesus is not put in the manger until Christmas Day (naturally, because that is when He was born) and the Three Kings are not put out until January 6th (around the time that they supposedly arrived), but in the meantime they are put somewhere else in the house to show that they are making their way to see Jesus. It’s taken very seriously and as I went to other people’s houses, I began to see that the ‘nativity scene’ is even more important than the Christmas tree. Though every other one that I saw was quite nice and some pretty extravagant as well, none compared to ours (yes, it became mine, too, even just for this year).
There were big dinners, Christmas caroling with our church in the city center, a Christmas market with food and crafts, and Christmas music dancing in our ears (all mostly in English which confused, yet pleased Jen and I).
There were two Christmas class performances of Bea and Maghi and one with the choir during the Christmas program at church that Jen and I definitely took part in. There were gifts and smiles, 15 minutes of snow one day, Christmas gospel singers at some random Christmas village, and letters to Santa that are written to him a few weeks before Christmas and set out on the balcony to be picked up during the night. My taste buds were introduced to two special sweet holiday breads eaten for breakfast or dessert, one called Pandoro and the other Panetone – both delicious. You begin to eat them in late November, therefore “the first taste” of the holiday season, and stop buying them after early January (except if they are on sale until March, which they are).
We spent Christmas Eve at Paola’s parent’s house with her sister’s family there, as well. A huge dinner was eaten and many presents were unwrapped from one another and from Santa who happened to arrive at that house just after dark and right before dinner, while we weren’t watching. By Adriana and Gianni (the grandparents) I was given a great pair of gloves (the kind that prove you live somewhere cold, unlike mine that I bought for 2 euros at the market). Paola and Federico gave me two days of skiing (boots, skis, and ski passes) which I will get to in a moment. Both presents were just what I needed! We left late that night and drove the 45 minutes home, looking out the window for a glimpse of Santa or a reindeer and staring at the snow (in the country) for footprints or paw prints.
Christmas morning reminded me how wonderful it is to have children in the house with their excitement and innocence and willingness to believe in magic. Their faces were priceless as they tapped on my door to tell me it was time to go check if Santa had come. And as I groggily got out of bed (and realized that all of my Echinacea and vitamin C had not prevented me from catching Maghi’s horrible cough and fever and headache and runny nose, ahh to be sick on Christmas) it was so wonderful to watch them open the gifts, one by one just like in my family at home, and see them light up when they would open something they asked for or just really loved (like the Beauty and the Beast Barbie that mom bought for me to give to Maghi or The Babysitters Club book I found in Italian for Bea). And though it was simply pleasant and wonderful to be here for Christmas and be able to really be apart of this family during such an intimate time, it was quite strange to be away from my own family at home. I could picture exactly what they were doing, where they were sitting to open their presents, what they would eat after presents were finished and even what would be said throughout the day and that I missed. I kept these thoughts to myself, as secrets for when I wanted to remember my holidays while in the midst of someone else’s. And yet, my Christmas here was different but the same. We ate breakfast, lounged around in our pajamas, relaxed, put presents together, opened them, or tried them on, decided how to fit them all in the girls’ room and searched for batteries for the talking dog and crying baby whose stomach moves when she breathes.
And then we packed for the next five days in the Italian Alps.
Yes, you read that correctly.
Christmas Day around 4pm, we loaded the car with tons of bags, food, snow boots and ski jackets and made the drive to Champoluc, a small ski village in the Italian Alps, about 2 hours north of Turin. Since Federico was little, he and his family have retreated to Champoluc where they have a cabin up on a mountain that overlooks the village below. Every Christmas his three siblings and their families go back to stay for one or two weeks, skiing, eating and enjoying the incredible beauty that surrounds them. This year I got to accompany them to this winter wonderland. I stepped out of the car that night and realized there was about four or five feet of snow surrounding me. We began carrying all of our stuff to the cabin about 50 feet away from where you can park the cars, down a shoveled pathway that doubles as a sleigh run (that I later would have no success on).
If I didn’t describe the cabin to you, it would be a disservice. Imagine a life-size Lincoln Log house and you have basically got it. It sits on the edge of a mountain complete with a front and back porch. The story is that it used to be a storage house for hay down in the village (we are talking no insulation here, built in the 1700s) until about 30 years ago when Franco and Louisa (Federico’s parents) bought the land it is now on, bought the “cabin” and had it moved. When I think about moving a house, I think about those huge trucks on the highway that say ‘wide load’ and as you drive by you see an entire house on the back of this truck.
Yeah, this wasn’t the case 30 years ago with a storage-house in the Alps.
If you look at each log, you can see Roman numerals that showed where each was to be placed after they were moved one by one. Um, yeah. When Federico was a child there wasn’t even a road that went up to the cabin, so the family had to hike up the mountain in the snow with food and clothes for the weeks they were there. Hopefully this gives you a rough picture and the history of which I was about to enter into as I walked the cold pathway to the house. I entered in and immediately felt like I was in a movie. It was warm by the lighting, all the bodies inside that greeted us, and from the Christmas spirit. All of Federico’s family was there (that’s about 13 people without us – not all of them slept there), the champagne opened and the bread and sausage cut to eat. Presents were waiting to be unwrapped, Christmas music was playing, and Federico’s older brother, Mario, was adorned in a Santa hat and red-checked suspenders for the occasion. From then on, I was amazed. I toured the house of three floors with four bedrooms and two bathrooms. The bottom floor serves as the dining room when the kitchen can’t fit so many people, like that night. Everything is small from the low ceilings to the kitchen and beds that we slept in, yet it was an experience and a place that I immediately fell in love with. There was, of course, a huge meal cooked by Louisa (I think about 6 courses) with the American nanny buried at the table in between about 50 conversations and laughter and food, observing and sometimes entering in myself. I awoke the next morning to snow falling softly on the pine trees and hills that my window looked out on and also with the feeling of being very sick. The girls joined me in “feverland” and coughing more than we breathed and we began to call the cabin “the hospital.” But after finally getting some antibiotics (praise the Lord) and one more day spent in bed with just a walk in the snow, we were ready to conquer the skiing and snow-playing that awaited us.
Let’s just say that skiing in North Carolina with your church youth group about 6 years ago doesn’t really cut it in the Alps with people who have been doing it since they could count. Um, yeah. But after the first morning of practicing on the bunny hill and having some instructions from Federico and Paola, I was ready to hit the big time and didn’t do too bad, only having a tiny fall the first day. (I quickly realized that with youth group, it was just normal to fall and that even though I thought I was skiing correctly, I think it was pretty much wrong.) The second day was to die for. The sun was out so the air was warmer and the mountains and sky were incredible and quite indescribable. One of the ski lifts went so high that it took about 15 minutes and once you reached the top, the silence was crisp and the beauty around me couldn’t help but prove that there is a God. I tried to tell Paola and Federico (and their thousands of family friends or cousins or cousin’s cousins who seemed to be everywhere and anywhere we went) that it was so beautiful and amazing. They agreed for sure, but I just don’t think they realize what they have! That day I did have a bit of a “doozy” you might say when it came to falling (actually crashing would be a better word).
Federico kind of lead me off course a bit to another slope and it was awesome, the only thing was that after a while I started going really fast (not a problem, I know how to stop) but then the sun suddenly turned to shade and I couldn’t see (especially with my huge black sunglasses that I was wearing) and then there started to be little bumps here and there on the mountain and that combination pretty much did me in. I went flying by Federico with a bit of a scream, tipped his ski and shot into the side of the slope, thankfully in the fresh snow which cushioned my fall and caused me to laugh out loud as Federico yelled, “Don’t move!” So maybe my skis were in opposite directions and my poles were buried in snow, I was okay and enjoyed the refreshing dip in the cool white stuff. (Federico has since told this story probably about 10 or 15 times, always exaggerating it a bit and causing the audience to laugh at the poor nanny from Florida. At least I have that excuse.) We ice skated (Bea and Maghi tried to teach me some moves), we played cards, we sleighed, we drank Italian hot chocolate (that’s basically like drinking a melted chocolate bar), we ate a lot and slept a lot and enjoyed five days in the Alps.
On New Year’s Eve we made the drive home, and though it was a fabulous week, I was ready to have my room back along with some space. New Year’s has never really been that huge of a holiday to me. Yeah, it’s fun, but it’s not terribly sentimental like Christmas or even Thanksgiving. But this year it was the third holiday in a month that I was away from my home and my family and when the Italian friends and children started arriving for the big dinner we had that night at our house, I couldn’t help but wish I could be transported back home for that night. Just to speak English (the way you speak it with someone else who speaks it as his first language), just to watch the ball drop, just to do fireworks in our cul-de-sac and sit around our bonfire with my family and our neighbors. But after the Italian friends talked to me in English, after we ate fried custard and drank some champagne, after the seven choices of cheese during dinner and then the kid/adult dance party we had until 2am, I felt a little better. I also came to the conclusion that it’s okay to be homesick sometimes, actually it’s probably healthy, just hard for this independent girl to admit.
And now that I’m finished with telling you about the holidays and you are ready to take your fourth snack break, let me continue on a bit more for those trusty friends and family who really actually want to keep reading.
Our travels since December have been wonderful, but our weekends have also been relaxing, too, since we were home a lot during December for Christmas activities. Jen and I have taken four day-trips, which we have really grown a liking to. They are cheap, easy, and usually relaxing and beautiful. Brainçon is a small village in France, just over the borders in another part of the Alps. We went here on a day trip organized by our church and it was an awesome time to get to know more people and become better friends with those we had already met. The town itself was beautiful with breathtaking views, good food, and even a castle (which makes any town for me). We went in mid November so the weather was cold but the sun was shining and made for a lovely day. Saluzzo was next. About an hour from Turin, it’s not your average tourist town, shall we say. “Why are you going there?” was the question from Jen and I’s parents, but we enjoyed it and climbed the bell tower, looked through it’s market and asked about 10 people where the tourist office was before a man finally just took us there and let us see that it was, in fact, closed. Just two weekends ago we ventured to Sacre Di San Michele (Monastery of Saint Michael), about a half hour train ride away and an hour and a half hike up a mountain, located right on the top. Jen and I (ok, so it was mostly me) had an inkling to go hiking and we really wanted to see this monastery that had so much history to it. So we headed out early one morning. When we stepped off the train and saw how high the monastery was in relation to us, we were a little worried, but once we were off on the trail we enjoyed the hike and entire trip. (So, maybe we are a little out of shape, but the monastery was worth it.)
And just last weekend we booked it to Courmayeur, another small ski village on the border with France. We didn’t ski, but just walked around, enjoyed the bus and train rides there, and went even to a higher part of the town where the snow was untouched, like a blanket over everything. It snowed almost the entire day and we so enjoyed the town center and the cold snow beneath our feet. Our big trip since November was Florence. Such a feminine and romantic city, we fell in love with everything it has to offer. We spent half of the day in the HUGE market that Florence is known for (bought our Christmas presents and a few things that we couldn’t resist), we saw the duomo (huge church), walked the streets, enjoyed the Christmas decorations, sat amazed at the David, and walked the famous bridge called the Ponte Vecchio with stores and shops on either side of it. We toured the Uffizi (huge art museum) and I gained a love and appreciation for the artist Botticelli and was surprised, once again, at how excited I was to see such famous art. We stayed in a house-turned-hotel where the little old lady who owned it greeted us in the stairway and kissed us hello before she even showed us our room. It was a lovely weekend in a lovely city, to say the least.
The other thing that Jen and I have thoroughly been enjoying is our random, hilarious, strange, and wonderful friendship with two guys from our Italian class, Noam (here studying car design, Jewish from Israel, 26) and Michael (here as a fellow nanny for a family with three boys, Austrian, 18). After one day of talking after class, Jen and I laughed about us four becoming some sort of click and hanging out all the time. And, of course, it definitely happened. Though we are all really different and a totally random group, we have in common the fact that none of us are actually from Italy, none of us speak Italian very well, none of us have many friends and are desperate for people to communicate with our own age, and all of us are pretty open to new things (I mean, we’re here, aren’t we?) So, when Jen and I invited Noam and Michael to come to our Christmas service at church, they came and have continued to come almost every Sunday since, despite Noam’s jokes of “I’m the only Jewish guy there.”
When Noam’s parents came to visit him in December and brought him a ton of Israeli food, he had us all over to his apartment to experience real Israeli cooking. Let me tell you that sitting at a table of two Americans, an Austrian, and two Israelis (one was a roommate of Noam’s) we had some pretty interesting discussions and viewpoints, to say the least. Not to mention the fact that four different languages were being spoken sporadically -- English, Hebrew, Italian and German. Bush, the war, Americans in general, languages, Italy’s government, Israel’s status, Europe’s feelings, Jewish customs, friendship, New York dancers, food, and movies were all included in the topics. And we realized, though we may differ on some, we can still be friends and at least learn from one another. It was an interesting night and Jen and I had so much to talk about after we left.
And with that last update, I think I will depart for now. Things have gotten back on schedule after the girls went back to school on the 10th of January and I went back to my Italian class, not necessarily any better in Italian, but nevertheless, I went back. Besides going to the theatre to see Singin’ In The Rain in Italian, buying a pair of boots, preparing for my family to come in March (!), dancing in the living room with Maghi, singing girls to sleep at night, trying to learn how to cook, watching The Sound of Music in Italian (twice), teaching the girls the Fifty Nifty United States song along with Lean on Me, eating snow, watching ice skating, and praying about the next step in life…everything is pretty normal around here, in this section of Italy with this sweet family. The fact that you have read this far and are interested in such details of this girl’s life here in Italy is truly flattering and encouraging. Thanks for the letters and emails. Enjoy this week, enjoy our Lord and the amazing love and grace that He gives, and enjoy America.
posted by Laura at 6:09 PM
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About Me
- Name: Laura
- Location: Orlando, Florida, United States
We are a photographer and a journalist -- trained to document life and moments in hopes for you to connect with and learn from the stories of others.
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