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.