Italy so far- what can i say. Was almost too easy getting here. but then when i think of the year I've had, it becomes far easier. Let's start off by saying. I didn't think I'd end up staying...
So yea. It’s the first Saturday night of September. I just stepped out of my bridesmaid's Sari at my best friend's wedding and into a reception dress that I borrowed from a friend. As I saunter out onto the lawn where the reception party is to be held, I run into a man. I’ve met him before. He’s a mutual friend of the bride and groom. I don't expect to be invited to Italy by this man- But I am-. And I don't expect to say yes. But I do. Needless to say, my parents were a bit shocked when four days later I board a plane on a one-way ticket from JFK.
Rome is beautiful. the cobblestone streets of the Trastevere stumble out from the brick and peach tinted walls of the aged buildings. The tangerine stained tiled rooves unfold, stairways to the sky. As we drag our bags up the bumpy streets we hardly noticed our now callused hands. Too mesmerized by the warm sun and hunter green vines clinging to the buildings. Copper pipes danced along the wall and lead the way. At the front desk, Antonio gives us our key to a double room directly adjacent to garden sprinkled with gravel and shaded by trees. With the grapefruit dropping to the ground one by one and the lime starting to appear in stronger numbers, a changing season is being signaled. I don't yet know that I'll be around to see it for myself. It looks beautiful. It feels sure and welcoming. "Home" I would one day call it.
My first few days in Rome I danced around in thigh-bearing shorts and an ancient pair of converse sneakers. I inhale. Smelling tomatoes and cheese from whatever dish I dare to indulge in. The food is endless. And the restaurants are too many to choose from. Pizza, panini and pasta (the 3 p's) punctuate my days.
Afternoons I walk up and down the sunlit streets taking snapshots of the creased paths just as they curve into their own shadows. I make it my assignment to sneak quick-pics of nuns out and about. I admire them. One day I see a nun walking with her daughter. A bold symbol of the decisions we make in a lifetime.
I stare at graffiti art until it begs to be misunderstood. The good ones make you think.
Setting our budget to the side, he and I splurge on "We're in Italy bitches!!" dinners our first few nights. Get all dressed up for our three course meals. We speak endlessly over dinners, though our conversation turn to passionate arguments more often than not. Prompted and prodded by the empty bottles of wine which frame our tables. I grow to admire this man.
We spend our days marching around monuments and splitting up when different esthetic and culinary preferences present themselves. He buries his head in tourists guidebooks and I pretend to pay attention. Days alone I speak with local store owners and what appears to be a Big Boss or two.
Italy has me hooked. I'd say it’s the day I walk into a store owned by a well-coiffed man in a loose-linen shirt and a warm honest aura, that I start to dig my heels in. I look over his hand-made merchandise and admire his skill. I sit down in a low wooden chair and speak to him about religion and the world. "Tutto quello chè lucechè non'e oro" he teaches me. And my first lesson in Italian is complete. I run my fingers over his textured jewelry boxes and repeat. 'All that glitters isn't gold', it translates to. I don't know if he means his jewelry boxes or the beauty of this new country I've landed in. Even if he means both it can’t deter me.
I walk to the Vatic
an. Following the Tiber river. I forgo the offer of a three hour tour and prefer to see it all at my own pace. I climb a narrow stairway of over 300 steps to reach the top of the Cupolla. When I reach the top the clouds turn dark and come together over the statues of men long gone, the weight of whose names I hope to one day understand.
The rivers are intermittently dotted with bridges with vast archways. People row down them more often in Florence than in Rome. On a late afternoon you can expect to see sets of 3 and 4 rowers in narrow one-man vessels as they glide down sun-striped waters. They drift into sight, turning from shadows into people. Jutting forth out of the glare of the setting sun. Delivering messages of tomorrows.
Saying goodbye to Rome is hard. And I sleep off my sorrow on the train ride to Florence. My first day in Florence is disappointing. I can't believe that I’ve left Rome's beauty for the dusty street of “Firenze”, as it's called by Italians. And to top it all off, my travel buddy and I are arguing again (this time about rap music of all things) We decide to part ways because we can’t stand each other anymore. I find a room for rent, on the website airbnb.com and proceed in my nicest cyber-voice to inquire about its vacancy on such short notice. The next morning I’m out the door of our hotel, bags in hand. As my taxi pulls up, I hop out and looked at two big wooden doors. I stand down on the busy sidewalk and ring the bell….
Love, Me... Free
