We were in this country for so very long before we made it down to Roma. So many other things were pressing…so many other places were closer. And yet I felt the draw of Rome. Allora — siamo andati a Roma. We went to Rome. Another surprise…on our way from the train station to our hotel I was very moved by the very fact of being a Roma. I cannot even explain it. Non posso proprio. I just can’t. But so many feelings. Of all types. Of course we ate good food — we went twice to…
Alas, duty, invitation and ‘mini-break’ have brought us to the land of pommes frites. Here it is green and spring — and smells like Wisconsin. Really. We are in Fontainebleau. On my own I walked into town, got a faceful of blooming wisteria (twice!) and, of course, had the most amazing pommes frites — because, why else come to France? In actuality I have been surprised that I have forgotten nearly all of my French – (presque tout!), by the presence of so many italian dishes (so much mozzarella di bufala, so much pesto) — and by the realization that…
Yes, these days we have been talking about ‘draining the swamp’ — in a way. Here we are also talking about this — but a bit differently. So…on the humble bidet — (not literally)… ”Il bidè.” It was our first day with the new teacher and barely ten minutes into class when she opened the subject of bidets. Hai uno nella casa tua? Do you have one in your house? Hai questi nel tuo paese? Do you have them in your country? L’usavi? Do you use one? And my favorite….How do you clean yourself? Come ti puliti? I thought…
It was for R’s upcoming birthday that we made the plan to go to Cinque terre…the ‘five lands’…referring to a group of fishing villages that for many years only had German and Swiss tourists. Now, thanks to unnamed American travel writers, overrun with Americans. I have to say that I didn’t know what to expect. Sure, it is true that I have had too many details in my head but after managing to accidentally make reservations to go to place seven hours’ away from where I intended to…(hey, I was processing so much!), I was able to reboot and find…
It has been 153 days. Centocinquantatre’ giorni. One hundred and fifty three days of supermineralized water, watching where I step on the street, listening to conversations on the street and in the train…and looking for more music to enjoy. (Ti sto venendo, L.) 153 is the code for mental processes and intelligence in the Dewey decimal system. 153 is the sum of the first 17 integers. 153 is, apparently, a sonnet by William Shakespeare. 153 is the atomic number of an element temporarily called “Unpenttrium”. 153 giorni. 153 days. With the beginning of the warm some trees are starting to…
It was maybe the first spring-ish day we have had thus far. Lucky for me I got to spend it in an ambulanza per la prima volta — an ambulance…for the first time in my life and then, on a gurney in the green hallway of the Ospedale Policlinico di Milano. I was considered “Code Green”…Codice Verde. It was not my fault…nor might it have been the fault of the verbi pronominali that I was learning when I realized I was starting to faint. All’improvviso, I am now sul pavimento — on the floor. But alas, I don’t think it…
Look at me, walking down the street. I have a swagger. My swagger says that I have almost made it through winter. I have the confidence of a woman who can almost completely avoid something disgusting and offensive on the street…with a sixth sense…without even looking down. It is only the bandage on the back of my right heel which betrays my current nearly-successful attempt at finding just the right, practical, sturdy and awesome pair of shoes. The sun is out. There is a soft breeze. I am wearing my black turtleneck. My black jacket. My uniform. My awesome black…
But what, oh what, is a little old-ish expat to do on a rainy Sunday morning? After a breakfast of colomba and tea and strawberries from yesterday’s market…it is hours and hours before we can listen to the news we like on the internet. I apologize in advance…this post is a bit disordinato. And podcasts, yes, we listened to them most of yesterday, after going early to the mercato — another rainy day. But early at the mercato there were fewer people, hurrah, as well as strawberries, later-season artichokes (but I bought twenty of them anyway), onions, cabbage, garlic, mint,…
We have disappointed our hosts, again. They left us slippers to use…pantofole…but we have not used them. Le pantofole were left for us, on an embroidered linen towel, next to the bed. Apparently we are cretins. But you know, it was not because of us that the glass table exploded yesterday morning at breakfast. It just — shattered. Il tavolo esplosivo. For no reason. At what point does tempered glass stop being tempered? Like a person…does it hit its limit, finally, just like the most patient, the most ‘tempered’, of us? I have fallen in love, all over again…and yet,…
It has been three months now. We have finished two bars of soap, a tube of toothpaste and I have bought a second set of sheets. After all, when you don’t have a dryer and it is winter…sleeping on wet sheets the same day you wash them is…very cold. I am getting the hang of things. All the company has gone now — I think I already had mentioned that. We are back to work and school as well, also as I think I had mentioned. I am happy to report that I have been able to get some help…
I am sweating. I am gripped with fear. I am at the post office. This errand, in particular, I have been avoiding for weeks. Yes, we ordered some sneakers for R from amazon.it (don’t judge…it has been a lifesaver) and no, they didn’t work out. So yes, with my prepaid packing label taped to my package (yes, I had to do a lot of research just to find tape), I mapped out the way to the closest Poste Italiane and walked there. When I arrived, rehearsing in my head, over and over “devo restituire questi pacchetti” (I have to return…
Not because of the hump on my back or because of mia pancia (…eating cheese? me? No…) But because the world is turning from Black to Grigio and although there are coated and shiny jeans everywhere, there are also cropped pants in tweed, in subtle stripes, swinging with movement or not , swish, swish, with derby shoes, with low boots….Doc Martin-style, red wing American boots or something sleeker and black. The streets are awash with COATS…caramel, with caramello…with camel…over these lovely pantaloni, over shiny or leather black jeans. A camelly and carmelly world! And turtlenecks. Always turtlenecks these days. That…
She told me that what she missed the most was that in winter, when the day was sunny, that the actual sun actually warmed the landscape. Because in the North, in the U.S., a super sunny day can also be subzero, fahrenheit. What a novel idea…that the sun is warm?! We were walking down from the Città Alta, the Upper city of Bergamo. We had gone up on the Funicolare and were now walking down on the top of the city walls. On the landscape were the close Alps and farther afoot, we could see the Appennini…the mountains that run…
Venice…Venezia. I want to embrace you. Wrap my arms around you. I adore you. I am excited just being here. I cannot explain the reason why — I have no idea. I love the green Adriatic, rising and falling between your structures. Buildings, where we stand and sit and rest and eat — always knowing that sea life is teeming under us. I love knowing that the magical underneath is always underneath me. I love knowing that while I sleep, octopus chase in the deep below. You are amazing. You are a hodgepodge of old and new and good and…
And now, two months. I can understand the italian on the train, on the street. The bartender last night told me that I spoke very well…and then I answered him and messed up my pronouns — as if to prove him wrong. We have had family arrive…teeny apartment now teenier. We are playing tour guides to our kin, providing train cards to all. Had a big test in class. Big one. Disappointing but so much progress and so far to go. Such a big thing to try to adjust my expectations of myself. Always having been an “A” student, realizing…