Viaggiare: BE Italian!

Caio! It’s hard to believe I have already been here two full days! Yet it feels longer than that. I have already experienced a multitude of adventures since I left the States three days ago. First stop- Heathrow, London. First reaction—GREEN! Beautifully lush and emerald green, like the view I remember flying over Connecticut. Overcast and rainy like Connecticut too. To welcome me into the land of the Brits, every beverage break and meal came with a side of tea.

And I must say, I experienced some intriguing forms of airport food, but undeniably tasty.

(??“milk stick”??) Needless to say, I didn’t understand that when I asked for vegetable lasagna, I was given cheese and sauce with a side of a noodle, and the vegetables in a bowl on the side, supposedly to be mixed in? Ah, the way of the Brits.

I was thankful to have such a significant lay over between flights (3 hours), as I non-chalantly made it to my next check-in spot, trying to look like I fit in (even whipped out a British “Hullo” and “Pahdon me” as I passed my British counterparts), waiting patiently in the slow-goin looong security-check line. And upon entering the central lobby of Terminal 3, I quickly realized that Rome was not listed on the Departing Flights screen, double-checked my ticket, felt a bead of sweat drip down my smudged makeup from the previous flight, and raced back to the security check I had just passed through. (Mom and Dad…don’t read this part;) I was informed I read my ticket wrong, as I would be landing in Terminal 3 in Rome, but taking off from Terminal 5 in London. Which was another 15 min. shuttle ride to the opposite side of the airport. Long story short, my worry and nervous sweat (and total loss of suave-British composure) was all in vain, arriving to my correct terminal in ample time, even too early for the screen to list the gate which would hold the departing flight to Rome. Sweet. Relieved, annerved, confused, I was back to my play-it-as-a-native-Brit composure when I saw the universal sign to happiness—Starbucks. Ordered myself a frothy cappuchino, and relaxed…finding amusement in the blonde-topped little boy who sounded something like, “Mummy, the tunnel was quite fantastic! It was quite spooky! I’ve neva been through a tunnel befaur!” Welcome to Europe, on to Italy…

Upon first site of the romantic nation of Italia,

my exhaustion and sleep depravation (snoring Brits do NOT help the overnight flight experience), adrenaline quickly kicked in, and a sleepy, overly joyous smile strectched across my face. Blatant tourist face ON!

It is green and beautiful. Not like the green in London, though. More of an oil-saturated green olive. Verde e bella Italia. All of the roofs are the same color—earth clay with the same shingles. No buildings stand out in height, all about average height, with the exception of a few obvious business buildings that stretched to the sky an entire 2 stories above the typical villas. All the grass appears perfectly mowed. Buildings/villas sit into the land, as opposed to the American way of clearing our spot and building where the dirt has been tirelessly perfected. The land is geometrically, yet somehow still organically sectioned off into perfect rows—of growing things. Whether it be houses aligned in the corners of the fields, vineyards, those tall creepy trees that scream “ITALY”, or soccer fields.

Get off the plane, ready to take the land, then realize I also didn’t remember where I’m supposed to meet my driver. No sweat, go w/ the flow. FLOWWW with the Italians. I AM ITALIAN…who doesn’t know how to read signs. Sweat beads form again. Nope, wipe it off, I’m Italian. Go to wrong baggage claim. It’s ok. No one knows I messed up. Right? Keep going. Everyone seemed to get a cart, the part that I missed when going to the wrong claim spot. So I figured I needed one too, seeing as how I have 4 bags (no, not all mine, thank you, I’m not that girl…carrying for a friend), so I grab a massive one. Apparently that one’s not ok, b/c an Italian guy ran toward me shaking his hand. Figure out the real ones cost a euro. Can’t find my euros. Sweat beads form again. Dangit. Nice man gives me a cart for free. Carry on. Finally find my driver once through customs, Patrizia…who is AMAZING and finally sets my mind at ease.

The next hour consisted of “Come si diche en Italiano…” lots of laughing, teaching her English, Patrizia putting on the role of instant Italian-tutor with hilarious English syntax. We are now best friends. I was the only one in her massive taxi van, as I was the last of the class to arrive in Italy, so we were really able to get to laughing. Italians laugh beautifully. Or at least, she did. So full of life. So excited that I’m excited. I am home.

She loved that I said “bellisimo” and “magnifico” and “Tramonto en cello multo bella” and “Sono vivere qui” (“So beautiful!”, “Magnificent!”, “The sunset in the sky is very beautiful” and “I WANT TO LIVE HERE!”) So she decided to take me the extra long route, pitoresque side, and she fulfilles the romantic-tourist’s wish to stop and take pics…which does does for me, of me in front of the sparkling city line of Rome, resting under the glowing umber skyline as the sun set behind billowing clouds. Took me a few pics later to realize I was forgetting to breathe amidst taking in the scenery that seemed to write poetry by virtue of simply existing.

(Compliments of Patrizia)

My new best friend, dropped me off at the Palace,

and laughed at my graceful reaction to my new residence. Doorway graced by the dorkiest wide-eyed, mouth-dropped tourist. Well, I had the next 45 min. to get real acclimated with it,

as the class had already gone on to Albano to buy cell phones. Didn’t realize this, so I’m just chillin, waiting for them to get back, until a group of girls come back heading off to dinner at the exquisite hotel down the road! Complements of the JSB program. The following sums up the rest of the night…

Bread, antipasto, al dente carbonara, lasagna, tiramasu, endless wine…and of course, we ate EVERY course. It’s rude not too. I was NOT one to object. So concludes my introduction to this wonderful world of class, romance, rolling hills, rolling bread, wine, marble buildings, marble gelato, and everything in between.