Saturday, April 30, 2011

Family: Found

I bet some of you come to Italy to pave your way to Italian fluency – or to pass with a C average in Italian 101. Maybe some of you came to saturate yourself in a fashionista culture – and then balked when you saw that Italians don’t step outside without donning a shiny down jacket… even in 70-degree weather. There might be others who came to escape the confines of a habitual routine that you’ve practiced for past three years at your university – wanting to prove to yourself that they are spontaneous and can live without the help of your mother’s free laundry service and cookie filled care packages.

I came to Florence for something slightly different. It might make me sound old-fashioned or unusual, but it’s a reason that I think about daily. I came to Florence not looking for parties, discotecas or an excuse to play in the Mediterranean – I came to Florence to find what it means to have a family.

These days, my immediate family is pretty small – it’s made up of three interesting characters I like to call me, myself and I. I don’t feel sorry about my situation – it’s life and everyone’s is different, mine just happens to have extra guidance from above and a few less folks on the home-front.

But what sparked my Italian dreams, like most, was rooted within a vision of Italian food. I kept picturing heaps of steaming tagliatelle and pillows of ricotta cheese, all surrounded by an Italian family who actually come around the table every evening to share in this communion. Through this seemingly ordinary activity, the Italian family takes time to share with their children the importance of being together and keeping relationships alive – a pearl of wisdom I remember hearing from my father. As I sat alone in my college apartment, eating my bowl of quinoa with a book in hand, I decided that my search for family was to begin that spring semester, across the Atlantic ocean, within the cobblestone streets I so longed to wander.

Since my arrival in January, everyday that I’ve lived with the lovely and graceful Loredana, I’ve come closer and closer to finding what that definition of family means to me. It’s not crystal clear or clean-cut, and sometimes, it’s not “pretty.” I’ve come to see that family means making mistakes, but moving past them – accepting that one evening, your grandson might accidentally clog the washing machine with his dirty rugby uniform, or that there may be a miscommunication about inviting a friend over for dinner when there wasn’t enough food prepared. Family means getting down to the heart of emotions – that at the dinner table, you feel comfortable enough to say that you’re not doing ok, how you’re unsure of what you want to do with your life and how sometimes you worry about your future. But most of all, family is constant, which is a lesson I’ve taken to heart the most. It means tucking a child in at night and holding her hand until she falls asleep; it means sitting around the table every Sunday afternoon, simply enjoying time spent in each other’s presence; it means kissing each other on the cheek every time you say goodbye, expressing your love and how it is unfailing.

When I think back on my time spent in Florence, I might remember the names of the wines I tasted or the color of my mask for Carnevale, but what I will remember is that I found my sense of family. I’ve learned that a family doesn’t have to be composed of a certain number of people or all live in the same house. They don’t always agree with each other and sometimes they step on each other’s toes. But a family, a true family, is bound together by a single pulse – when one person hurts, everyone senses their pain; when someone needs help, support is given without hesitation; when someone needs to talk, people listen and don’t make excuses.

While I may not be Italian, I consider myself to have adopted the “family-centric” Italian perspective. I’m no longer afraid to think about the family I thought I was missing. Living with an Italian family has taught me that family never leaves you, no matter how far away they may seem. Your family is something to be proud of, and regardless of who you consider to be part your family, nothing can come between you and their unconditional care. When I return back to the States at the end of May, I’m excited to think of the family I will return to, made up of friends of all ages and backgrounds. Four months ago, I would not have said this statement with the confidence I feel today. So thank you, Loredana; thank you Luigi, Elizabetta, Olimpia and Liz – and to Italia, grazie mille, thanks for the memories.

Monday, February 14, 2011

Smiling at Old Men

It gently slips across my face – slinking and sliding until it spreads into a gesture that expresses an indescribable joy. My smile is procured by the texture of their thick wool sweaters, the bristle of their five o’clock shadow and the scent of their musty cologne. They walk the streets cloaked in trim and tailored pea coats, the morning chill drawing them to the piazze where they greet their long-time neighbors. They are the rare few who still open doors and give up their seats upon the entrance of a woman, young or old. They are the men who flew planes over Western Europe in World War II and married their childhood sweethearts after courting them for years.

A space in my heart is reserved for these elderly men who have made such an impression upon me during my first few weeks in Italy. After the passing of my grandfathers at an early age, they provide me with a sense of patriarchal guidance that I secretly desire.

I first met Oscar, Loredana’s ninety-year-old gentleman-friend, at a Sunday banquet inside the Ospedale degli Innocenti. In a booming voice, he described to me the great beauty and importance of the ancient grounds, a light in his eyes serving as proof of his knowledge and affection for Florence.

Vittorio is Loredana’s other companion. He smells of sweet cinnamon and wears a matching tweed ensemble. One afternoon, I shared with him pieces of creamy Bolognese chocolate while he shared with me his memories of this famous town.

Once, by chance, I happened upon a performance by a group of 20 men, gathered in a semicircle singing with a low bravado the strains of Italy’s history – her rich past, her generous gifts to her people, her promising future. Their voices resonated within the covered corner of the palazzo, filling the night with the stories of these proud men who once ran across Tuscany’s green hills but now slowly inch their way to the supermercato.

Maybe they were mammoni, heartthrob teenagers or hardworking fathers. Maybe they delivered morning newspapers, measured prescriptions at a pharmacy or twirled their wives around the kitchen under the slight glow of the silver moonlight.

It seems as though these men possess hearts that are tender and pure, hearts that have loved, been loved and will continue to love for the rest of their lives.

How much time they have left I do not know, but tomorrow, I will smile at them, a smile that lets them know that I am honored to have crossed their path on these narrow cobblestone streets.

Wednesday, January 26, 2011

The Face of Florence

The looming shadow of the Duomo, the uneven surface of the cobblestone streets, the soft curves of David’s pale cheeks – all emblems of Italy’s “La Bella Figura.” While these images create a sense of nostalgia for the Italian homeland, transcribed in the face of my nonna italiana, Loredana, I see a richer history.

A mother of three and grandmother of five, Loredana has powder-dusted skin and a broad smile that hold the true story of Florence. One look into her eyes transports me to her family suppers around a knotted, wooden table. On her lips is the residue of each kiss she has bestowed on her child, neighbor and childhood lover. Each wrinkle stores a strain of laughter shared at a festival and a sliver of sorrow upon the loss of a friend.

She walks the streets dressed in fine furs and silk scarves. Aside from her confident face, everything else remains covered. As the air breezes past her, I imagine the savory aromas of fresh focaccia and rich espresso absorbed into her skin. She is a presence of vitality on Via Frusa, where she has lived for the past 52 years. She greets her neighbors with a kiss on the cheek, a small moment of joy marked by a trace of maroon lipstick.

A gentle glow washes over her face as she greets me each morning. I imagine all of the students she has taken care of over the years, missing their own mothers and grandmothers, yet comforted by Loredana’s reassuring presence – her gesture to join her at the table for a steaming caffè latte. She is the face of all of Italy’s hardworking mothers - those who have spent years perfecting the art of fresh-made pasta, teaching their children how to respect their elders and reminding them each day of the proud heritage they represent. It is her face that is the key to understanding the strength of the Italian family, which has survived years of tumultuous politics, Fascism and new-age globalization.

Flipping through my history textbook, I see pictures of ancient ruins, commanding emperors and page after page of terraced villages– yet the moments spent with Loredana tell me more about Italy than words could ever describe. I’ve heard scholars say that history has a habit of repeating itself, weathering the earth with trials to test her strength. Filling the bags under Loredana’s eyes are images of crumbling walls and drooping rooftops of tired, rustic communities that have faced hunger and bombings, their children drafted into senseless wars. A photo’s caption renders nothing compared to her personal journey.

While I have passed by hundreds of Italian women on the streets of Florence, their designer sunglasses and tight-lipped frowns don’t reveal to me the same magic I witness when I return home to Loredana. She embodies the true Italian spirit: the charm of old-world hospitality, the practice of caring for your neighbors and the reassurance of knowing that no matter what happens, family will always remain.

Monday, January 24, 2011

I love Lucca

***Lucca, a small walled city in northwest Tuscany, nestled within a valley of deep-green, undulating hills and touted, terra cotta villas.***

After taking an 80 minute train ride from Florence to Lucca, upon which Catherine and I consulted our new crush, Rick Steves, for suggestions for our day-long tour, we arrived with an excitement for exploration and a list of places we wanted to visit. Although we accidentally started walking away from Lucca, into a smaller suburban community, we quickly realized our mistake and rerouted ourselves back on track. We picked up a map at an information center and shortly after heading into the city, we met Megan, an 24 year-old from Australia who was also visiting Lucca for the day. We all hit it off rather well and decided we would explore the city together!

Our first impression of Lucca was how peaceful it was … i.e., how we were the only ones there! We decided to start our exploration with Lucca’s most famous churches – San Michele and Lucca's Duomo. The first church was large and also housed a large wooden crucifix carved by Jesus’ disciple Niccodimus, shortly after the crucifixion. Legend has it that the crucifix came mysteriously into the down in a carriage guided by two oxen and that the features of Jesus’ face were divinely carved. Every year, the people of Lucca carry the large crucifix in a procession throughout the town in honor of the miracle of the sacred treasure. The next church was interesting because underneath was an excavation site with remains of ancient Roman baths and remnants of dwellings from the 3rd to 5th centuries. We were allowed to go down and walk through the ruins and marveled how accessible the archeological site was … and again, we were the only ones there! We finished our religious exploration with a trip to a museum next door, which housed gigantic (HUGE!) golden jewelry pieces that were made for the Volto Santo, meaning the Holy Spirit. They were so grand and brilliant – large than life – pieces which truly only God could wear J

After filling ourselves spiritually, we headed deeper into the heart of the city to find Café di Simo, where Puccini used to frequent, for a caffe and pastry. On our way there, we passed by a Chocolate store made to look like the store from the movie Chocolat … do I even need to say that I immediately lunged towards the store? Inside was simple and all dedicated to the beauty of chocolate. A case in the center displayed plates of small delectable treats and I bought one of each of the four varieties to take home to Loredana and Liz as a little Lucca treat. Realizing our hunger, we made our way back outside and soon found the café. Inside was wonderful and we seated ourselves to a table and started lunch with a bowl of traditional Lucchese soup made with faro and then dined on fresh sautéed spinach, roasted vegetables, papapomodoro and fresh rolls. I can see why Puccini loved this place too much.

After our lovely lunch, we went back outside and made our way to a tower, the torre guinigi, and climbed up the 200 stairs to the view from the top. It was incredible! The entire city looked like a vision from a dream – the houses covered in mossy terra cotta shingles, the old church architecture spiraling towards the sky, the hills surrounding the small city. It was breathtaking and made us love Lucca even more.

Rick told us about several foods and products that Lucca is known for, one of which is called Buccelato – a slightly sweet bread with raisins and anise. We found a bakery that had loaves and wreaths of buccelato in the window, so we entered and each purchased a loaf to bring back to our families and then got a loaf for the three of us to split. We sat on the steps of a beautiful while church and broke off hunks of the bread as we talked and laughed about our time in Italy thus far.

We then ventured to the Palazzo Mansi, which is the equivalent of Lucca’s Versailles. Again, the only ones there, we walked through rooms with vaulted ceilings that we adorned with beautiful frescos. Other rooms were gilded with silk tapestries that told the stories of ancient Roman history. The other rooms were covered with wonderful works of art and we analyzed the expressions of the characters we saw, wondering what was going through their minds and the types of things they might have pondered during their lifetime.

Going back outside, we decided to walk around the perimeter of the city on top of the wall – which is very wide and something you wouldn’t even notice was a wall unless you saw the bricks on the outside of the city. We enjoyed the hour-long walk, talking about life and watching the 360-degree view of the Tuscan countryside. Che bellissima!

We walked back down into the city to see that the town had finally come alive with people! I guess they don’t wake up until 5 in the afternoon! Those Italians… well, I suppose it was Saturday. We started to hear drums and trumpets playing and quickly headed towards the music. In the middle of a piazza was a group of red, white and green clad performers, playing music and twirling flags in what we guessed was a celebration of the town. Many people were gathered around and it was neat to see people so excited and proud of their community.

After more walking, we bid our Australian friend goodbye, as she had to catch a train back home, and then we made our way throughout the town, stopping to grab an espresso and talk before heading over to the church to watch an opera concert in honor of Puccini. And what a treat that was! Performed in front of a small audience, we watched two fabulous opera singers and a pianist perform in a beautiful setting. The acoustics were incredible and my heart melted listening to their phenomenal voices. We left stunned and felt like we had just watched angles perform.

We then made our way over to a restaurant on a tiny street, which was a recommendation by Rick Steves. We love Rick!! The ambiance was perfect. We sat down and ordered glasses of white wine and started the meal with a flan made of pecorino cheese, fondue and truffle oil. It was divine! We ate a light meal of chickpea crepes stuffed with pillows of ricotta cheese over a bed of delicious tomato sauce. This was another traditional dish from Lucca and we couldn't have been more pleased.

Looking at the time, we realized we would need to make it a fast walked back to the train station in order to catch the last train leaving to Florence. We ran through the streets, laughing and singing – people must have thought we were crazy, but we had a blast! We got our ticket and had enough time to look back on our photos from the day before we boarded the train and made out way back home to Florence. While on the train, two guys sitting next to us struck up a conversation, in somewhat hard-to-understand Italian. It turns out they were from Russia and they were insistent that we should go out with them that night. Not that we would ever say yes, but we were tired and had no desire to go out, so we fervently told them no. I made up a nice story about having Portuguese soccer player boyfriends, which seemed to attract the attention of several people on the train … if you have a good story going, roll with it! When we got to Florence, at midnight, we had a to walk to the center in order to get back home… however, the Russians started to follow us! I turned around and told them to “Back off!” and then we ran and lost them. What did they think we were going to do, turn around and say, “You’re right – we would love to go out with you.” Heck no! Looks like these guys couldn’t take a hint.

It was a very laughable way to end our adventurous day. We have plans to return to Lucca again in the spring so that we can rent bikes and bike around the wall of the city and throughout the town – a popular activity according to several of our guidebooks. Being able to travel to another town with such ease, and confidence, made us feel even more at home here in Italy. We hope to travel to see our new Australian friend in her town on the coast and maybe even travel to another Tuscan town as well! It’s easy to make friends here and I think as time goes on, the Italian love and hospitality will only increase.