Country Girl Meets Foreign City

“Ciao Bella,” a local shouts down Via 27 Aprile, as I rush to class with culture-shocked feet on the historic cobblestones near my apartment. Lucky me, I was given my own room in a family-style apartment located in the outskirts of the city, with six other girls from New England. A green park sat one block away, a bar, just five steps, and a grocery store only seconds around the corner. How convenient, especially for this country girl!

A month into it all, and still, I couldn’t believe this was my new home ~ Florence, Italy ~ a foreign place, a foreign taste. Throwing myself into the culture, I yell back, “Ciao, Come stei!” greeting him with a smirk and some broken Italian I had just learned earlier that week in class. I lived approximately seven minutes from school ~ by foot! I timed it once for good time’s sake. My school, Lorenzo de’ Medici, was hidden amongst the shops, restaurants and offices of the same street, and its large main doors opened to rooms full of eager, excited American faces.

I remembered how much planning it took to get here ~ the paperwork, money saving, and continuous “to-do” list that sat in my pocket. API (Academic Programs International) had been my own living savior ~ setting up four included excursions, apartment-style living accommodations, and even a pre-departure online orientation that assists students before the big trip.

Alitalia, an Italian airline, carried me and my two jam-packed, bright red suitcases over oceans to my new home for the next semester, where I’d be living in one of the most popular study abroad cities for international students. One eight hour flight to Roma, followed by one hour flight to Firenze later, and there I was, standing amidst hundreds of other American students as we poured into buses at the airport.

Still tasting the bitter sting of my morning espresso on my tongue, I move further into the city, wrapping my eyes around the Ponte Vecchio, which in the daytime stands draped in the finest golds. At night, the jewelry is put away in larger-than-life treasure chests which sleep over the sea-foam green Arno. The flowing water reflects into the windows of waterfront “ristorantes” and “trattorias.” Couples clink their wine glasses together and with a proud “Cin Cin!” the night is toasted over warm pasta, aromatic, ground spices and sliced cheeses. And that was just the first course!

Children are sitting with their backs to the wind, downing flavorful, homemade gelato and listening to a native guitarist strum a few chords. Walking by, I breathe it all in, even the Italian sung lyrics that I can only half-understand. I went to Italy with plans of performing live and continuing my passion for music in a foreign place. Joining the music club at school, I was given opportunities to perform at the Eskimo Club, a small, jazzy bar in Firenze, for new friends and local music-lovers. I felt alive when native Italians applauded after I belted out some of my favorite tunes.

Nibbling on a chocolate “cornetto,” I lick my lips and continue my adventure onto “the other side” of Firenze. I thank my feet for walking ~ or rather, for “walking-off” ~ the handful of desserts I have consumed since stepping into this country! Terracotta roofs line the river ~ in salmon, peach and canary ~ creating rolling hills of color which mimic thaose of the natural curvature of the Italian terrain.

Fie Sole sits in the distance ~ a high peak, only a twenty minute bus ride away. My writing class gathered there once on a warm Spring day; class on a mountain, IN ITALY…it never got old. Silly me got off a stop too early, distracted by a loud song in my headphones. Sitting outside on a block of concrete, I took out my newly purchased, leather-bound journal and began to write, waiting for the next bus to come bring me to my destination. I was lost in Firenze, with just a blank page, an exotic breeze, and a smile on my face.

From my spot, I could point to all the places that now made up my home: the Duomo, Boboli Gardens, Uffizi, Academia, San Lorenzo Markets, San Minato, and Piazzale Michelangelo ~ to name just a few. My hand began moving as my mind began weaving through the top sites of Firenze.

I tied my journal and sat still in the silence of Italy, focusing on the finely cultivated vineyards neighboring my body. Lost, I had found myself on a journey to the top of a city that had welcomed me in with warm hands, like a distant friend. In time, we’d meet again in the grape-filled valleys of the rolling hills and speak in the undisturbed silence with content grins.

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