That’s marble in the mountains…not snow
In my own little dream world I had imagined that the journey from France, land of the unsmiling, to Italy where everyone was family (and where I’d get offended if my ass wasn’t pinched) to be a stunningly spectacular moment in my life. I pictured the tall, dark, handsome descendants of Roman Gods fawning over me…strolling down the streets of Florence eating gelato, and never, ever wanting to leave.
In reality, I spent the first half hour in Italy crying and digging for Euro to pay for the bathrooms.
We stopped at a stazione de servizio (that’s Italian for gas station…see how the Italian language turns every word into a beautiful thing?). I decided to call home for the first time, since it was day six of my trip and I hadn’t even called to let mi familia know that I made it to Europe okay.
It was 4 am in the States but I knew my mom wouldn’t care. I got the answering machine…and as soon as I started leaving a message I started crying. At that moment I felt homesick. And then my mom picked up and I could barely speak. I hadn’t realized just how much I missed my mom.
And then….I had to pee.
In Europe you have to pay to use the restrooms. There’s always a little old lady sitting outside with a little basket to collect Euro as tourists enter. This was the first opportunity I had to speak Italian. Romantic, eh? Quanto costa? (how much does it cost?)
We stopped in Pisa and gazed at the Leaning Tower…I refused to do the cheesy Tourist-holding-the-tower-up picture. I mean…I was in Italy, I was supposed to be cool…Sophisticated…cultured….
We lunched at an outdoor cafe and watched part of the World Cup semi-finals (I can’t remember who was playing). I had Gnocchi with Four Cheeses…
D E L I C I O U S ! !
Probably the best meal I had in all of Europe. I’m still dreaming out this stuff…it’s that good.
