We must have been half way over the Atlantic Ocean when the seat belt sign went on, and the pilot announced something in Italian, then muttered incomprehensible English. Of course, turbulence. “It’s just like driving over potholes when you’re in a car” I’ve been told before. Except, we’re talking potholes that you’d find in the New Jersey metro area, entering New York City, not to mention you’re about 30,000 feet in the air. Zach was next to me, dozing in and out of sleep, unaffected. I held it together pretty well for the first few minutes, but then the bumps became more frequent and a little more intense. I tasted panic rise from my throat, I clutched onto the armrests. Zach tried to calm me down as best he could. I had no other choice but to be calm, because the turbulence lasted for what seemed like another forty minutes. Between the Bronx style potholes in the air and the strange fellow with fuzzy, electrified hair that kept trying to use my shoulder as a pillow, I knew it would be a long night.
On that note, you can guess how happy I was to land in Milano airport the next morning. However, when I happily handed my passport over to customs, the stout, unenthused officer lackadaisically thumbed through my virgin passport pages, sighed from beneath his bushy stache, and motioned for us to move on. I looked at him with hopeful eyes and pointed to my passport- “stamp?” He shook his head and scooted me away. Zach explained how our brief transfer in Portugal only 2 hours before had earned me my entry stamp to the E.U., and I most likely wouldn’t be getting any other stamps unless it was a non-schengen country. I felt jipped, but excited nonetheless, to experience beautiful Italy for the first time.
We arrived at our base camp in the town of La Spezia, Italy, part of the Liguria region. A lively little port town that was rough around the edges, it kind of reminded me of parts of Queens, NY, except with palm trees, more gelato shops, and seemingly more tasteful graffiti. It was on this evening that my diet would do a 180 for the next ten days- cheese, gelato, olives, bread, and cheap but decent beer. Did I mention I didn’t eat dairy prior to departure?
We stayed in a charming Air BNB in the center of town, an older gentleman by the name of Marco waited patiently for our arrival (let me warn you-Italian trains are almost always delayed) and introduced us to our apartment in very broken English. As the conversation continued, Marco’s English began to dissipate altogether, and before I knew it he was primarily using vigorous hand gestures to explain the information. I giggled a bit to myself as Zach attempted translation (his voice goes up an octave and becomes more suggestive when he tries to communicate with people of a different language, but to me, he sounds like he could be Borat…), but admired his efforts nonetheless. The Italian word I knew was “scusi” and that was because I always chose to say, “excuse me” in a more fun way back at home. Marco said his goodbye with a big white smile contrasting against his weathered yet glowingly tan skin, leaving Zach and I to enjoy our quaint new home for the next few days.
I was amused by the fresh marketplace the following morning, wincing as I sipped my bitter espresso (something I was not used to). A rainbow of fruits and vegetables, colorful flowers boasting vitality, fresh mozzarella the size of softballs…I had never seen such beautiful food. Zach and I bought healthy handfuls of cherries, olives, pine nuts, some nectarines, bananas, fresh mozzarella, and zesty looking heirloom tomatoes- all for a whopping €10. Having worked at Whole Foods Market for the past three years, I could not help but feel like we hit the jackpot. Pine nuts alone were around $10 back at home. Not to mention, it was perfectly fresh.
The high quality of the food was not the only thing that caught my attention at the market place. As my parents drilled into my head before I left- “Always be observant of your surroundings, be AWARE,” I noticed something peculiar about a few people in the crowd. They weren’t interested in the beautiful array of food that lay before them, but rather, the people. I followed their eyes, seeing them look at backsides of men and women, in search of an opportune pocket. They seemed to float in and out of the crowd so quickly, peaking in pocketbooks, drifting hands right along back pockets…I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. They made it look so effortless. Each person had their own little sack slung across their bodies, and I could only imagine how many different possessions were in each. I made eye contact with one of the females, hoping to translate a message of “don’t think about it” with my attempt at an intimidating squint.
The remainder of our day was spent in Portovenere, what I believed to be an underrated seaside village only fifteen minutes away from La Spezia by bus. I was overwhelmed by the beauty of the pastel and brightly colored buildings reflecting their beauty on the teal water. My first time seeing the Mediterranean! It was everything I had imagined. Zach smiled at my enthusiasm, like a kid on Christmas morning. He took my hand and led me to the beach, where I dipped my toe in the shining water. We walked up and down the coastline, which was covered in barely clothed people of all ages. Their beautiful, balanced tans were intimidating- my fair skin screamed tourist. As the sun began its long descent on the Mediterranean later that evening, Zach and I picked out a place on the rocks to enjoy our bottle of Chianti, fresh pesto made just up the block, prosciutto, and some delicious Italian cheese I can’t pronounce. As we walked towards our destination, I tried to mind my step on the steeply slanted rocks but in doing so I dropped my full, 1.5 liter water bottle. Zach blurts “grab it!” and so I tried to race it to the waves below, scrambling on my feet. It rolled so vigorously I knew I didn’t have a chance, as my feet reached the damper areas of the rocks, I slipped onto my behind and started sliding into the water myself. I heard the group of young Italian locals laughing and blurting out phrases that I didn’t want to understand as my cheeks turned bright red. All I could think was- What. A. Tourist. And so, I contributed to polluting the Mediterranean and engraved my embarrassment in the rocks of the Portovenere coastline. Quite ironic, considering I have a degree in Sustainability.
The sunlight turned a deeper shade of pink orange as it touched our bodies, mist from the sea spraying us now and then. The pesto was melt in your mouth fantastic, particularly paired with the Chianti and our other choice of vittles. The strength of the sun seemed to refuse to weaken despite its lowering angle in the sky, so I decided to be a little Italian myself and take on the remainder of the evening in just my bra and shorts. Bottle of red in one hand, cheese in the other, and an early evening bra tan on the way. The love of my life next to me, my own Italian stallion- I was in absolute bliss. Zach and I lost track of the hours we sat in the late evening sun, as our conversations carried us into depths of ideas, passions, and random thoughts. When the sun finally kissed the edge of the horizon, it was already well past 9. A successful first day, my heart was already full of love for Italy.
