This post is officially dedicated to all those who enjoy looking at the pictures on blogs more than reading the entries. I myself am oft times a perpetrator of this very habit, I confess.
To all other loyal readers, my apologies and I promise my upcoming post from Istanbul will be more verbose.
Italy. Was. Stunning. From the moment I stepped off the airplane, I could feel the difference. I was in Europe! I went into the restroom before heading down to get my bags and washed my face with the water from the tap. Tempting fate, I even let a little get in my mouth!
Waiting for me after the baggage carousel was my good friend Anna from Cincinnati, who lives near Rome. Anna welcomed me with a huge hug and we went off with arms linked to remember where she'd parked her car.
While catching up and grinning ear to ear I met Anna's fabu little car. Unfortunately, 30 minutes later the little car met the back of a tow truck when it jammed in 4th gear on our way to her house.
After squeezing ourselves into the cab of a tow truck with two large, sweaty Italian men ("they just yell because they're Italian, they're not actually angry" Anna kept reminding me), our little adventure ended when the father of the family Anna works for rescued us and we headed up into the hills to Marino, a small, picturesque town on the side of an inactive volcano about 30 minutes outside Rome.
Over the next few days, Anna and I hung out with the kids of the family she teaches and rode around the beautiful countryside in Marino, enjoying the scenery, fabulous food and drinks and general Italian-ness of the environs.
In fact, when Anna asked me what struck me as different in Italy, I answered... "uh, it seems kind of the same as home, actually." She seemed incredulous, as things are indubitably different in Italy than they are at home, and I reconsidered, countering with... "well, after India, anything in the developed world is going to feel like home."
Had I really gotten to the point where Italy seemed like home just because I didn't get the shits every few days, see beggars around every corner or run smack dab into breathtaking Buddhist/Hindu or Jain temples while shuffling down side streets?
I suppose my life had reached a new level of relativity, hopefully for the better.
Hiding out in beautiful and pastoral Marino as my body and bowels continued to recover from my trials and tribulations in India was lovely. Anna nursed me back to health with cough syrup and lemoncello and the normalcy of hanging out with the family she lives with and works for around the dinner table as they chatted happily away in French was wonderful.
After a few days, however, it was time to hit up some of the old stuff. We headed into Rome to check out the Colosseum, Roman Forum, Saint Peter's cathedral, Hadrian's column, the Pieta, the Pantheon, Roman-Jewish synagogue museum AND..... Senor Toner! My brother John came in to meet us in Rome and we three had an amazing time exploring Rome with Anna as our superb guide.
In the middle of our day in Rome, just as I thought I might wilt and keel over from the heat, we came upon the Trevi fountain. It was a refreshingly lovely sight in the withering heat, but just as I was about to rip off my sweaty tourist gear to reveal my black bustier and frolic in its cool waters a la Anita Ekberg in La Dolce Vita, Anna reminded me that it was full of bleach in order to keep the sculptures clean, and a police woman blew her whistle at a fellow dipping in a bit too much ankle. The moment was lost.
After our relaxing and fun-filled stay with Anna in Rome, John and I caught the slow train north to Tuscany to meet up with my dad and step-mom in Florence.
For anyone who has ever had a long trip, full of once-in-a-lifetime revelations and re-evaluations, for anyone who has seen the dark side of the world, the light side of humanity and feels as though they've grown as an individual and a member of the human race, I would like to videotape that person in a car with their immediate family and watch them swiftly revert to an 8-year old child once again.
After loving hugs, exchanged gifts and catching up on the past 8 months of my life with my family, we all piled into a car and proceeded to revert to the year 1988. Dad is always driving the rental car, although he refuses to look at road signs and instead gets more and more frustrated as he yells "where am I going???" while John and Carol and I start screaming out directions (often conflicting), based on mere conjecture and whim, yelling louder and louder in a frenzy of uninformed assuredness, until someone is either crying, angry, pissed that no one is listening to them although they're obviously right (this one is me), or giving the entire car the silent treatment (this one is also me).
Luckily, we made it to a restaurant safely, ate, and were stuffed to the point of relative silence on the ride back home for the evening.
It was both humbling and amazing to be around family once again.
Over the next week, we explored the tuscan countryside, stopping at wineries, farms and roadside attractions promising home sale of everything from olive oil to saffron. We ate amazing fresh food, sat by the pool, made it to the sea coast, and stuffed ourselves with melting gelato. We even managed to get on a "hello"/"bonjour" basis with the French famlies renting apartments near us by the end of the week.
Heading into Florence proper, we broke every traffic law in the book, repeatedly, with Dad driving directly through the "Zona Traffico," in which tourists are heavily ticketed for entering, as it's only for locals, as we three yelled and directed from the back seat and urged him "don't stop!" when he inquired as to whether we should consult with the friendly-looking Italian police officers staring in our direction.
We walked by the Ponte Vecchio as I hummed "O Mio Babbino Caro" in my head (and thought to myself... ok, you can throw yourself off that, but you're gonna get a bad sprain at best!), toured the amazing Uffizi museum, with its stunning collection by artists such as Leonardo da Vinci, Michelangelo, Rembrandt, Botticelli and Caravaggio in room after room of breathtaking original works of art.
As the second week in Italy came to a close, our family finally began to relax and gel. And, as we were saying our goodbyes we lamented that we didn't have another week to enjoy the rolling Tuscan countryside, fine wines, fresh pastas and amazing company.Carol and Dad made for the airport, praying that customs wouldn't slap them with parking tickets on their way out of the country, and John and I headed back to Rome, with him flying home to move to New York City to begin a graduate degree and me flying out to Istanbul to begin a new job.
The world was pulling us all in different directions for the time being. But, if only for just 6 days, we had been together, yelling and screaming and laughing and giving directions and getting pissed, and I was going to miss it.
