Don’t Start at the Beginning

It’s taken me awhile to write my first official “in Italy” post because I wasn’t sure where to start. And I didn’t really want to start at the beginning.

Because, honestly, the beginning was chaotic and hot. I didn’t sleep well on the plane and then made the rookie mistake of deciding to repack my bag before I went through customs. I know, I know. But I was woken up from a deep sleep when we started our descent and my brain wasn’t functioning yet. You know what else wasn’t functioning? My phone. By the time I got through the massive, slow-moving line to the customs agent, I was a bit flustered.

But this was my moment! My first opportunity to speak Italian. I had been day-dreaming for weeks about the agent asking me why I was visiting and what my favorite Fellini film was and whether I was Team Cacio e Pepe or Team all’Amatriciana…

Aaaaand, the agent asked me exactly none of those questions because the entire time he was processing me, he was speaking to another customs agent. (And clearly not about their favorite Fellini films.) But I didn’t have long to fret over it because I had to catch a train to Como, where I was staying for my first two nights in Italy.

Big surprise here: that experience went nothing like I imagined either. I had prepared and prepared for the moment, but for some reason, as I stood in front of the giant board of departures, nothing made sense to me. Which, on the other hand, gave me another opportunity to speak with someone in Italian. I went up to the customer service person and explained what I was trying to do and why I was confused. She paused. Smiled. And then spoke to me a solid wall of words that lasted for a good six to seven minutes.

Eventually, after much back and forth, we figured it out. And I was on my way to Como.

And this is where things started to turn. It was like, once I got out of the airport and moving, things started to click. I made my train transfer in Saronno effortlessly (including popping across the street from the train station to get a pastry from a sweet little Pasticceria because the café in the train station looked just a bit too corporate for me to feel good about having my first Italian pastry from it.) And then once in Como, I got to have my first real conversation in Italian with an agent at the bus station. I paid for the correct ticket and she gave me directions on which bus to take. And, to my delight, I arrived at my hotel in one piece.

Honestly though, the reason why I didn’t want to start at the beginning is because, after a week here, my experience has been so far removed from that initial hour in the airport that they don’t even feel like the same trip. Because, with the exception of a handful of challenging moments here and there, my time in Italy has been filled with joyful interactions with people, successive moments of awe, delightful surprises, and the need to constantly remind myself: I. Am. Here.

Here are some of the highlights:

Language Arts

By far, my absolute favorite aspect of being in Italy thus far has been the opportunity to speak with Italians in Italian. As someone who prides himself on his use of words, it is a strange, terrifying, and exhilarating feeling to know that I merely communicating. I know that I am not speaking beautifully. I know that I am using extremely simple words (or misusing them). I know that I am misplacing the emphasis in my pronunciation. And yet, most of the people that I speak with treat me as if I were Dante. They have been incredibly patient, kind, and helpful as I try navigate my way through the conversation. On rare occasions, people will immediately switch over to English (which I totally get), but mostly they will speak with me in Italian, or even ask me which I prefer. And, to my delight, I feel as though I have greatly improved in the last few days. With Italian all around me (being spoken, on signs, etc.), it’s like I’m building a map in my head and each new word I encounter falls into place and makes my map even more accurate and detailed and beautiful.

My favorite interaction thus far was with a bus boy at a restaurant I ate dinner at in Como. As many of you know, I drink a lot of water. On that particular night, if my water glass got any more than a quarter of an inch lower than the rim of the glass, he was there to fill it up. To me, this is the ultimate sign of good service. You expect your wine glass to stay filled; water glasses are often neglected. (As such, I prided myself on keeping water glasses full when I was a busboy and server.) So every time he filled the glass, I would say “grazie.” And each time, he would stoically nod. Finally, towards the end of dinner, I wanted to express to him why I appreciated his attention to my water glass. But I wasn’t sure if I would be able to do it in Italian. So I asked him if he spoke English (since most of the staff at the hotel did). But he told me that he did not. So, I transitioned into Italian and began explaining to him that my grandparents owned a restaurant and my first job was as a busboy. As I started to tell this story, he transformed: he lit up and became very engaged with me and by the end, expressed gratitude for my expression of gratitude. It was such a sweet moment and is the ultimate example of why I’ve worked so hard to learn as much Italian as I could before I arrived.

Eau de Italia

I love the way Italy smells. Two scents in particular stand out: cologne and cigarettes. Lots of Italian men wear cologne and their cologne doesn’t smell like most of the cologne I’m familiar with from the US. I don’t even know how to describe it. It’s like, if all American cologne uses one base note, then Italian cologne uses a completely different base note. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wanted to stop a man and ask him what scent he is wearing.

And then the cigarette smoke. Okay, this was something I was really nervous about. I hate cigarette smoke. Especially when I’m eating. But somehow, the cigarette smoke smells different here. It’s softer, more elegant. When I think of the smell of cigarettes from say, my walk to work in downtown Portland, I remember it as harsh and suffocating. The smoke here is subtler and less intrusive. (Now, I’m speaking generally here…occasionally, I will smell cigarette smoke that’s awful, but it’s much less frequent than in the US.)

Last thing on scents…

On my second night at Lake Como, I smelled the most delicious food being cooked. I wandered these winding, cobblestone streets, trying to find which restaurant it was coming from. I eventually realized that it was coming from someone’s home. How sweet is that?

Schedule Adjustments

When I was young, I used to complain about how late my mom would serve dinner. (No joke, sometimes as late as 9pm). So when she dropped me off at college and we found out that the dining hall started serving dinner at 4:30pm, she said, “Well, there you go. Now you can eat as early as you want!”)

So I knew that I was going to have to get used to eating dinner later here in Italy. But y’all, when people say that Italians eat late, they really mean it. On my first day in Italy, I was fighting jet lag and kept saying to myself, “If I can just make it to 5pm, I’ll eat an early dinner and then go to bed.” Come to find out, in Como, most restaurants don’t even OPEN until 7pm. (For the record, I did manage to stay awake long enough to have an absolutely incredible meal on that first night.)

Another thing I knew about Italy is that Italians traditionally have small, simple breakfasts: coffee and a croissant, usually standing up at a “bar.” This is followed by a large, substantial lunch, which sustains them until their very late dinner.

Now, along comes Grandpa Saftig here who is used to a giant bowl of steel cut oats with a handful of nuts, berries, and seeds for breakfast. For lunch, I usually do something small and simple, like a salad. And then I eat dinner around 6 or so. 

That schedule (and eating pattern) is just not possible for a tourist who is still getting his bearings here. So, what’s wound up happening is that sometimes I go for incredibly long stretches without eating anything at all. Or I’ll have two meals within an hour of each other. It’s been a bit of a challenge and honestly, I’m still trying to figure it out. But at this moment, I am grateful that I do not have stringent dietary restrictions. I eat when I can and what I can. And I’m thankful for it.

Speaking of Food

Yeah, it’s incredible. My favorite meal so far has been a lamb dish that I had in Como. It was the most tender lamb I’ve ever had (“morbido” in Italian). In Milan, I’ve found it difficult to not eat fancy. It’s like, even when I’m looking for something really simple and/or cheap, I somehow end up at a super fancy place, eating a super fancy meal. (That said, I did finally find a sweet little place for lunch today that felt very local and home-ey. I started with some sort of broccoli/garlic mush that was served in a cast iron skillet and then a giant plate of fire-red Pasta all’Amatriciana. It was all delicious and less than 20 Euro.)

Wow, this post got long quick. I’ll wrap it up.

Once or twice a day, I become acutely aware of where I am. My breath will catch and I get a rush that feels simultaneously joyful and painful at the same time. This place is so beautiful. I know I’m seeing a sheltered, tourist-ey version of it, but it is so wildly different from anything I’ve ever experienced.

And, most important, my days are filled with interactions with people…strangers on the street, clerks, servers, and other tourists. After so much time spent by myself, it feels incredible to constantly be in relationship to other people.