Arrivederci

Until we meet again, readers!

It’s been one month since I boarded a plane back to the USA. In some ways, I felt ready to leave Italy (summer is TOO HOT! Did I mention that yet?). But overall, I was dreading leaving. I was so anxious the night before I left that I didn’t finish my favorite pasta (amatriciana) at one of my favorite local spots in Rome (my secret, mi dispiace). The waiter was disappointed in me, and proceeded to tease me in Italian, asking me when I’d be back next. As soon as I can.

Italian summer, baby !!

I won’t lie, it hasn’t been an easy adjustment. I forgot how much people work here, eating sandwiches as they rush to the next meeting. I forgot how people in the USA schedule everything, including fun.

In Italy, there’s an expression, c’é sempre tempo a prendere una birra con gli amici - there’s always time to get beer with friends. I miss that so much - the effortless way that I met up with friends, colleagues or folks around town. I walked everywhere in Italy, so I was always bumping into someone I knew, be it my landlord or the builder in town or a friend. Back in the USA, everything feels formal, scheduled, and at times, cold. When I go on my runs and say hello to passerby’s, almost no one says “hi” back.

I’m trying to hold onto my Italian ways as much as I can- shopping local, starting up conversations, drinking many espresso shots (though I do drink milk in the afternoon! mi dispiace!), walking everywhere.

Some snaps of my last day - still in awe!

My first night in my new city, I was feeling discouraged. But on my evening passeggiata, I overheard the familiar r-rolling, sing-song language that I now consider myself fluent in (there, I said it). It was a group of Italians on vacation- in my small city! I ran up to them and talked with them, gesturing overenthusiastically. I could tell they were excited to speak Italian in the US too- they told me they were shocked to find an Italian speaker. We spoke about the usual things, laughing at Viterbo - what a strange place, they said- spoke about the summer heat (the worst!), and they complimented my Italian. It was just what I needed.

I have so much overdue reflection. I spent 10 months in my favorite country, and I’ll probably spend years trying to figure out how to get back (tips welcome!). To start, this fall, I’ll be tackling my citizenship application.

I wanted to thank you all, my wonderful readers, for joining me on this ride. I so looked forward to sharing my days and insights with you all. On my walks and travels and train rides, I often spent my time writing this blog by hand or in my head. It was such an unexpected gift for me to get to share such personal writing with an audience. I hope to start another Substack newsletter, and you all will be the first the know. Graziemille isn’t enough to cover how deeply grateful I am.

To end, I wanted to share one of my favorite poems. I made a slight change to it, which I’m sure you’ll easily find. It sums up how I have felt the past year - slightly like an imposter, but deeply at home and in love, ever grateful, and filled to the brim with joy and espresso.

I am not Italian by Bill Collins

I am not Italian, technically speaking,
yet here I am leaning on a zinc bar in Viterbo
on a sunny weekday morning,
my foot up on the smooth iron railing
just like the other men, who,
it must be said, are officially and fully Italian.

It’s 8:40 and they are off to work,
some in offices, others sweeping the streets,
while I am off to a museum or a church
to see paintings, maybe light a candle in an alcove.
Yet here we all are in our suits and work shirts
joined in the brotherhood of espresso,

or how is it said? La fratellanza dell’espresso,
draining our little white cups
with a quick flourish of the wrist,
each of us tasting the same sweetness of life,
if you take a little sugar, and the bitterness
of its brevity, whether you choose to take sugar or not.

Spotted on the Tiber, on my last night. More eternal than Rome.

alla prossima,

Olivia