Rules and Reminiscent Rides

As I am writing this, I am sitting on the train staring at the crater-like Dolomites. The sun is peering through the silver lined clouds and illuminating the snow-capped peaks and the mid-morning steam murmuring from the summit is akin to my “tre al giorno caffé.” Coming from the Rocky Mountains, I am not completely speechless, but, nevertheless, there lies a uniqueness that each natural wonder bestows to the world. That being said, as I sit back and reminisce about each voyage via train, each landscape was quite a sundry of scenery and hence, utterly distinguishable. In Firenze, there were the rolling hills, sprinkled with the slender, delicate Cyprus trees that compose that picturesque Tuscan landscape; or, the lush Piedmont vegetation in Torino where the best chocolate (in my opinion) happens to be crafted; or, even the blend of Fascist and Modern architecture with hints of Neoclassical nodes that illuminate the city of Milan. Oh, Milano.
Yes, I bid adieu to Milan today. As cliché as this may sound, it seems like I said goodbye to my home in Denver “just yesterday.” It went by incredibly fast, too fast. All good things must eventually end, and Milan was a “good thing,” for several reasons. Perhaps I am different now. I can’t see how I would be the same after being abroad for some time. I will miss it terribly, though. Not the fashion or the extravagant indulgences, like deciding if I want this season’s limited-edition Prada bag in “celestial” blue or perhaps hold off until Gucci launches the must-have “ambrosia” evening clutch. God. I definitely wont miss that nonsense; but, that “pleasure seeking through luxurious details” exists everywhere, but Milan happens to be the Mecca where the deal is made and the decadence ensues. My Pilgrimage to Milan was not to visit every flagship store of the world’s most popular Italian luxury brands and trend set myself back to Denver with Milanese prêt-a-porter threads. Yeah right. I am a Coloradoan at heart because believe me, after one week here, I realized just how “un-fashionable” I was. Honestly, I would gladly wear my gym clothes all day and be completely content (sorry, Mom) but that is not necessarily a great quality either: comfort and haute couture via gym wear. Some things never change. After all, you cannot break into a sprint or walk the concrete jungle in a pencil skirt and stilettos, but somehow the Italians do it elegantly and poised everyday. I envy their strength and perseverance to always put fashion before ease. Because after one night in my heels, they definitely never saw the light of day again; and, I don’t think my feet talked to me for a week.
No, but, seriously, my cause was very different from the typical rationale behind living in Milan. Some might say, “why the hell would you go to Milan, why not Florence or Rome?” Good question. Or, I love this one, “Why the hell do you want to learn Italian?” Another good question that I don’t have a suitable answer to. My qualified answer is usually just “Well, because I want to.” Truly, every time I hear the language spoken it sounds like a harmonious blend of rhythm and poetry. The intonation and the stress of certain syllabi and even the stereotypical hand gestures that accompany the language emulates the art of singing, and thus, it is music to my ears… Ok, enough of the sappy rambling, but I really do think that Italian is a handsome spoken language. Back to my original point, pre-tangent, that perfectly eligible question that I hear time and time again is usually followed by something to the tune of, “I don’t know if you know this, but Italian is only spoken in Italy, so it is not that useful outside of here.” I would usually respond, puzzled and slightly smart-assed “Really?” or in Italian, “Davvero?” Why does every action need an accompanying definitive purpose before it is qualified as a worthy move? This is not a chess game, although the “life is akin to a chess game” is certainly a practical analogy—you should be completely strategic and deliberate with your moves. Every move counts. Yes, this is true. Every move does count and you need to take those calculated risks to advance to the next phase. Well, if my life is a chess game, then I will make the rules.
Rule #1: There is always a reason for everything and a purpose, even if it happens to be covert, it will eventually become known (Coming to Italy in the first place). Rule #2: Take risks and try something new as often as possible (Traveling da sola not knowing more than ciao and grazie initially & exploring the rest of the country da sola). Rule #3: Sometimes negate Rule #2 and create a routine where comfort resides that will never fall to monotony and boredom (Going to the same coffee bars everyday and meeting some great people that always made me feel at home in this foreign place). My drafted and proposed purpose for coming to Italy prior to leaving was the following: #1 I wanted to learn another language (I chose Italian) and #2 I wanted to live abroad. Quite simply, those were my reasons, but undoubtedly, the experience led to other self-discoveries that will continue to manifest as I gradually make my way back to the States. See, for me, I know that I acquired many more lessons learned than just how to say hello and goodbye in another language (I can say more than that, by the way). Now I am off to try to figure out German for a few days…Ich spreche kein Deutsch…

The McPanino Classic

I never, ever eat fast food at home, but now I cannot get enough of my gourmet boxed lunch, a la Happy Meal. McDonald's has become as hypnotic for me as the vineyards in Tuscany are for a sommelier. Of course, this could not be further from Italian food, which is probably why it is always ridiculously crowded in every McDonald’s. They are sick and tired of their own food too. Can’t blame them.

McDonald’s in Italy is a dining experience, or so it seems. Every store has a manager that is dressed in Armani or Gucci or some designer suit; and, he stands in his store, keeping it pristine, greeting the people, making sure the food is expedited in a delicious, fresh manner etc. Definitely never saw a McD’s manager in the States sporting an Armani suit to work or demanding high-quality Big Macs or fresh fries from his staff. This was an experience in an of itself, which I highly recommend.

You will never be able to find a Parmigiano Big Mac or a McPanino, which is their version of the Egg McMuffin, in the States. These are tasty treats and undoubtedly a nice break from the typical Italian fare. At least for me, it satisfied my hunger and gave me an appreciation for anything furthest from Italian food and Nutella now.

Oddly enough, McDonald's is almost as ubiquitous as Italian coffee bars in Milan (not quite), but let's just say that there are more McD's establishments in Milan than in any other city in the entire country... This explains why I cannot resist the temptation...I mean, I only live two minutes away from one... Speaking of which, I am getting hungry now and the delectable, little cheeseburgers are beckoning me...

Nutella, Peanut Butter, and Apricot Jelly...

Besides some “important historical monuments,” Italy is known for her food, among other particulars. Obviously the delectable fare that comes to mind is the pizza, pasta, and panini, at least for me. Aside from the fairly obvious choices, there are the regional dishes that break up the monotony of the “carb” infested dough, oh, and more dough. In my travels, I vowed to myself that I would entertain some caution, but also renounce my picky palate. With that unspoken promise, I have been quite experimental with my food selections. Let’s start with Milan. Yeah, it is your fairly basic piatti di Italia (Italian dishes). Every morning I eat a brioche con marmelata (croissant filled with jelly) and drink my cappuccio* (which is an Italian shortened slang for cappuccino). *Another classic Erica tangent: anything spelled with a ci is pronounced “ch”* Before now, I never thought I would like apricot jelly…wow. Definitely give it a try, even if you think you would have an aversion to apricot jelly. Try it. Trust me. I wish that I would have given this fantastic spread a fair attempt, especially after all those years of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Sorry, strawberry. When I come home, you are OUT of the pantry.

Lunch in Milan would be a delicious PBJ with my newfound appreciation for this fuzzy fruit spread, but either there is a shortage of peanut butter or the Italians prefer other spreads (Nutella, yummy. I will get to that later). Indeed, peanut butter is scarce in Milan, probably because there is too much protein for these folks to handle in one sitting. So, instead, I settle for an insalata con tonno, which is a salad with tuna or a panini. Ok, I have to be honest, after about a week of panini, I was over them. Yeah, GAME OVER. Sure the meat and the cheese and the fresh bread was hard to pass up, but my waistline and my bored taste buds needed to find an alternative food source. I chose Nutella.

Yeah, and I definitely gained the lbs just to show the world my loyalty to this "chocolate-hazelnut-creamy-melt-in-your-mouth-delicious-can’t-get-enough-of-but-better-stop-eating-so-I-have-something-to-wear-while-I-am-here" spread. Because Nutella is an Italian product, it is in everything. I mean everything. The cookies, brioche, cake, gelato, candy bars, and even in your cappuccino at some bars. We couldn’t get enough of each other. Nutella and I went out for about a month, during which we had a great time, but hence, like everything else, I had to break it off and move on. Literally, I was putting Nutella on everything. Apples, bananas, bread, cookies, brioche, my tongue, whatever seemed palatable was paired with Nutella. My roommates looked at me like I was crazy because no one does that in Italy. God, I feel like I am bringing these revelations to these people, like Nutella with fruit or peanut butter…

Believe me, I would take PBJ over pizza any day. Nevertheless, now that my taste buds are completely OVER Italian food, my hunger is quenched with ANYTHING BUT Italian food (except my brioche con marmelata). n my quest to discover an appreciation for diversifying my palate, I am happy to report that my favorites still remain on my list, but not without a few recently added items… And, thanks to my breakup with Nutella and my aversion to the Italian carb loading techniques via pizza and panini, I am happy to report that my waistline is back to normal…

Camogli at Sunset

Alas, my time at the Italian Riviera was coming to an imminent end but not without my last sojourn to an exotic place. Camogli is another village situated right on the coast. The difference between Santa Margarita Ligure, Portofino, and Camogli is that the latter has a shore line with sand. The architecture was the same—little cube structures with pastel façades and so many square windows. When I arrived, the sun was beginning to set, painting the sky an array of hues and colors. The old Monastery is built right on the beach on top of these rocks that are situated in the water, emulating a path towards the horizon. My time in Camogli was short—only two hours. Nevertheless, these two hours were spent on those rocks, listening to the surf, watching the sun disappear and the sky change before my very eyes. Even though my time was short-lived, it was a treasure and an extraordinary place and final stop at the Liguria.

Dim Sung at Duomo

At La Piazza Duomo, the Mecca of Milan, resides the third largest cathedral in the world, exquisite dining and, of course, some of the best shopping in the world. I went there for the umpteenth time today because it is such an extraordinary architectural monument. It's simply magnificent. Along with the striking scenery, I enjoyed my cappuccino and a delicious panini. Somehow, my conversation always comes back to food, which brings me to a funny development... Speaking of food(again), I had my best authentic Chinese meal to date in Milano, Italy tonight. Who would have thought? As I was sitting in the resaturant, Giardino di Giada or Giada's Garden, which happens to be at La Piazza Duomo, I could not help but think that I am among Italians eating Chinese food. For some reason, it was comical to me. Not only was I eating the best dim sung of my life, but I was sitting in the company of six different nationalities and languages. Yes, I was the only American. At that moment, all of my self-proclaimed "worldliness" went out the window, and I realized that I have a lot to learn... At least in Western countries the rule of thumb states "Ladies First!" because in Asian countries, the man is always first! I learned that little cultural tidbit at dinner... 

Umbrellas and Jeans

Today it rained. It rained a lot, officially marking my first experience with the "wet season," yet, I didn't seem to mind much. There is something quite fascinating about a city in the rain--all of the colorful umbrellas that move poetically in cadence with the footsteps below... It was extraordinarily beautiful, in a simple sort of way. Despite the rain, I was content walking around sans umbrella and jacket because the rain was warm and refreshing to me; and, yes, I did get several looks from the Milanese. I am sure they were thinking, "La ragazza matta!,"but I don't mind. I am still in awe of being in Italy and living among the hustle and bustle of Milan, so the enigma each day brings is merely a new adventure to experience. Quite a bit has happened and I have made some cultural discoveries that I will share briefly. Firstly, the equivalent to our motorcycle cops ride Ducati crotch-rocket type bikes and speed all over the city, which is comical for some odd reason to me. Secondly, Lake Como is absolutely breathtaking and one of the most serene and tranquil places I have ever traveled to. I recommend. Lastly, the Italians (both men and women or in Italian uomo and donna) have never heard of jeans with flare. Seriously, the men wear tighter jeans than me, so I finally broke down and bought some straight leg jeans in an effort to blend in and assimilate myself into the Italian culture. Amusingly, some of the jeans that people wear, I don't own underwear that tight... I wonder how the hell they get those things on in the morning or how many people it requires for such an undertaking... Don't worry, though, because the jeans I bought don't require three people and some pliers to help me get them on... at least for now. Italian food is irresistible and unfortunately all carbs... Oh, well. 

Ciao for now...

Lost in Translation

Today proved that culture shock is definitely an unavoidable aspect of any experience while traveling or staying abroad. Firstly, the time change (8 hours ahead of Denver) caused me to sleep through my first corso di italiano, in other words, my first Italian language course. Whoops! Not only did I find myself running to get to my Scoula, but I also discovered that I have absolutely no idea how to navigate the absurd layout of Milan; and, shortly thereafter, I made another breakthrough about the Italian culture in Milan--no one speaks English! Talk about culture shock! Here I am, a dumb, American girl who not only speaks maybe five words in the entire Italian language, but who is also completely lost and wandering alone in a city... Let's just say that my day improved upon my executive decision to take advantage of the regional cuisine and indulge in some carb loading. Thank god for bread and Nutella-filled pastries... I will make any excuse to indulge in some chocolate and hazelnut spread, even if it means waking around a mysterious city among those who speak a language that becomes obscure to my ears...

An American Girl in Milano

Today marks the official beginning of my extended stay in a foreign place, which is definitely becoming quite the adventure already. Believe me when I say, embarking on such a journey, free and independent from anyone or anything akin to my life in Colorado, is not only empowering but also incredibly intimidating. Alas, my liberating moment of independence soon became a short-lived dose of hell. Picture this: a very blonde-consider all aspects of the word-- American girl,who does not speak more than five words of Italian, walking around lost in Milan for hours with a bulky, heavy backpack and two ridiculously sized pieces of luggage... Not an ideal way to kick off the first day.

After a few hours of that little joyride by way of shank's mare, my non-English speaking landlord decided to get with the program and come by to let me into my new digs. After taking a shower in something the size of a shoe box, I went down to the street, threw my hat Mary Tyler Moore-style up in the air and began an exploration of my new hood sans cumbersome baggage. Let's just say that things were off to a rocky start, but now I am settled and enjoying some Nutella and apples... 

Ciao