End of post.
Just kidding, but barely. There are a COUPLE of things that I don’t miss about living in Italy- the dial up speed internet and the fact that it was almost impossible to get anything done quickly but that’s it. I would put up with those two things for the rest of my life if I could just live in Italy forever.
By the end of our nearly three year adventure I’d mastered the art of
allora – so, then, well
domani – tomorrow
Mastered them so well that my two issues above didn’t really bother me anymore.
Here are the things I desperately miss about living in Italy.
The fact that Italians cherish children and family. I could not walk anywhere without receiving back pats and hearing Bella! Complimenti! Cara!
The produce. OH THE PRODUCE. Fresh, straight from the earth, and affordable.
The wine. DUH. The wine was cheaper than water and pure. I miss ordering a half liter or quarter liter of house wine. I miss going to the sfuzi/wine gas station.
The history. Everything here seems SO clean and sterile to me. I miss the beauty of the rooftops and the cobblestones and the ruins. I miss the brightly colored doors and shutters and the laundry flapping in the breeze.
I miss the smell. A combination of coffee, cigarette smoke (although, file the smoke under things I don’t miss),Italian being spoken, meats and cheeses, and chesnuts roasting (in the winter).
I miss the sound of church bells.
The rotaries and the sanctity of the lefthand lane on the Autostrada.
I miss the 4 hour dinners.
The fact that we could drive 6 hours and be in the south of France.
I miss Christmas markets and vin brulé.
The feeling of euro coins in my hand.
The beautiful women in their furs and sky high heels.
The nuns riding bikes.
I miss the fact that no one is in a rush or in a competition as to who is busiest. I miss la bella vita.
I miss the marble floors, wood beam ceilings, and shutters that could keep zombies out.
I miss $1 cappuccinos that blew anything I’d ever tasted at Starbucks out of the water. I miss the sound of espresso cups clinking on saucers.
The taste of gelato melting on my tongue and running all over my hands.
The sight of people just walking in their beautiful clothing during passeggiata. Watching them stop and chat and acknowledge one another. Observing their leisurely pace.
I miss the asilo that Cate and Lucy attended. I miss the nuns and the staff and the fact that every day the nuns would just sit with the girls and color and cut. I miss the fact that they were just allowed to be little.
I miss riposo and the quiet when everyone just went home and ate and slept.
Drinking an aperol spritz and watching the girls play in the piazza.
I miss being able to speak and listen to Italian, even though I butchered it daily. I miss the fact that every Italian is a teacher and will help you if you ask for help with their language.
I miss the rocky beaches.
I miss putting on gloves to buy produce.
The absence of skyscrapers.
The walking and the climbing and the fact that you could go days without having to use your car.
I miss how much affordable lodging and air travel was. And how easy it was just to GO GO GO every weekend.
I miss the sandwiches in Autostrada gas stations.
I miss the markets and the little old man that loved my girls in the local flower shop- he tucked fresh flowers in their hair every time we walked by.
I miss sagras.
I miss Florence. I miss Florence so much I’m irrational about it. Like if someone I follow on IG is in Florence I literally cannot even look at the photos.
I miss Carnevale in Venice and the castle in Sirmione and the market in Bolzano and the cheese in Asiago and spending the day in Verona. I miss Bologna and Padova and Puglia. I miss the Amalfi Coast and Cinque Terre. I miss Lake Como and Lake Garda.
I miss Vicenza and feel like it’s still home. I miss my Italian friends.
And it’s not just a thought. It’s a feeling. An ache in my heart and a constant longing. It’s tears in my eyes. Over a year and a half later. It’s in my heart. Constantly.
I miss everything.