Stephanie Howell

I’ve been a bit frustrated lately. It’s tough sometimes being in a country where you don’t speak the language, even though you desperately want to.

Let’s be honest. I am an extrovert. I crave conversation, I crave being around and communicating with other people. That’s damn hard when you don’t speak the same language as everyone else does. A smile only goes so far. 🙂

It’s tough learning to drive in a country where the rules are all different. Where cyclists fly out NOWHERE in front of you at every turn. White knuckles, to say the least.

Its tough getting used to a “it gets done whenever it gets done” way of life when you’ve depended so long on efficiency.

With that being said, it all balances out.

The beautiful things about this country FAR outweigh the frustrating ones.

And the other day when I was a bit down (missing my family and friends, feeling aggravated) I had one of those perfect Italian moments.

I sat at my kitchen table, drinking coffee and listening to the church bells pealing. This was my view:

Right then and there I decided to combat the blues with a little neighborhood walk.

I loaded Cate and Lucy into the wagon and first we stopped by the little produce store on our block. I looked up how to say everything I wanted…I’m determined to try to speak Italian as much as possible.

I managed to communicate quite well and I didn’t even feel embarrased or frustrated!

One thing I’ve noticed here is that you make an effort…if you really try to speak and learn Italian, the locals really appreciate it and respond in a really positive and helpful way.

Then we went into a shoe store and got the girls sneakers. Again, I did okay on the Italian and that made me feel even better.

Sidenote: I kept thinking “There are so many stores called Saldi here!” and then I realized Saldi means “sale”. Ummm. Way to go Stephanie. Bahaha.

After some retail therapy, we went into Gelaterie Sofia and had arugula, cheese and prosciutto sandwiches. Accompanied by a nice cold Fanta, of course. The Fanta here is amazing. A bit bitter and not sugary sweet like American orange soda.

We also shared a mushroom risotto that was INCREDIBLE. You should have seen Cate and Lucy devour it. More,Mommy…MORE!

Then we had to get gelato. Of course.

The girls were screaming FRAGOLA GEYATO! FRAGOLA GEYATO! So strawberry it was.

I loaded them in the wagon and we walked back home.

I was eating my gelato, pulling my babies through town, and I was so happy.

People stopped us every few steps to fawn over the twins. They love love love children here. Even a group of 20 something guys stopped and were going on and on about how cute they are. HA!

A Canadian couple stopped me to ask for directions and I actually knew the answer!

Nuns paused to talk to us, A man on a bicycle gave the girls a flower as he rode by….

and it was just PERFECT. A perfect Italian moment.

The kind of moment I’ll hold on to when I’m frustrated and overwhelmed and in over my head.

Ciao Ciao!

S

So. This will be long. I don’t like not blogging. So I have some words built up in me. Apologies in advance. 🙂

Now that I’m out of the land of no-internet-exile…

Where to begin? Let’s see.

The movers came.

They brought everything up into our apartment on this tiny lift. You see, it’s about a zillion stairs just to get up to our apartment. And the stairs are NARROW.

Hence this contraption. I said a prayer and let it go. No time for worrying.

The Italian movers? Were amazing. There were seven of them. One was about 80 and his name was Gigi. He had an eye patch.

He knew I didn’t speak Italian but he LOVED me and would go on long winded tirades in Italian. I would just smile and nod. He let me ride up and down on the lift on the back of his truck.

One looked like a German bearded Harley rider. One was the perfect cross of Jason Statham and Hugh Jackman.

One was ridiculously handsome and charming and drew me a map to the best wine store in Vicenza. They all treated our belongings the way they should be treated. Like treasures. Memories.

The results from America? Not so amazing.

All of the glass Christmas ornaments that I’ve lovingly collected since the beginning of our marriage? Smashed.

Tables, armoires, dressers, headboards and footboards, framed photos…broken.

I found my Mac Desktop and my John Derian trays shoved in boxes with other items. With no wrapping around them.

Gigi went on and on in Italian. All I caught were the words “American brutes!”. German Harley rider and Hugh Jackman taught me curse words in Italian. It was very helpful.

Moving on. What else has happened?

We unpacked. Pretty much all of it in 2 days. I’m GOOD after so many moves. Not afraid to toot my own horn.

We explored our neigborhood:

(their birthday is 24 november)

and walked/explored our neighborhood some more:

I found out that Italian groceries sell liters of prosecco for less than 2 euro. That’s what you get for living in the birth place (well, region) of prosecco!

We went grocery shopping dressed like this:

I discovered my new favorite drink is Prosecco Spritz with a dash of raspberry.

We attended our first Italian carnival.

Oh yes.

I also got my debit card eaten by an Italian ATM machine.

I ate too many pasta dishes and too many clams. I had too much gelato. For the record? Nocciola is still my favorite.

I tried, and failed horribly, to speak Italian. Usually the Italians take pity on me and start speaking English. I don’t like this. How will I learn? 🙂

I had my washer and dryer delivered and undelivered 3x because they kept bringing the wrong kind, then they forgot the lift, then they brought the wrong kind of lift that couldn’t fit in my courtyard.

I had a long conversation with a nun on my street. I understood maybe 1/3 of it.

I drove. A lot. And stopped gripping the steering wheel so hard.

Lucy stuck her ciocallato gelato on Harper’s bottom. The Italians laughed so hard.

I tripped the breaker. Lots. Still don’t know why.

I navigated a Chinese buffet where everyone spoke Italian and I had NO idea what to do.

I filled up my car for the first time.

I tried to explain bidets to our girls.

I tried to bake 12 minute break and bake cookies in my oven. It took one hour. And they still weren’t cooked.

Don’t think I’ll be cooking poultry anytime soon.

Ciao Ciao!

S