Hello.

Keeping in touch is a peculiar thing. The common realization for anyone who moves away and returns home is that things manage to stay almost exactly as they were before they left. Yet, despite this (and strangely so), you soon begin to realize how life has moved on in its usual way with surprising ease considering that you are no longer there. The truth is that this usual life has adapted to your absence, and no matter where you are, this is a heartbreaking concept.

So, on those odd days when an old friend reaches out from that removed place in life that used to be your own, well, thats a miraculous moment indeed. It’s one of those instances that defies the belief that life moves on without you, that your impact wasn’t ever more than fleeting. It’s true that once upon a time, I contributed to the faraway lives of others in positive ways - ways that, in the end, were worth remembering. This always has the ability to put my morning on a happier than usual note (either that or the generous cup of Italian coffee that is dancing through my bloodstream). Of course, for sentimental reasons, we’ll credit my bliss on friends in far places who have the time to say hello.

Porta Palazzo

Porto Palazzo is Europe's largest open-air food market, nestled right here in Turin. Despite being instantly overwhelming, it was easy to stumble into great finds, cheap prices and sudden mischief. Blood, guts, death and kisses were just a few things that were encountered on this day trip, and due to adventure overload, I probably won't be back for a while. Still, it was a great experience that was made so by the unexpected nature of the trip. 



(If you can not view the video, please click here).

REMEMBER TO WATCH IN HIGH QUALITY.

Also, special thanks to Ali who helped navigate me through the market, which is just as large (and larger) than it sounds. Without her, I would not have had some of the amazing footage that has made this video so wacky (ie. Random fish seller giving his love).

Of falling in love with a country.

A black dress, pink cardigan and a pair of heels that haven’t been worn since they’ve been packed and unpacked several times in several countries since the middle of October. The weather allowed for a light spring coat despite the late hour, and I was ready to hit the town with two captivating Italian boys. Both aerospace engineers, I found myself feeling elevated just to be in the company of these multi-lingual comedians. The one thing I’ve learned to delight in more than Italian food is the good old Italian humor.

Sometimes I find myself falling in love with everything around me so that I’m constantly overwhelmed with passion, floating in a state of perpetual euphoria. Often times I catch myself, so caught up in my happiness, that my first reaction isn’t pleasure, but fear. What if I’m just absorbed in the blissful beginning months of a new relationship? You know what I'm referring to, those tragically misleading weeks that lure you into thoughts of everlasting happiness simply because you are helplessly engrossed within a bubble of ignorance. After all, we are so rarely the people that others intend for us to be. What if Italy has flaws larger than its defected postal system? (Is that actually possible?) But more importantly, is Italy even capable of loving me back?

But alas, until the mysteries of the universe reveal themselves, I will sit in a Russian restaurant across from two enthralling boys who bicker in that perfect Italian accent over pointless things like bridges and manners. These people that I’ve just met, I’m secretly in love with them too. I’m in love with them not just because they are positively contributing to my life abroad, but because they are completely and utterly Italian - a breed that manages to show love without ever meaning to.

When I exit any building, I have to grin widely wherever I am to outwardly show my gratefulness. The hidden truth is that I do the same thing with people, turning my head to hide my extreme delight to be in their company.  This community of friends is half the reason why I love this country in the first place. I love that Mario is eating chicken with spicy chocolate drizzled on top. I love that Daniele can’t stop using all the bad words he learned from South Park. I love that these heels echo every time they hit the cobblestones. I love that the tram is late and that we just missed the jazz show, that my drink has too much rum and that our taxi driver is beat-boxing has he drives. I love that there are two superheroes in my apartment, that it’s 2am and that I’m not tired. I love that every time I look outside my window, I see Italy. Italy, and it’s wildly enchanting Italians.

For the first time ever, there’s no where else I’d rather be.

Easter in Italy

In a country full of devout Catholics, it's no surprise that Easter is a rather big deal. Schools have been closed since Thursday (which we will call Good Friday eve), Saturday is pre-Easter and Monday is something everyone here likes to call, "Little Easter." Nothing operates on that day either, though I'm not sure what's so special about it.

I spent today, (the official regular-sized Easter) cleaning up and piping chocolate eggs down my system. Trust me, it's an old Italian tradition that goes way back and I'm inviting you to join me in my quest for diabetes.

If the video doesn't appear, I will suggest you clickity here.

I spent lunch with my lovely Italian fam eating every kind of meat imaginable (although I heard you're not actually supposed to eat at all), then we cut open the Colomba which is a traditional Italian dessert saved specifically for Easter. It's shaped like a Dove to represent peace, though some people will say it actually just represents springtime. It's a sweet bread with dried fruit on the inside and sugar pellets, almonds and more dried fruit on top. It was rather scrumptious, and I found myself getting seconds.

Dinner was held in my apartment which was graced with a dozen and a half expats from around the city having no other family to spend the holiday with. There was cheese, wine and tiramisu, so naturally I now feel like a lump of cholesterol in a pretty brown cardigan.

All in all, it was an interesting day. A little too much sweets, but that just goes to show that Easter is basically the same no matter where you are. Buona Pasqua everyone.

Genova

I know I'm chronologically skipping around here, but this is a video I made of my trip to Genova on the 29th of March. 

"But Nix, it's almost Easter, where have you been?"

After a weekend in Brescia, I've worked every morning with students from the aerospace engineering department at Politecnico University here in Turin to make a video for an Airbus competition. Also, because the girls I teach English to were leaving for Paris on Thursday, I had to compress their weekly lessons into four straight nights, leaving me me exhausted by the end of each day and unable to work on the list of personal projects I had in mind. Alas, with the weekend bestowed upon me, I can sit on my orange couch and check things off my little post-it. Clean apartment, make video, write a blog, read a book, shop for stuff.

Now, without further ado, let me introduce Genova (and make sure you are watching in high quality).



Also, if you can not view the movie, please click here.

Mantova and Brescia

13th birthday celebrations call for adventures of varying kinds. They begin at 9 in the morning with an overnight bag, snuggled in the back of a full car on the way to Mantova. At 10:27, we are singing happy birthday outside a rest stop, and, minutes later, we are crossing over the 25th parallel, clapping our hands and cheering. Indeed, growing older calls for much celebration.

Three hours later, we unfolded ourselves from the car and stepped into the humble city of Mantova, the place in which the infamous Romeo was once exiled. The city is significantly smaller than both Genova or Torino, and yet it still manages to boast grand palaces and extravagant architecture. 

Piazza Sordello comprised the majority of the city center. 

The Duomo di Mantova stood watch over the square as we made our way across the antient cobblestones, poking up against our soles. To the east stood the houses of Acerbi, haunting only if you knew the rumored history behind it. 

Then, to the East, Palazzo Ducale, a grand palace housing over 500 rooms, multiple courtyards, gardens and galleries. 

The inside was filled with a plethora of frescoes, some, of course, more common than others.

A short stroll south of the palace, led us to a series of great finds such as the Rotonda di San Lorenzo, an ancient church built in the 11th century, and the Basilica di Sant'Andrea di Mantova. More proof as to why cathedrals are my favorite places to visit.

Afterwards, we met up with family friends whos two sons practiced every english word they knew on me. “Nix, there is a table in the kitchen. That is a piano and a TV. My brother is a gay.” I uncomfortably ate cookies while the Italians joked on.

When the day ended , we said our farewells and weathered the rain and the clouds to the small town of Brescia. Here we would meet up with the grandparents of the birthday girl and feast in god-like fashion on home made Italian cuisine. When our bellies were uncomfortably full, we pulled out some chocolate cake and celebrated.

In the morning, for breakfast, I was served a mug full of raw egg yolk and sugar, a substance that sang me dreams of salmonella. When it was apparent I was having a hard time finishing the meal, they delivered two shots of espresso and suggested I pour it in. Figuring I had nothing to lose, I obliged and filled my bloodstream with cholesterol and caffeine. Honestly, I would do it again.

We spent the afternoon on the fringes of Lake Iseo, taking in the sights of mountains and water and villas. The market was in full swing and we strolled around, enjoying the good weather and cheap prices.

For lunch we overdosed on food and drove home in a daze from the week long adventure. I continue to remember the words of their mom, saying, "Oh no, you can not leave. The girls will cry. This is a problem. Really." In the end, she schemed to find me an Italian boyfriend to keep me around forever, as moms must do what moms must do to keep their children whole. Ha, and how can I complain?