White Week

February 20, 2010

I suppose most days you forget you live in Italy.  Which I wonder if that is true for everyone living abroad because most days I have to admit I forget I live in Italy.  Everyday, (when I don’t take a taxi) I get up to walk the 2 miles to the bus stop to get on the 99 and head to Noverasco, a town that is the opposite of what you would think when someone describes a small Italian town.  Noverasco, a planned community, that somewhere has lost its plan and is instead filled with decaying peach stucco buildings and cracked balconies.  The American School sits gated and protected by Vito, a gun carrying guard and even with his Boun Giorno every morning isn’t enough to make me realize I really live in Italy.  Most of my days are spent right there at the American School of Milan, and even when I enter back into the city every night and certainly live and move within its limits, I walk and I breathe and I still forget it is Italia. My language skills are still atrocious, but the Roman columns and the 6^th century churches, the cobblestone roads that have destroyed every pair of heels I own have somehow morphed into something that feels very much like home and something that is very much a part of me. 

It isn’t until visitors come when you can see Italy through their eyes that you realize somehow that you have changed.   A change that is so subtle even your family can’t really see it, because when you see them, you fall quickly back into family roles. Positions so old that they surely originated when the sperm hit the egg. 

White Week, a time when most of my students head to the ski slopes would be the week my entire family would head across the sea to go to the Amalfi Coast and then to Rome and end with the Colosseum and Vatican.  The last time they had come was Thanksgiving of my first year, when we traveled between Milan and Florence.  The first trip, characterized by an emergency root canal for Tracey, Spencer stopping at every tabbacchi shop to purchase Italian pokey man cards all the while Cooper begging to ride on any willing family members’ shoulders.  The trip ended with the elder members of the family shocked at the patience of 3 and 6 year olds and their enthusiasm of walking through the Uffizi, and Accademia and Tracey vowing next time her boots would be flat.

 

The family returns two years older and two members larger, with the addition of John and Cameron. 

My mom and dad came a week early, first stopping off at Amsterdam for the weekend to see Riley before heading to Milan for five days.  Somehow I managed to get last minute, Last Supper tickets and they managed each day to brave the metros, train and streets to tour the city alone.  It was fun to see my over-exuberant mom and my very curious dad brave big city life.  A couple I usually see around their large farmhouse kitchen table  managed to wander together and avoid any bickering I thought I might see.  My very directionally challenged father had allowed my mom to lead the way and my mom’s map skills had not let them down. 

On Saturday the whole family would meet at Villa Eufemia.  Villa Eufemia, a place we all agreed is old, really old on the hills of Amalfi.  My parents and I boarded the train at Centrale and headed to Napoli to get the Circumvesuvius where we picked up a pannino and rental car in Sorrento.  My Dad took the driver’s seat as we weaved our way along the coast making the trek to Amalfi.  The sun glistened as it set over the Mediterranean Sea. My mom and I oohed and ahed, as my dad grew quiet and his eyes rested steadily on the road; our car stayed at a slow 19 km/h.  After an hour and ½ we found Amalfi and reunited with my very excited nephews, sister and new brother-in-law.