Unforgettable Easter

My Easter in Florence was unlike any other holiday I’ve ever celebrated.  Instead of spending the day with my family, as I normally would have, I spent it with a group of nuns at a convent twenty minutes walk from my apartment.  That’s right, nuns.  Settle in, it’s a great story. 

Upon first meeting Cecilia, I brought her a bag of chocolates to express my gratitude for her hospitality.  I had never been to a convent before, but the 28-year-old Guatemalan nun was most welcoming.  A mutual friend had put us in touch with one another via email, but this was our first time meeting in person.  She served me a cup of coffee as we chatted and got to know each other.  Cecilia speaks almost no English, so in very broken Italian, I fumbled through a conversation about my life and hers.  I managed to tell her the story about my embarrassing mistake during communion mass at the Duomo, which triggered Cecilia's hearty laugh.  She introduced me to a few of the other nuns, and gave me a grand tour of the convent including the beautiful rooftop terrace with views of the distant Florentine landmarks as well as the green hills that surround the city.  I even got to visit the garden where Cecilia keeps her pet turtles, six of them.  When I departed that first day, she sent me off with a piping hot plate of food from the nuns’ small kitchen. 

By my second visit, it felt like Cecilia and I were old friends.  We watched the Palm Sunday mass on television, broadcast live from the Vatican.  As the old TV flashed faded shots of the Pope and solemn hymns buzzed from the speakers, I felt my body relax into the suede chair.  I sipped slowly from my tiny espresso cup, thinking about Cecilia.  Being the youngest nun in the convent on Via Berchet, I can tell she appreciates having someone my age around, even if our conversations have their limits due to the language barrier. 

I only know a little about Cecilia.  She was born in Guatemala, studied for three years in Rome, and now lives in Florence with the nuns on Via Bechet.  She goes to mass every morning at 7 and spends the rest of the day carrying out her chores and duties.  She loves to sing hymns and play piano.  On Sundays, she is allowed to relax.  That is why I visit on Sundays.  She wants to improve her English, so sometimes we sit and read through language booklets and I correct her pronunciation.  We laugh together over the absurd sentences like: “The more you eat, the fatter you get.” 

I want so badly to ask her a million different questions, but I can’t form the sentences properly.  I want to know, what really brought her to Italy?  Why did she decide to become a nun?  What about her family?  Does she ever get lonely?  I think she does.  These are things I may never know about Cecilia.  Even still, we are friends, a strange pair though we may be. 

I was surprised and flattered when the nuns invited me to their Easter feast at the convent.  Although I was excited to go, I was also a little nervous.  For one thing, none of the nuns speak English.  And though they are welcoming, I can feel their skepticism towards me.  Upon hearing that I am Protestant, one of them asked me if I believe in God.  I struggle to defend myself (in Italian) before these devout women.  I want them to know that I believe many of the same things they do, but I just remind myself that I have nothing to prove.  Unlike the older nuns, Cecilia seems to understand that my faith is not all that different from hers.   

Despite my concerns, Easter with the nuns was wonderful and truly unforgettable.  I entered the convent to shouts of “Buona Pasqua!” (Happy Easter) followed by kisses on both cheeks.  The feast consisted of five courses, prepared in the nun’s kitchen.  We kicked off the meal with a hymn, which everyone else knew but clearly I did not.  Then we sat and began the feast.  One of the nuns brought out a bottle of red wine, screwed in the wine-opener and popped the cork like a pro, an paradoxical image that made me smile.  The food was interesting; I’m not exactly sure what I ate to be honest, but I tried everything they put in front of me.  The best parts were the lasagna and the dessert, some kind of custard and raisin filled piecrust pastry topped off with whipped cream and a delicate strawberry.  I have no idea what it is called and I’ll probably never have it again, which is how I justified eating the entire thing.  There were eight of us women eating together, five nuns and two other guests in addition to myself, both of whom were sisters of one of the nuns. 

At one point during the meal, the head nun (I can’t recall the proper term), seated at her own table in the front of the room, asked me if I wanted to become a nun myself.  Somewhat startled by the question, I managed to gain my composure and respond politely.  “No grazie” was all I could think to say. 

The nuns wouldn’t let me assist with anything, preparation nor clean up, even though I asked repeatedly if I could help.  By the time I left, I had spent nearly five hours at the convent, between the meal and then spending time with Cecilia afterwards.  At one point, she and I wandered into the prayer room and knelt together, saying our own silent prayers, in our own languages, but to the same God. 

My Easter meal with the nuns was one of the more memorable experiences of my semester, proof that both food and faith can connect people regardless of differences in age, culture, or language.  Amen to that.    

Late-Night Dining in Europe

Back at Boston College – and countless universities across the US – staple late-night snacks include pizza, chicken tenders, fries, chips, mozzarella sticks, and the like.  In Europe, however, my options are quite different.  First of all there is the kebab phenomenon.  Anyone who has studied in Europe knows what I'm talking about.  In every major European city, Turkish kebab stands remain open until 3 or 4 am, serving night-owls their meat-filled wrap topped off with a yogurt sauce.  One such kebab place is located directly next to my front door, but I try to keep my visits there to a minimum.  A kebab is hardy worth it when compared to all the amazing food one can eat in Florence.  But on special occasions, a kebab can be just what the doctor ordered. 

When I was in Scotland, I encountered one of the more creative forms of late-night dining.  At St. Andrews, there is a spot called the Toasty Bar, which is only open on Friday nights from “11pm ‘til late.”  Located ironically in the basement of a church, dozens of St. Andrews students sit in clusters of awkwardly small Sunday school chairs and wait noisily for their toasted sandwiches.  A comical sight to behold, no doubt.  The Toasty Bar offers simple sandwiches – the standard melted cheese plus the optional additions of ham, tomato, or pesto – as well as the rather daring mars bar and marshmallow toasted sandwich.  I do believe I had one of each. 

Florence has its own unique late-night food sensation, an incredibly popular choice among study abroad students like myself.  A magical place, surrounded by legend.  A place you won’t find on any map.  There is no sign out front, just a sliding glass door with frosted windows radiating a mouth-watering smell that I wish I could bottle up and bring back to America with me.  I’m talking about the Secret Bakery.  When I first heard about the Secret Bakery, the name alone was enough to convince me that I absolutely had to find it.  It took me less than a week.  Talk about ambition.  As it turns out, there are actually eight Secret Bakeries in Florence.  At this point, I have only been to two, but I’m working on finding more of them.  Here’s how it works: the Secret Bakery is open from 1-5am every night, offering fresh pastries (nutella croissants, crème-filled donuts, and the like) for one euro to eager customers who knock quietly on the unmarked door down a random sidestreet.  Supposedly, business must be conducted under-the-table due to the fact that these late-night bakeries are bound by contract with Florentine cafés to which they provide morning pastries.  When waiting for that warm pastry, keeping the noise level low is crucial because Italians who live above the Secret Bakery don’t take kindly to obnoxiously loud Americans keeping them awake in the wee hours of the morning.  I have personally witnessed a spiteful Italian dump a bucket of water out the window onto people in the street below.  Result?  A girl in tears over her now broken phone.  In my opinion, the hush-hush aspect of the Secret Bakery just makes that donut taste even sweeter.  Assuming my donut and I stay dry, that is.  

Great Mistakes

Sometimes in life, everything works out just the way you imagine it will.  Take last weekend, for instance.  Seven BC girlfriends and I (some of us are studying in Florence and the rest were visiting) spent our entire Saturday on a bike and wine tour through the Chianti region of Tuscany.  Yes, wine tasting followed by biking.  No, there were no injuries, just lots of giggles and an overall great time.  Riding through the picturesque hills past vineyards, olive trees, and castles made us feel like we were on a movie set filming Under the Tuscan Sun. 

As we all know, most of the time things turn out differently from the way you expect.  The past few weeks of my semester provide three perfect examples of this:

Pienza.  My History of the Italian Renaissance class required me to attend a mandatory field trip to the Tuscan town of Pienza about a month ago.  I must admit that I was dreading the trip due to the fact that I had to get up very early to see a town I had never even heard of before and then write a paper about it.  Much to my surprise, I loved Pienza.  Originally called Corsignano, Pienza was completely rebuilt (and renamed) during the 15^th century by Pope Pius II.  His goal was to create the ideal Renaissance town, and he succeeded because the town represents Renaissance perfection in terms of architecture and layout.  Pienza’s location on a hill – like many Tuscan towns – offers stunning views of the surrounding countryside.  On one of the tiny streets I stopped for lunch and had the best Ribollita I’ve eaten all semester.  Ribollita is a traditional Tuscan vegetable soup that is bread-based and very unique tasting.  After lunch I bought pici pasta (looks like thick spaghetti) and pecorino cheese, two Pienza specialties to which I have become addicted.  I’m now convinced that Pienza is one of Tuscany’s hidden treasures. 

Lucca.  A few weeks ago, my friends and I were planning to spend a day in the nearby beach town of Viareggio, but due to some slowpokes in the group, we missed our train and found ourselves sulking at the station with no new plan.  I looked up at the Departures board and saw that a train was leaving for Lucca in 15 minutes.  “So…anyone want to go to Lucca?”  Lucca turned out to be a quiet yet adorable Tuscan town, the perfect getaway from busy Florence.  Our day in Lucca was one of the most fun (and inexpensive) day trips of my semester, complete with rental bikes and an outdoor picnic which we ate while sitting atop the city’s Renaissance wall.  A great mistake, it would seem.    

Sicily.  Last weekend two friends and I stayed in Taormina, a little town located next to a huge (and active!) volcano, Mount Edna.  Aside from gorgeous beaches and ancient Greek ruins, Sicily is known for several different foods.  I was anxious to try them all.  Highlights include calamari which we ate on the beach, seafood pasta, arancini (fried rice balls), granita (the Sicilian version of lemon ice), and the best cannoli I will ever indulge in.  While our time in Sicily was lovely, getting home was an absolute nightmare.  Our flight to Florence was cancelled, so we had to sit in the airport for 8 hours until we could catch a plane to Verona.  While my friends were frustrated by this detour, I was excited about the opportunity to spend a few hours exploring Verona before boarding a train back to Florence.  Upon landing in Verona, the travel nightmare turned into a fairytale.  I instantly adored the city.  Somehow Verona manages to be classy but not pretentious, romantic but not corny.   As an added and unexpected bonus, at dinner our attractive waiter asked for my number.  Normally I would’ve turned him down, but in the city where Juliet fell for Romeo I just couldn’t do it.  Yet I am kind of regretting that decision; the excessive number of subsequent calls and text messages grew annoying rather quickly.  I’m sure my Dad will be pleased to know that I’ve stopped answering.  Even still, the Verona detour was well worth it, in my opinion. 

So it seems that sometimes mistakes and diversions from the plan can enhance an experience.  Many of our favorite foods were invented due to an error by the chef.  Improvisations can often improve a recipe.  This I have learned: in regards to food and life in general, flexibility and optimism are vital. 

Venice: Where Dreams Come True

Many young children dream of becoming dolphin trainers or professional athletes or even President of the United States.  Depending upon the day, I either wanted to be a pastor or a Broadway showgirl. 

Most young children eat only mac n’ cheese or McDonalds chicken nuggets.  I preferred Caesar salads and salami sandwiches. 

Many young children dream of visiting Disneyworld or Legoland.  My ideal vacation destination was Venice.  I have always had an easy answer to the question, “If you could travel anywhere in the world, where would you go?”  Since the age of five, my answer has been Venice. 

The interest in – or perhaps obsession with – this particular Italian city stemmed from an especially intriguing episode of Busytown, my favorite childhood TV show, which I used to watch every morning before kindergarten.  The episode featured a city with canals instead of roads, boats instead of cars.  After turning off the TV that day, I pulled on my red high tops and asked my mom before heading out the door, “Venice isn’t a real place, right?”  When I was informed that Venice was indeed an actual city that people can visit, I was instantly fascinated.  I knew that one day I would go there. 

Needless to say, I was pretty excited when I finally found myself in Venice yesterday, after fifteen years of anticipation.  And despite my fear that the city would not live up my high expectations, I was not disappointed.  Venice is truly one of the most magical and unique cities in the world. 

With all the chaos of getting to Venice with a bunch of friends, deciding what to do, and so on, it didn’t sink in right away that I was really there.  But I remember this moment: I was sitting along the ledge of a canal, in a floral dress with my feet dangling over the edge, enjoying my gelato (chocolate and pistachio) out of a green plastic cup.  And suddenly it struck me.  I’m in Venice. 

My day in Venice was perfect weather-wise, almost 70 degrees and sunny.  And all things considered, we covered a lot of ground for one day.  My friends and I explored San Marco Square and the basilica with its amazing gold mosaics, we ate tasty calzones from the cheapest lunch place we could find, we walked along the beautiful Rialto bridge, we rode through the Grand Canal on a water bus, and we watched an impressive glass-blowing demonstration on the nearby island of Murano. 

I couldn’t get enough of the peaceful canals and the charming bridges and the gondolas gliding by, captained by men in striped shirts and straw hats.  It felt like a fairytale.  I had finally made it…to Venice, my dream destination.  So now when people ask me, “If you could travel anywhere in the world, where would you go?”  I’ll scratch my head and answer the way most people do with, “Wow, good question…”