This week was easily one of the best vacations I've ever had. My daily activities consisted mostly of lounging in the shade, going to the beach, reading, sketching, taking outdoor showers to escape the heat and ogling all the hot Sicilian waiters from behind my big sunglasses. One of them reminded me a lot of Matt, tall and lanky and tan, and we exchanged significant looks all week! The kids thought it was pretty funny to act out every time we went to his cafe for gelato, using too many napkins and asking for extra spoons or cones or whatnot, generally trying to get his attention, and so I spent more of my time blushing and giggling and apologising.
Before I go on, I have to share one anecdote from back home in Turin yesterday, the Sunday after we returned from Lampedusa, a long sunny Sunday of big yawns, naps, of laundry and grocery shopping and a visit to Nonna (grandma). I hope this makes you laugh as much as it makes me laugh: I went with Patrizia to get groceries from this fancy schmancy place called "Eataly" (those clever Italians), sort of like the Italian version of Whole Foods but more like the Gourmet Ghetto on Shattuck, if you're from the Bay, where you can get all kinds of local produce, overpriced condiments, gourmet meats and cheese, etc. Anyway, upon entering the beverage section I saw a large aisle display for a smashing new energy drink in a slim white can with silver writing. Very hot. But I gasped aloud when I saw it, which Patrizia must have misinterpreted as 'These are so cool!' because she waved her hand and said, "Oh, I already bought some for the house." I quickly corrected her, told her that the name of this brand was a very rude word in English. She said she had no clue.
I told her, and she laughed, and the photo is four cans of that very beverage sitting in our unassuming little refrigerator! An hour later at lunch I told their dad what had happened, and the 10-year-old understood just enough of our conversation to ask, "Cosa ha succeso? Cosa vuol dire? What happened? What does it mean?," and his mom looked me in the eye and said to him, "It's kind of like caca (Italian for poop)." Not quite, but good enough for him. He then proceeded to prance around the house barking out the two slang words he knew in English: "Awesome pussy, awesome pussy," to my dismay! I couldn't help but just laugh out loud at the hilarity of this situation, because all the while the parents and their niece sat at the table trying to work out the correct pronunciation, "Poozy?" - "No, caro, it's more like puh-see. Pussie." - "No zia (auntie), zio (uncle), it's PUSSY!" And I was bright red, practically crying with mirth and embarrassment, and wished someone was laughing with me. Absolutely hilarious.Okay, on with the update. Each day was a totally different adventure, but here goes a brief overview.
We stayed in a six-bed suite at a beautiful one-story bed and breakfast with outdoor showers, a huge tiled patio and tons of plastic lounge furniture scattered among a maze of low walls and tropical flower bushes separating suites. All week we drove a 40-year-old rental "car" without windows, doors or seatbelts, a sort of Indiana Jones type safari vehicle that braved many a pothole on our daily ventures to and from this or that beach. We ate out nearly every night because no one felt like cooking or doing dishes, the fresh-fresh-freshest seafood I've had!, and drank lots of caffe shakerato, or shaken coffees (better than any frappuccino). One morning we passed a couple of hours dolphin-watching from a small motorboat with a very attractive young member of the Italian Coast Guard named Francesco, a little bit short for me but extremely smart and capable, with unusually well-kept nails and a heart-stopping smile that we only saw at the very end of the trip. Another day we saw the Italian coast guard intercept a boatful of illegal immigrants (clandestini, in Italian) from Africa. Lampedusa is the first port from Tunisia, and I guess they see lots of refugees come in all year. We spent countless hours on the beach, swimming and tanning and reading and napping and sand castling in turns, slathering on SPF 50 and exfoliating with soft stones. On Friday we passed the day on a private boat excursion around the entire island; there's more about this in my photo album, accompanying a picture of our crusty sea captain Pino. It was during this boat trip that I found the sweetest happiness and most profound sense of freedom I've ever experienced, and vowed that sometime during this life I'll live on a boat. I fell in love with the economy of boat living, of being physically unable to bring anything along that you can't strap down or tuck in somewhere, yet having at all times everything you need. Love it.
Every day brought a new set of experiences, and when our flight back to Turin left the ground I felt my throat catch with a longing to stay just a little longer. Not forever, of course, for I know that such a tiny place would get tiresome after more than a few months, but longer. I actually already have considered a possible return next summer, after my year in Turin is up, perhaps doing light work at a bed and breakfast with a friend of P's named Katia, and although this seems very far off I'm already considering whether or not to cancel my plane ticket home instead of trying to predict when I'll be ready to return to the States.
It's strange to be making such clear and unforgettable memories with a family that isn't my own... but I guess that's life, learning to make concrete ideas like "home" and "family" more fluid and portable.
I was relieved to come home to my room in Turin this weekend, even after leaving a significant chunk of my heart in Lampedusa (with Paolo, maybe, or Francesco! ), and was pleased to find a postcard from Christa, a package from Anne Marie, and a letter from Dad. Everything I need is here. At the end of one month I find myself healthy, deeply tan, excited about meeting people and finding things to do, and the slightest bit anxious for the schoolyear to start so I can establish a more concrete schedule with the boys. But there's still August, with its week in the mountains, one weeks in Paris, and my one week's travel to... somewhere? I have to look into what to do in August between France and my return to Turin. I'm sure someone from CC is doing something amazing somewhere; I just have to find them!Keep writing to me, I love updates, either in hard copy or by email. I love you all.
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