They Found My Bag, But I Lost My Sanity

“But that’s the glory of foreign travel, as far as I am concerned. I don’t want to know what people are talking about. I can’t think of anything that excites a greater sense of childlike wonder than to be in a country where you are ignorant of almost everything. Suddenly you are five years old again. You can’t read anything, you have only the most rudimentary sense of how things work, you can’t even reliably cross a street without endangering your life. Your whole existence becomes a series of interesting guesses.” — Bill Bryson

Standing at baggage claim, it became clear that the Italian airline had lost half of my group's luggage. This, of course, included my purple suitcase filled with all of my clothes. With chapped lips, greasy hair, and eyes falling asleep, I waited with other students to supply our hotel information. In a thick Italian accent, a lady *promised* me that my suitcase would be returned the next morning. And so began my first beautiful and confusing week in Florence.

At Hotel Astoria, we spent the following two days sitting in meetings and taking walking tours around the city. I learned some odd things about Florence: the locals drive like they're in Grand Theft Auto, milk is not refridgerated, and it's about the most intricate place I've ever visited in my entire life. I have a certain liking to Piazza della Repubblica (Republic Square). Surrounded by shops and markets, it's filled with a classic carousel and musicians just trying to make a Euro. The Ponte Vecchio (the Old Bridge) is also quite enchanting, even in the rain. And I can't forget the Duomo. If you ever want to know how an ant feels, stand next to it. It's so huge, you can't even get it all in the same picture. The Duomo's full name Cattedrale di Santa Maria del Fiore means "Cathedral of Saint Mary of the Flower." I definitely plan on taking a trip to the top sometime. The stairs might turn my short legs on fire, but I'm sure it's worth the view of Florence.

By the second day at our hotel, they had returned my suitcase. But, sadly, I felt like I was going insane. I was constantly thirsty (I still am) and my sleeping pattern was all kinds of crazy. However, I was able to pull myself together when our cooking class came around. The cooking school, inTavola, taught us how to make homemade spaghetti, tomato sauce, ragu sauce, and panna cotta for dessert. Italians definitely get their arm exercise by turning the crank on the pasta machine. I won't lie; I wasn't too good at it. But the lesson was still fun and delicious to eat afterward.

The next day, we finally moved into our apartment. It takes 89 stairs to reach our place on the top floor, but it'll help work off all the pasta. There are seven of us girls in our apartment and a surprisingly ton of space. There are some aspects to Italian apartments that we're not used to, such as the bidets in the bathroom and that damn clothes line outside. Yet it all seems rather miniscule when you can see the Duomo from your kitchen window.

The rest of the week was spent exploring Florence with my roommates, attempting food shopping, and hitting a few bars at night. Together we've handled many an Italian man overusing the word bella and have found our apartment when we were sure we never would again. Hardly anything is easy here, but what's travel without a challenge? I will say though, that year of Italian I took has really come in handy. Interacting with the locals is a bit of a comedy act, but I've managed to hold a few great conversations with them.

One thing I know for sure? Wine, coffee, and gelato are going to consume my life until May. Not to mention my classes, which start tomorrow. Until I write again, I'll be enjoying the city's orange sunsets and probably tripping on the cobblestone streets. Buonanotte!

Light's out,

Britt