ITALY: WHAT’S NOT TO LOVE. part 1

I have been having a passionate, all-consuming love affair with Italy since….forever.

I was born into a tight-knit Italian-American family. We spent most of our free time with my grandparents, Italian immigrant Italian great-grandparents and a ton of relatives in the North End of Portsmouth, NH. Sundays , holidays, and milestones were spent at their kitchen table with food (amazing), conversation (loud), and stories (fascinating) of the old country. Some of my cousins and uncles had just immigrated to the States from Italy , and they were my favorite humans. I loved their broken English, their kind and generous spirit, and their whole-hearted laugh. I felt connected to Italy and to my heritage before I ever stepped foot on its soil.

My Italian-American family. I’m not in the photo but the rest of the “clan” is there, including my great-grandparents, Tito and Pia Zoffoli, to whom I owe a debt of gratitude.

Fast forward to a summer job that would change the direction of my life. I was just starting my junior year at the University of New Hampshire, studying Psychology, and one Friday night I met someone at Scorpio’s Bar (no judgment, please ) and he told me about this work study program he had just done in Europe. He explained that there were jobs all throughout Europe. I got right on it, found a job opening in a small town in coastal Tuscany, named Marina di Massa. There was this little B&B there named Pensione Marina, and they were looking for English speakers to greet the non Italian-speaking guests (Marina di Massa is in an area known as Versilia, where British, Germans, and Swiss flock to in the summer). I applied and was accepted. I just needed to learn Italian between the fall and the summer when the job would start . While Italian was spoken by my grandparents, aunts and uncles, it was never taught to my generation. I loved my university Italian classes. Being the perfectionist I am, I was the strongest student in my class, got a 4.0 in all the Italian language classes I could take, and felt so ready for the summer and my new job.

It was June, 1980, and it feels like yesterday. I got off the plane in Paris and took the train all the way to Carrara, and then a taxi to the Pensione. I got out of the car and was greeted by the owner and didn’t understand a freaking word he said. I hadn’t realized the HUGE difference between speaking Italian in class where…the…professor….speaks….so….slowly………..and the way that Italians actual speak. Like getting shot out of a cannon!!!!! It wasn’t the best job in the world. In fact, the owner was a self-professed Nazi sympathizer, and had fought with the Germans in WWII. The room I was given was in a makeshift shed about the size of a chicken coop. But I fell in love . First , with the language. By the time the summer was over, I was fluent and I loved the melody and sound of Italian. Still do. I also loved the area. I was close to the beach, and when I looked up from the pier, I could see the mountains in the opposite direction. At first, I thought they were covered in snow. But I soon found out it was actually marble . That beautiful white Carrara marble comes from those quarries.

Forte dei Marmi

I also explored the area during that first summer job. Forte dei Marmi was about 5 miles from my job. It was (and is) an upscale summer beach town. Rumor has it Giorgio Armani has a villa with a private underground passage to his private beach . And Andrea Bocelli has a summer residence there as well. And I saw Luciano Pavarotti perform in Forte dei Marmi at the Capannina. Further down was Viareggio, and I went there often my first summer. Bigger than Forte dei Marmi, it was known for its expansive beaches, designer stores and a promenade that would go on for miles . I also fell in love with an Italian boy and his family who took me in as their own daughter . By the end of the summer, I knew I had to return home to finish my degree. But I realized that my path was not back in the New Hampshire. It was in Italy.

Upon my return from my Italian summer, I announced to my family that I was going to Italy to live after graduation. When asked what I was going to do for work, I responded “I don’t know.” And when they asked me how long I was going for , I responded “I don’t that either.” But it didn’t matter to a 21 year-old with not enough life experiences to be afraid. I just knew it was going to be my new home……