Snapshots

The New View

I have moved into my Bolognese apartment. It feels like home already...now that I’m settled here, I might write more...

I am living with two Italian women, Laura and Sabrina; both thirty, both working in law; both chic and interesting and kind, with beautiful voices. They are gone most of the time during the week, so I will typically have the apartment to myself. Last Sunday we all stayed in, they cooked for me, and we talked for hours over coffee. They have been truly wonderful.

Tonight, I walked to the grocery store around the corner. Purchasing ingredients and making myself dinner here feels like quite the accomplishment. I am proudest of the simplest things, really--knowing where I am going, handling transactions in Italian with relative ease. 

Already I sense the days passing quickly. Fifteen days have flown; I am certain the six months will roll by in no time at all. But I've never felt more connected with an experience; I am beginning to understand more deeply how existence with awereness, gratitude, joy is overwhelmingly precious. 

I absolutely love it here. 

Oh. My neighbors...lots of adorable elderly Italians, moms and dads pushing strollers, young professionals. I don't think it is appropriate to use the word "suburb," but I walk for a good thirty minutes to get to the city-center; a lovely, beautiful, relaxing walk. My building is located next to a charmingly specific chess shop. Also, a carabinieri office. 

Oh yes, I absolutely love it here. 

Dove'?

So far, I have spent most of my time in Bologna getting lost while searching for an apartment in this city of labyrinthian streets filled with buildings and shops overwhelming in both beauty and similarity. 

Since I usually find my way visually, looking for landmarks, I am having some difficulty navigating a city where every destination seems to be “the apartment through the porticoes under those ancient columns covered in graffiti on the cobblestone street named after a saint across from a Catholic church near a pizzeria.” 

Of course, I am learning that it is a matter of choosing the right perspective. Being pessimistic is feeling devastatingly lost; being optimistic is taking a four-hour long walk through a beautiful city. I trust I will eventually achieve a realistic sense of perspective...as soon as I learn how to read a map. 

Or I could invest in some red thread. 

Now I am in Bologna.

This is the view from my balcony. 

I am in Munich.

I spent my one hour of waiting time at Charlotte Douglass praying that I would not end up sitting for eight hours next to an irritating Ukrainian kid who could simply not take a hint.

Instead, mercifully, I sat next to a delightful eighteen month old. The plane to Munich was full of babies; I could count seven from my seat. A lullaby of a flight, really. When the lovely German flight attendant came by to ask if I wanted Cognac or Baileys before bedtime, I knew I was on the right aircraft...Then I wake up in Germany, it is ten degrees outside, and everything is covered in frost. Beautiful. 

I’m sitting in the Munich airport now, drinking coffee and watching people. They have these fascinating smoking lounges here--clear glass boxes, clearly labeled: ‘smoking can kill.’ Charming.