The End (which is always the beginning)

I spent the last three weeks in the Italian countryside analyzing the meaning of life. OK, not completely...I also spent my time eating, drinking, laughing, meeting new friends...and searchng for a job. And I'm happy to report that I found one: A teaching position that does not involve hours of preparation or recovery...A teaching job that allows me to simply show up, work, and then leave. The concept seems so outrageous to me! I won't get into all the details now, but just know that I'll be teaching English in Verona starting this September. Verona, by the way, is breathtakingly beautiful...not too big, not too small...and is only a hop, skip & a jump away from my support system in Olfino.


My first week in Olfino intentionally coincided with my father's biannual visit to his grandfather's homeland. My father is responsible for making my connection to Olfino possible....as a child, my grandmother would talk about this magical place, but my father is the person who actually brought me here eight years ago to experience it for myself. Since then, he's helped me maneuver around the area and better understand our ties to this little village. When he first brought me here, he told me that it would be my duty to stay connected with this little hamlet of Oflino in the years to come. My pleasure. :) During this trip, he made my job hunt in Verona so much easier...not sure how I would have managed it without him.

My dad with the seafood pasta at
Gino's in Olfino...delicious!




Beginning of an amazing meal at 
the Gozzi farmhouse 
(aka winery, aka cantina, aka vineyard)



Amabile is 95 and has visited Milan's Duomo
almost every day of her adult life.
She likes to recite prayers to me in Italian.

 

One night a week they have free from working at their restaurant
...and who do they take out to dinner? Me!!! I felt very lucky.

 

Regina & Maria were my neighbors in Olfino. I spent quite a bit of time with them,
pretending like I understood what they were saying to me. Maria (right) has alzheimer's and
Regina, about 20 years her senior, is constantly correcting her.

 

View through the kitchen window
of the Monzambano apartment

When my father went home, I moved two miles down the road to Monzambano. My grandmother's cousin, Luigina, lived in a beautiful apartment directly across from the Monzambano church. I remember my grandmother telling me stories of this town, of this apartment and of Luigina, who traveled the world as a seamstress for the opera. I had the pleasure of meeting Luigina a few times. She passed away over a year ago and since then, her apartment has sat practically untouched. Her sister offered it to me, since I needed to travel to Verona a few times that week and Monzambano has public transportation (a bus that comes twice a day!!!). When I went to look at the inside of the apartment with my father, we had just learned of the death of my grandmother's brother, Bruce, an incredibly strong & family oriented man who had very special ties to the Monzambano area. The first picture I saw when we entered the apartment was of my grandmother, who passed away six years ago. The second picture was of my Uncle Bruce with Luigina. And there I was, moving into Luigina's space, surrounded by her memories and her things...and pictures of loved ones who have passed on. In some ways it was really nice to stay in her home, but it was also sad and at times lonely. Items Luigina collected from her world travels were placed all over her apartment, which reminded me of her independence...She never married (although I hear she had many suitors)...and I can't help but wonder if my destiny will be similar.
  

Not sure if I would have made it
through this trip without Mery Sun...
translator, singer, chauffeur, friend.

 

Birra Team with beautiful Marta & handsome Omar

 My last weekend was spent "working" the beer tent at Olfino's biggest festival of the year, Sagra del Polastrel. At first I thought this "chicken festival" was quirky and cute....but while there I realized it's actually a very meaningful event for the people who live here. Olfino and the neighboring village collaboratively put it on...and it is quite a production...four nights of amazing food, music, reunions, pride and friendship. I felt very lucky to be a small part of it. I also loved all the attention I received as the "Americana" who came all the way to Olfino just for the festival. :)

I think that sometimes we need to explore, fulfill dreams, travel, search & reflect in order to realize what we've had all along. I'm at the point now where I can go in just about any direction I want. Having so many options feels amazing, but also a little scary. How does one choose? What is most important in life? New experiences & new friends in Italy? Or family & familiarity in San Diego? I think the answer is neither. A balance between the two is necessary for me to be happiest. Life is too short to not live out your dreams...but there is a fine line between fulfillment & loss. If we're too busy making our dreams come true, we miss out on time and memories with our loved ones.

Speaking of...I just learned that the health of my Grandma Mary ("Reggae Mama") has taken a turn for the worse. So instead of San Diego, I am on my way to Boston to see her. One year ago, my grandmother's 87th birthday celebration was the kick-off to "My Year of Me" and now, I'll be with her as I end my journey. Beginnings & Endings are always intertwined. 





 

Teaching (as a gerund)

So the other day I became internationally certified to teach English as a second/foreign language. Go ahead, ask me anything about grammar...gerunds, past participles, conditionals, any of the 12 verb tenses...oh wait, 13 with the "going to" form...I got it. I know it. And I'm ready to teach it.  But for some reason, even though this has been a longtime goal of mine, I don't feel accomplished or excited about passing the course. All I know is my "year of me" is about over, which means...Reality. Also, I just realized that a certificate is a certificate...and it really doesn't matter how well you do, as long as you get your stupid certificate. Four weeks in Florence without seeing the Statue of David because lesson plans are more important...was...a...mistake. But oh well.


Another taste of reality: I recently sent my resignation to my school district. This means I am "officially" unemployed...which, during these tough economic times, means I am "unoffically" crazy. Part of me can't believe I just quit my job, and part of me can't believe I did that job in the first place. I'm completely at peace with my decision, but that doesn't mean I'm not nervous about embarking into the unknown. I have some tentative plans to look for jobs teaching English, but I'm still uncertain about what I really, really, really want to do next.


Last night, in honor of our "graduation", Florence threw an enormous fireworks show over the Arno River. Coincidentally, it was also a huge holiday celebrating Saint John the Baptist. My roomie Roslyn and I hiked up the hill with our new friend Donald to watch the show from the steps of San Miniato al Monte. Beforehand, we had homeade pasta at Zeb's and then bought some wine to bring up to the churchsteps for the show. Only in Italy does the grocerystore clerk have a wine opener handy. It was a great way to celebrate the end of classes and the beginning of our next steps, whatever they may be.

Our celebratory fireworks show, in honor of us.

"Prisoners" in the Piazza

I just encountered the most culturally powerful moment of my time in Italy. It left such an impression on me that I feel compelled to share it with you. Unfortunately, I left my camera at home…so here goes my attempt at descriptive writing:

Set up in front of the Basilica of Santa Croce were bleachers surrounding a temporary arena. My classmate, Grace, told me that there is a special event tonight:  a sporting match with prisoners who fight one another….without any rules.  Apparently, her roommate went to last year’s event and saw one of the prisoner’s eyeballs pop out.  After a few hours of studying at the café, I had forgotten about tonight’s event…but on my walk home I heard a slow drumbeat coming from the other side of town. The closer I walked to my apartment, the louder the rhythmic drums became. As I approached Piazza Della Repubblica, there was a large gathering of people watching a parade of men walking to the slow beat of the drums. Men of all ages, but who seemed serious, almost solemn. My mind was focused on maneuvering through the crowd to get home, but when I entered the piazza I realized that this parade was something quite unique. Hundreds and hundreds of men (thousands, probably) were marching to that slow drumbeat, which was still in the distance…but getting louder every second.  They were dressed in ancient looking costumes with bright colors, stripes, tights, feathers galore, knickers, billowy sleeves, helmets or puffy hats, sashes, emblems, frilly collars, leather belts, and boots or buckled shoes. Oh, and sometimes swords.

Then the gladiators appeared…and I got the goose bumps.  A group of 40 or so men, all in matching athletic outfits, walked past me (some within an arm’s distance!). These were some of the strongest, fiercest men I’ve ever seen in my life. Their presence and energy were overwhelmingly powerful. Some were definitely disheveled, but many others were glistening, chiseled, statue-like figures (with tattoos) who had me in a trance. They walked to that slow beat of the drums….stood as tall as physically possible…and did not crack one single grin. Until…the woman next to me ran up to one of the men, hugged him, and handed him (his?) baby. Which made me cry.

Three more groups of prisoners proceeded, each “team” in different colored uniforms. Then came the drummers (finally!)...hundreds of them.  In the distance I saw flags flying up into the air – way above the crowd, which turned out to be propelled by the most masculine flag throwers in the world. Picture baton throwing, but with flags that occassionally look like they will land in the crowd. (Turns out, this is an important practice in Italy that dates back to Medieval Times.) OK, are you ready for the parade's finale? Eight people dressed in black hooded robes, carting an antique gurney. I'm hoping they were just symbolic.


*******It has been about fours hours since I wrote the above entry. Turns out, 1) The men are not prisoners....they're atheletes. 2) They are playing football (with minimal rules). 3) It's doubtful that an eyeball popped out last year. 4) This blog entry should be renamed "Perception of Prisoners in the Piazza"...because perception is a funny, funny thing.  
Here's a link if you want to check out more info and pictures of Calcio Storico Fiorentino.

You Know You're in Italy When...

Small children are familiar with Gucci and Prada.
You eat gelato everyday...usually twice.
Men wear scarves in the summer.
Veganism is nonexistent.
You can be fined for pouring wine incorrectly. (Not really, but it wouldn't surprise me.)
Octogenarians have a better fashion sense than you.
Conversations about food are meticulously detailed and last hours.
People drink espresso or wine at any time of the day.
Every town has its own signature pasta.
There's no such thing as a slow lane on the autostrada (or anywhere).
David's dingaling is a daily sight.
Being tan seems more important than the chance of skin cancer.
People get into heated debates about the correct wine to choose for each course.
There is a castle, an ancient statue, an art museum or a vineyard around the corner.
You are living "la dolce vita."

Back in the U.S.A.!!!! (for a week)

My last San Miguel sunrise...This was the view from my bed each morning. 

Now that my time in Mexico is over, my dad said I needed to write another blog entry...a sort of closure I guess, so here goes...


San Miguel de Allende is a very unique place. I went from loving it to hating it to loving it even more. It makes a great first impression...but then you start to question why it seems so wonderful. It can be crowded, hot, expensive, touristy and just a little too magical. I didn't expect to find so many fancy restaurants, boutique hotels and rich white people in the middle of Mexico. But that's my fault. I had expectations. Maybe I hadn't chosen the best place to learn Spanish since so many people in San Miguel speak English, but I had certainly landed in a beautiful town overflowing with historical and religious importance. I really loved my time there...and it made me appreciate Mexico in a new light. 


In my opinion, most of us live our lives in the U.S. without thinking much about our bordering country to the south...even here in San Diego, a 30 minute drive from the border, we often seem to forget Mexico plays an enormous role in our lives. The news does a great job reminding us that Mexico is there, but only with violent stories that fill us with fear.  I found the opposite to be true in Mexico. America was always at the forefront of news stories, advertisements and even conversations.  America played a large role in everyone's lives...and they knew it. Our economy has a huge impact on the jobs (or lack thereof) in Mexico. And everyone I met had a story about a loved one who had been swallowed-up by the USA. I understand better than ever why so many Mexicans choose to leave their families, friends, homes and culture to take a chance on life up here. It's fascinating, really, because the quality of life in many ways is so much better in their country...but the illusion of the American Dream is too strong of a force. And I get it. There are so many more opportunities to make money in our country than in Mexico. Even the 'bottom of the totem pole' jobs make loads more than the potential daily wage there. Years after a man settles into a new life in the USA, after the "coyote" fee is paid off and enough money has been sent home, if he returns to his family...Things are different. Often times, wives have moved on. Children have grown up. And his culture is no longer as familiar as it once was. (I know this is a generalization...just go along with it.)


I will perceive news stories about illegal immigrants from Mexico in a different way now. When I hear about migrants found dead in the desert, packed into a van like sardines, or being hurt in altercations with border agents or testosterone filled vigilantes, I'll wonder about the desperation behind the event. Each person has a story, a family and a dream. Not a dream to strike it rich...but to make just enough money to send home so relatives can live a better life.


The best part of learning Spanish is being able to talk to people who previously would have been outside my communication zone. It's such a great feeling. Even though I'm only a beginner with the Spanish language, I feel as though I learned more during my time in Mexico than in all my previous semesters of Spanish combined. Cognates are my favorite things in the world! And they will hopefully help me pick up the Italian language during my next (& final!) adventure in this crazy year of me. 


I learned an important lesson on my last day in Mexico: Triple check your travel itinerary. I got up at 3:30am to catch my shuttle to the airport, which was supposed to pick me up between 3:45-4:00am. At 4:30am it still hadn't arrived and I was starting to really worry because I didn't have a plan B. Marta, my teacher, and her husband, Leandro, were up in the middle of the night waiting with me (because they are the nicest people in North America). She called a driver who got out of bed and arrived by 4:45am to pick me up. My flight was at 6:50am and the airport was well over an hour away. He dropped me off at 6am and 20 minutes later I finally made it to the check-in counter, where the ticket agent looked at me like I was crazy. Turns out, I wasn't late at all...I was a whole day early! Luckily there were a few extra seats on the plane and I was able to make it back to San Diego in time for lunch at Souplantation. 


It's about time to decide what I'll do post-Italy, but I just can't bring myself to make a concrete decision (commitment issues, some might say). Once my yearlong sabbatical is over, I still have a contract teaching in the Juvenile Court & Community Schools here in San Diego. I'd be crazy not to return because it's an amazing school district and teaching jobs are practically impossible to come by in this current economy. I can't help but wonder, though, what other options are out there. Life is full of surprises.

Me, Yo, Mi

Well, believe it or not, this whole “me, me, me” thing is actually starting to get a little old. As mentioned before, I’ve been napping, cooking, hooping, taking pictures and practicing my Spanish (which is getting better with each week!!)…but I definitely could not live like this forever. I don’t feel like I’m contributing anything to the world (except I do flash my big, gummy smile to almost everyone I pass on the street, especially to Señor Negativo, which is surely spreading happiness!). My final two weeks in this beautiful part of Mexico will be dedicated only to Spanish, which means now (ahorrita) is the best time to fill you in on my top ten San Miguel de Allende highlights (in no particular order):

1) Huitlacoche - AKA corn smut, this fungus is an amazingly delicate and delicious seasonal food native to this area of Mexico. I'm sure it can be found in the USA too, but it's different here...and I would return just to be reunited with it. Tacos Don Felix serves huitlacoche in a variety of ways and also has the three best waiters in all of San Miguel: Emilio is ten and adorable, Lalo is 20-something and as guapo as physically possible, and Felix, the owner, has a heart that radiates kindness. Between the servers and the food, this might just be my favorite restaurant in the world. 

Emilio explaining the dessert choices

Huitlacoche quesadillas

I'm going to miss La Reina de Jugo when I leave!

2) Jugo - I've also discovered a new love for fresh squeezed juice. My appreciation for juice might be directly tied to the woman down the street who sells it. I love her. She is older, extremely sedentary, constantly in good spirits, has a contagious laugh, and almost always holding a fly swatter. I felt a little weird taking her picture (even though I've become one of her best customers), but I captured her in this photo of the juice & honey.

La Parrocchia on the Friday of Sorrows

3) Semana Santa - Possibly the most exciting part of my stay here was experiencing the week(s) leading up to Easter. It put Catholicism into a whole new light for me. From what I understand, San Miguel de Allende celebrates this time of the year like no other place on Earth. The events were beautiful and strange and magical...and included a 12 mile midnight pilgrimage to carry a miraculous statue from one church to another (a tradition that started in 1812), a reenactment of Jesus's last hours (including a real crown of thorns and blood), temporary and unbelievable murals of flower petals covering the streets, altars galore dedicated to the Virgin Mary (most of which were inside people's homes!), fireworks, fantastically shaped palm fronds, food symbolizing the tears of Our Lady of Sorrows, real tears, colorful decorations everywhere, and exploding paper-maché dolls that represent Judas. Easter will never be the same.  

Jesus, made of flower petals in the middle of the night...It was trampled soon after I took this photo.

Palm Sunday in the Parrocchia

Perhaps the most kid-friendly altar during a day dedicated to the Virgin of Sorrows

Getting ready to blow up evil effigies symbolizing Judas on Easter
(mostly witches, devils and political figures)

Overlooking Guanajuato

4) Guanajuato - An old mining town about two hours away, it is also the birthplace of Diego Rivera and now known mostly for its large university population. I loved it. But I love San Miguel de Allende more. 


5) Atotonilco - My first visit here was lovely, but during my second visit I realized the deep religious and cultural importance of this church. Aside from its beauty, it has a really interesting history and is also a UNESCO World Heritage Site. I won't get into the details (mostly because I can't remember them right now)...but click on the link if you're interested. It's a special place, regardless of religion. 

6) Marta & Leandro - Perhaps the nicest people I've ever met. Marta is a teacher at my school, which is owned by her sister, and she & her husband Leandro live in the apartment across from my mansion. My life is better for having met them. Not only is she a wonderful teacher, but she is also a kind, funny, wise, and very artistic woman. And Leandro is a perfect match for her. 

This is an AWFUL picture of us
having sheep for breakfast.
That's right, I said 'sheep for breakfast'.

7) Shopping - But not any shopping...I LOVE all the handmade items here, from jewelry to embroidered clothes, to purses made of candy wrappers, to pottery, to pewter everything, to baskets, to dolls, to tapestries. They are all amazing and beautiful and half the price than at home. 

Cucurrucucu Paloma

8) Mariachi Music - I have a new love and appreciation for mariachi performers. They no longer make me uncomfortable while I'm eating. I welcome their presence, enjoy their company, am moved by their music, and am in awe of their talent. 


9) Plaza de Toros - This is only being added because it was a once in a lifetime sort of event...and something I NEVER thought I'd see because it goes against all my morals. That said, I went. Just like I ate sheep. I'm different when I travel. The "bullfight" was interesting in an anthropological sort of way, but it was also unsurprisingly disturbing and sad. I wasn't just sad for the bull, though...I was bothered by the many men who partake in this sort of work for a living - many of whom are risking their lives for the sake of entertainment. The horses are also terrified to be in that ring and chased by a bull. There is definitely an ancient, Roman feeling to it all...No me gusta. But I'm glad I went.

And the people cheered......and the bull died...and Mr. Pink did the walk of pride. Bravo. 

I don't get it. 

10) Visitors!!!!! Not one, but FIVE, of my favorite people came to visit ME!

Rachelle!!!

Natcho!!!

My mom, Chuck & Mary Lou
(my mom's best friend since childhood)
They love to line up in order of height.

In two weeks I will be back "home"... Only for one week, though, and then it's off to the next (& final) adventure of this wacky "Year of Me".

Reponer

OK, I totally get why people love it here. The San Miguel fairy has definitely sprinkled her magical dust on me. However, like most places, it's a town of the 'haves' and 'have nots'...There are so many foreigners here, including lots of fancy folks from Mexico City (especially on the weekends)...and on the surface, it looks like everyone is together...but in reality, people here seem to lead very separate lives. The "extraneros" and locals don't really seem to merge, except superficially (there are exceptions, I presume). Different groups of people lead their parallel lives, occasionally converging in the market, the jardin, restaurant or bar...but then everyone goes back to their own space at the end of the day. I guess when you have racial, socioeconomic and cultural differences, segregation is natural...and maybe this is a microcosm for the whole world.  That said, if I'm still single in twenty-five years (God forbid), this colorful San Miguel de Allende bubble might be a fabulous place for me to live! 

I've looked into lots of different ways to volunteer here...but I've decided volunteering (AKA "helping others") is not for me. And that's OK. Instead, I'm going to take naps, cook, hula hoop, read (fiction!!!), walk & wander, talk to random people (often in spanish!), drink my new favorite beer (and freshly squeezed juice; not at the same time), study spanish, take pictures, watch the sunset (& sometimes the sunrise), explore outside of "centro" San Miguel,  and learn how to make nichos (a folk art from this area). And I don't need your permission. :)

Hooping on my terrace at sunset