I Used to Host Bunny Shadow Puppet Shows: Being Independent (and Lonely) Abroad

After struggling with a title, I searched "alone" on Google images, and this little gem popped up.
My thoughts: Can we take a moment and recognize how many things are wrong with this statement?
Why is he in the middle of the road? It reminds me of that Eminem album. Grammar.
Do people actually believe this stuff?

At 10 PM on a Thursday, on the outskirts of Florence, a two hour walking distance from home, with an almost dead phone and no people or busses, I think I think I felt complete isolation for the first time.

After visiting my host family (more on them soon), I hopped on a bus that, according to my family, would take me home. Instead of going south as planned, I found myself outside the city limits of Florence to the north. It turned out that the number for the bus was correct, but because of my severe lack of public transportation knowledge, I didn’t realize there are stops on both sides of the street for a reason: you get on the bus on the side of the street in the direction you want to go. I got off immediately and used the rest of my phone battery to check my location. I was two hours walking distance from home.

There are two things I could have done in this situation: fall into the unproductive trap of anxiety and tears or suppress emotion and tell myself to think. My throat was closing, and my jaw was clenched so tightly it was sore the next day. I've experienced panic attacks before from being overwhelmed, and I've taught myself to recognize my signs. The most difficult part though isn’t acknowledging the symptoms; it’s preventing them from getting out of my control. I actually had to stop on the street and tell myself I was going to be okay. The street was lit. I knew which way was south to my apartment. I couldn't let myself cry--that would be the end of self-control, and really, a bit cliche. In that moment, not even Google maps could tell me what to do, which was a little terrifying. I crossed the street at the closest bus stop and waited for a bus that never came. The paper bus schedule was over a month old. I cursed Italian inefficiency and noticed I hadn't seen a person since I'd gotten off the bus, which was completely unsettling, considering people were out until 3 or 4 AM on the street outside my apartment. I told myself it could have been so much worse--sure, nothing was open, but there was some sort of train station a ten or twenty minute walk back. I could go there and get a ticket to Santa Maria Novella, the station closer to my apartment. I started walking back at more of a running walk--the anxiety of it all made me wonder if I should take up running. Who was I kidding.

Five minutes or so into this a bus appeared heading south. Not giving one care as to what the people on that bus thought, I ran towards it, and in one of those small acts of kindness that make me grateful towards the universe, the bus driver stopped in the middle of the street and let me on. He got to Santa Maria Novella and shut down the bus, like the many other lines that were already done for the night. I walked the rest of the way home to find a street party on my block. I was too late for the wine, but I had some of the best cake of my life with fresh strawberries and cream. I revelled in the music--random US oldies and unknown Italian pop songs--and my anxiety left me as quickly as it started. It’s funny, I wanted to share my story with someone--someone who would actually be able to relate to what had happened. My roommates weren’t interested. I wanted to call my mom, and then felt silly for feeling like I needed to do that.

A street party celebrating the 10th year anniversary of a local panini shop

 For the most part, I’ve been comfortable being alone here. Maybe I naturally like to keep to myself, maybe it’s because I’m an only child who had plenty of time to entertain herself growing up. As I got into high school and college, I told myself my increased desire to be by myself was just a part of who I am. Really though, I was using it as an excuse to isolate myself from my friends and family, which in turn fueled my depression. In Florence, there’s not many people I know to avoid. It’s hard to contact my loved ones. It’s easy to not venture outside of my three or four block radius of school, the supermarket, and home. My “independent nature” has been tested, and I feel more needy than ever.

Two weeks ago I impulsively booked a bus to Cinque Terre, despite predictions of rain and a lack of a travel companion. When we arrived in Manarola, the sun was rising over the village, and after finding a outlook over the bay, I spent my hour in the village simply looking at the town and sea and talking with a local.

Manarola: I could wake up to this every morning.

My group took a bus to Riomaggiore, where I scrambled over the rocks to get the perfect picture of the town. The beauty of being with a tour group is that 1) it can be cheaper than arranging your own transportation in some cases and 2) there’s a sense of security as a young female traveling “alone,” but flexibility of doing what you want between meeting points. I didn’t consult anyone about braving the bay--I just did it.

Do it for the shot

Sea views

My path to the bay and a storm rolling in: it didn't rain until we were leaving, thankfully

Coastal view and the town of Vernazza; notice the terraced grape vineyards on the left of the picture

On my hike from Vernazza to Monterosso, I ran into people from all over the world who spoke various levels of English and Italian. Their smiles and the drama of the sea views pushed me along the steep and rocky trail. The air was earthy and the muted greens of the succulents, piney shrubs, and grape vines that clung to the sides of the cliffs reminded me of Yellowstone, the Grand Canyon, Backbone State Park in Iowa, and my grandparent’s farm all at once.

Typical path view

Leonardo was so popular I didn't get a proper shot of the man himself,
but here are some of his new fans at his trail-side stand

A man was selling homemade limoncello from his farm on the trail. I stopped and chatted with two American couples and was able to give them travel advice (!) about Florence. I sipped the best limoncello I've ever had, listened to Leonardo talk to customers about his farm (“No chemicals! I made this week! Lemon flowers, lemon rind, lemon leaves, a little sugar!), and then went on my way, extra limoncello in tow. At lunch, I sat with an American woman in her 60s who was vacationing in Italy with her son. She told me how lucky I was to be studying abroad while I'm young and have no attachments. Again, I let the gratefulness wash over me--that I'm here, that I did this for myself, that I'm learning so much about other cultures, people, and myself. I felt empowered on that hike, and I'm not sure if I could have gotten that with someone else.

If nothing else, I’m proving to myself that “isolation” has a negative connotation simply because I’m giving it one. I’m proving to myself that not only can live by myself in a foreign country, but I can face challenges. Some of these challenges, it seems, are of my own making--I can reach out when necessary. Yesterday, I spent over an hour talking to one of my good friends here, Kathryn, on the phone, just because she asked if I was okay and I was honest. Then I talked to my mom for two hours because it was what I needed. More and more, I’m starting to feel like the girl that hosted puppet shows or movie nights after an afternoon by myself and not like the woman who feels incapable of leaving her apartment. Just because I’m alone doesn’t mean I have to feel lonely.

Way better than that first pic ( Monterosso in the background)

The Challenges of the First Week and Other Things I'm Sort of Uncomfortable Sharing

As we said multiple times on this day-trip, we found paradise in Tuscany.

What they don't tell you about coming to Florence:

You will be living in *a city.* there will be graffiti, street performers, noise, smog, and tourists. Watch where you walk; drivers think signs are suggestions.

People don't smile. Apparently smiling can be interpreted as wanting to get something out of someone, or having hidden intentions. This isn't to say Italians aren't nice--they just want to get to know you a little bit.

Tourists are everywhere. It will be difficult to learn Italian if you look like a tourist or struggle with the language, because most people will speak to you in English in the service industry. They do appreciate your efforts, though, so at least try.

Everything is a little more expensive (compared to Iowa, at least). Especially avoid places that have signage in English. They're probably geared towards tourists, and the gelato won't be as good. If there's a lot of smokers outside a place, it's probably good.

You will fall in love with the city, even if its people don't always love you back. You will stop in the street to stare at the architecture. You will laugh at kids with gelato all over themselves and in turn, their parent. You will imagine yourself dropping everything to start a new life here.

----

After my first two classes of the week, which are a whopping 2.5 hours a piece, I spent most of Thursday in bed. I had been walking 2-4 hours every day previously in the heat, kept waking up in the middle of the night, and despite me telling myself that I'm invincible and have no physical needs, I was drained. The whole honeymoon phase of the culture shock had worn off. I wanted my mom, chocolate, and Netflix (in that order). Unfortunately, I only had Netflix, and even that was a disappointment: apparently the shows I've been watching aren't available in Italy. Woe is me.

I mean, how could you not walk all day when this is your typical view?

I won't lie and say the transition to life here has been easy. I've never been abroad, lived in a city, or lived with five roommates. Beggars in the street make me uncomfortable. It's been difficult finding other students to trust, because I've made good friends and every person I meet it's hard not to compare. And I've cried a few times--starting with overlooking the city in Florence's rose gardens It was a cry of relief--that I'm here, that I'm giving myself a break from my life at home. The next cry was in bed on Thursday, because I missed my family so much, and because of the time difference they're at work all of my waking hours. The last cry was on Friday. I was walking home from my last class of the week, and I finally noticed the entrance to a 15th century church that's on a quiet street a block from my house. The door was open, so I entered to find peeling frescoes, lit candles, and faint angelic choral music playing over a loudspeaker. 

Thank goodness for technology. Photo credit: Mom.

I lit a candle for my dad, because it seemed like the right thing to do. I dropped a few euros in the offering box and found a pew. For the first time in a week, all I heard was the music, and above that, silence. I was so relieved by the quiet that I started to cry (which is a normal thing for me, don't worry). I cried because I deserve this, and all the doubt about leaving home had left. I cried for my dad, because I want to tell him about all the people I've met and all the food I've been eating. I cried because I am so flipping happy, tired, and emotional. Maybe because for the first time in a long time, I felt like I had complete self-determination and freedom. Besides classes, of course.  

I've been making decisions solely for myself, not based on the expectations of others or because I've pressured myself into doing too much. I went to the Tuscan countryside this weekend, and when I showed my mom some of my pictures, she said I looked so happy. I mean, anyone would be happy at an Italian winery, but the fantastic views, the company of new friends, and the realization that this is my life now probably was painted on my face. I went to a wine club tonight by myself tonight simply because it sounded fun. I promise all these self-actualizing decisions don't involve wine.

This man, Marco, has found happiness working with his brother on his family farm all his life.
Apparently he loves his cows enough to brush them everyday.  There's probably some lesson here.

I'm not a terribly religious person, but I decided to go to a Latin mass at the Duomo Sunday morning, done in Gregorian chant. Why? Mostly because it seemed like one of those *once in a lifetime* experiences, and I've been seeking spiritual connection. If you haven't been to the Duomo, or any cathedral of the same magnitude, I would recommend it to any person, religious, spiritual, or not. The weight of the place is felt immediately upon entering, and the organ filled my body with vibrations. I was able to lose myself in the chant, and despite having little understanding of Latin besides singing it in choir and catechism, Catholic mass is about the same everywhere, so I felt comfortable enough. I felt at peace, just like I did when I was in the rose garden, just like I have in the past few days.

a so-so dome pic, done in haste because of the scowling old
Italian woman behind me trying to leave mass

There has been so much good in coming here. I just didn't realize that so much of it would be about me learning about myself and not about other cultures. I'm sure more of both is to come, and that makes me smile.

ISIS, Earthquakes, and Italian Lovers: flight from Cedar Rapids to Chicago

8/30/16

As I sit on the plane to Chicago, I realize I'm not quite sure why exactly I'm leaving. Is it to get away from the stressful schedule I had demanded of myself at school? Am I just aching to leave Cedar falls, basically where I grew up? Maybe it is to finally have time to process my grief and find some sort of far fetched connection to my dad.

And, as I so eloquently put in my application essays, I also want to be in a culture so very different from Iowa. I love art, cooking, and talking with people who want to share their life experiences with me. I want to talk to people about the refugee crisis and their local politics. I want to explore the influence of religion on politics.

If you stumbled upon this blog or know me and are following this because you want to hear about my travels, let me establish something: this isn't a study abroad guide (although I do hope you find some helpful information) there won't necessarily be some sort of lesson or meaning in my posts (but I can be wise once in awhile, I've been told). This is mostly so I can update my extended family and friends and *work on myself* (and my writing, ahem) and maybe share it with my children and grandchildren one day, of which I hope to have many (shout out to my mom: it's going to be a while before that happens). Editing will be limited due to the fact that I would rather be exploring that triple-checking grammar (although I will check it, of course. This IS technically published material, right?). I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

I'm a junior studying abroad in Florence, Italy at Florence University of the Arts - Palazzi (FUA) for almost four months through my American university, the University of Northern Iowa (UNI). FUA is basically an art school--they have schools of journalism, fine arts, fashion, culinary arts, and more. I'm studying Political Science and Philosophy in their tiny liberal arts school, and please please please don't ask me about the future of American politics and/or Donald Trump. I don't get it, either. I'm thinking about going into public policy and running for public office one day. On that note, I should probably stop this blog before it begins. Oh, well.

One of my scholarships requires me to creatively record my experiences abroad. I hope to take lots of pictures with this neat little lens that pops onto my phone. I also want to try vloging (video blog, for y'all older folks) and art journaling. I will be at an art school, after all!

I welcome questions and blog interaction. Some FAQ/fun facts before I land in Chicago:

My grandma told me to watch out for "ISIS, earthquakes, and Italian lovers."

What will you miss the most about Iowa?

How nice everyone is? Is that a thing in Italy? My family, mostly.

Why Italy?

See above, also it's hard to find a study abroad program when you're done with all of your general education classes and you have two majors you have to take classes in. I had to choose between  Scotland or Italy, and no offense, Scotland...

How did you find time to study abroad?

I am a busy woman at school. I would say beyond the 15 credits and a couple of extracurriculars busy--I took 19 credits last semester, was a Resident Assistant, and had (?? how many) extracurriculars and weekly meetings. I decided to put a hold on these things because people I had spoken with that had graduated college said not studying abroad was their biggest college regret. I made time because I knew it would be a great experience. It's all about priorities.

Are you going with anyone?

Nope! There's one other person from UNI going to FUA, but I’ve only exchanged a couple of lines with her.

Have you been abroad before?

Nope! But I'm not worried, surprisingly. I've flown by myself before, and I'm generally self-sufficient.

Do you speak Italian?

Not enough. I've learned enough to survive for now, and I'm hoping to learn more! My classes are in English.

The plane has landed. More updates from the air as I fly.

--Gabbie