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)