In Florence in One Piece

[Note: this is going to be long. There is just so much to tell!]

I’m here! I can’t believe it, but I’m here, sitting on my bed, in my oh-so-adorable apartment with 1.5 days in Florence under my belt. It’s a little disorienting, being here. I haven’t been able to see very much of the city yet since we’ve been in orientation meetings and we have so many events this weekend that the days just fly. It’s just such a relief to finally be here after all the traveling.

Oh yes, the traveling. Well, the whole journey began with my flight from Philadelphia to Heathrow. Sitting in Philly the nerves that had been going all day really hit me. I was just finally getting to understand that I would be thousands of miles from anyone that I knew where I didn’t speak the language and the “I’m just a phone call away” line was not going to be so true for a while.

The nerves thankfully subsided after I hit the plane. I had a blessed aisle seat and the middle seat next to me was mercifully vacant, so it seemed less cramped though not quite as ritzy as “Club World.” Each seat had a private pod with a fold out TV and a seat that could recline all the way. Seriously! My goal is to get bumped up when I fly home. Still, flying BA was wonderful. They are all so nice. And so British.

I slept most of the first flight though I was pretty tired when I finally got to Heathrow at 6:50 British time (1:50 at home, 7:50 in Italy). I went through customs, got my bags, and then had to buy a ticket for the shuttle to Gatwick (an hour long drive). Once I got through security in Gatwick I had a lot of time to kill. I also learned something annoying about Gatwick (though maybe this is not the only airport that does this): they do not give you the gate number for your flight until about five minutes before they begin boarding. Also, the gates are a ten to fifteen minute walk from the main terminal.

I learned all this from a very helpful worker. When he found out how long I had to wait (3 hours) he looked at me and shook his head. Then he said, “Oh, that might as well be forever. You could go shop in London and come back in that time. Go have a cup of tea. Relax!” So I sort of did. I should have taken his advice on the tea, though, because I had one of the worst cups of coffee I have ever tasted at some eatery.

The flight to Pisa was nice and short. I sat next to an old Italian man who tried to talk to me about all the problems in the world. He kept on saying “Things change too fast. Too many problems. China cause all the problems.” He was very nice. I consider him my first Italian friend.

At Pisa my driver, Andreas, met me. I cannot even describe the relief I felt when I saw my name on that stupid white board he was holding. As soon as we met and he got one of my bags he said,
“We have to call your mama. She emailed me an hour ago.” So when we got to the car he called Mom with an opening line that sounds a lot like one Dad would use: “Ciao, Barbara. Where’s your daughter? I cannot find her?”

He really was so much fun. He was so nice, giving me his card and telling me that I could call him about anything. “Boyfriend troubles? You call me. Anything.” He also asked me if I wanted to marry his 15 year-old son (a joke?) and told me to get one or even two Italian boyfriends while I’m here. He was great.

He spent the rest of the ride telling me facts about Italy (there are 20 different provinces, provincia, each with their own capital, they plant Cyprus trees to mark property lines, they harvest olives in November, grapes in December, etc.) and quizzing me. He was very impressed that I knew Michelangelo’s last name (Buonarotti). I failed most of the other questions.

The drive was, again, about an hour, and very smooth until we hit Florence. The traffic was CRAZY. Cars were just squirming all over the place. We even hit one on our way to the study center. Ok, we tapped on. Don’t freak out, Mom. He didn’t leave a note.

He helped me bring my bags to the center and Ilaria, one of the staff members at the center, took me to my apartment up the street. I am impressed with this place. There are seven girls living here, so we have two bathrooms, two double bedrooms, and a triple. We also have a washing machine and a dishwasher. Plus there are all these cute decorations and everything. It’s so cute! I’ll just have to get used to all the noise on the street. I never thought about how strange it would be to adjust to life in the city.

When I got to the apartment none of my roommates were there. The ones who had arrived had gone out and we were still waiting on three more. After Ilaria left me I didn’t quite know what to do with myself. It was quiet and lonely and kind of sad. Then about ten minutes later they started to come in, first two girls who just arrived and then the other three who were already here (the poor seventh roommate didn’t get in until about 9). They are all great. My roommate and I get along and they are all so fun.

Later four of us went to a pub down the street to get some dinner. We had crappy sandwiches and free sangria. It’s an Irish-American pub where apparently FSU has a reputation. They are happy to have us back.

And that was day one. More on day two later… Ciao!