To family and friends who have requested to visit, live vicariously or just wanted a little encouragement for their own plunge--this is for you.
I will begin with the end. I am here in Italia. English is scarce and Italian is abundant just as I had hoped. The streets are plated with ill-fitting cobble stones, which makes me think I should have packed different shoes. My ignorant pallet cannot detect the potent flavors of my first pasta di volge (NOTE: Please forgive all Italian errors until further notice.), but lets just say, "Seconds, por favore!" Humidity and jet lag has embedded the Italian siesta into my new lifestyle already. And yet, as my senses attest that I am in fact here, a part of me could not believe it until just this evening.
For those who were not aware of my Visa escapade allow me to begin mia viaggio in Itaia there. I have been waiting for August 20th 2010 since January 3rd 2010 (you do the math it is 23:54, right now). However for about 3 agonizing days in August I thought my nightmares had come true. I thought was not going to Italy. While perusing the Internet for bureaucratic issues regarding apartment rentals, I stumbled bureaucratic issues regarding Visas. I will admit right here--I was naive. Waiting for my nulla osta to arrive, I envisioned a few hours at the consulate and a same-day departure Visa in hand--I know, I was naive. As it turns out, once the documents have been submitted the VISA process could take up to two weeks according to the website. Two weeks! On this dismal day two weeks was August 19th, the day before my departure. My mine began to race. What if I don't get it in time? Well, I guess I could just delay my flight...what about the cost...who cares, you've been waiting for this opportunity forever...what if all the seats are taken? You can see the world spinning chaotically in my head, can't you? Well, research takes me to even more devastating discoveries: "By appointment only." Okay, let me make an appointment I think to myself while deep down realizing the inevitability following the click--a red August calendar. There are no appointments available until September 8th. A new wave of irrational thoughts swirl in my mind. September 8th! School will have already been in session for a week... I only have a preliminary contract, I think...what if they cancel it and hire someone locally to replace me...how could those poor kids show up the first day without a teacher...even if I do keep my position...gaining respect and rapport will be an even more delicate feat...if I don't get to go, I will need a job, which there aren't any...where will I live...how will I support myself...will I have to work outside of my field--stepping backwards...failing...STOP THINKING. My mom and I drove home the next day, which was an eight hour adventure and between calling the consulate and my silent rants--let's just say my stomach ate my heart.
Outside of these pessimistic predictions, an amazing friend of my mother's saved me or God sent her to me. She happened to have an Italian speaking neighbor who translated the documents that were sent to me and her sister worked for the courthouse allowing her to seek inside advice. With my persistent calls, her fax and both of our emails, a glimmer of hope appeared on Saturday that read, "I can probably see you on August 9th or 10th." A thousand bricks had disintegrated and my mom and friend were ecstatic. I would only allow a huge smile and a deep breath...the word "probably" was illuminated in my mind. What did she mean by "probably"?
I spent the next two days diligently preparing documents for my meeting at the consulate and trying not to entertain other chaotic rants in my head. To do this, I kept busy, but I wasn't myself and I was fooling no one. From day one of the whole escapade I refused to take any step toward preparing for Italy until I had a Visa in my passport and my passport in my hand. My mom asked me about my suitcases, my International Driver's Permit, toiletries and all I would say is "not until I have my VISA."
The morning of August 9th, Mom and I drove forty-five minutes to the consulate arriving just after 7PM. We fiddled around a bit knowing that we were insanely early for my appointment, until I finally decided to just stand outside the door until it opened. After what was less than five minutes, a women approached me to inform me of the consulate hours. "I have an appointment," I interjected. She immediately knew me by name. She sent me away for coffee until my appointment time. She was warm and friendly, which was a relief. She could very well have been rude and irritable as she was doing me a huge favor. I felt better and the meeting went without a glitch, fifteen minutes, my paperwork was more than acceptable, the consulate had my passport. Now, I had to wait.
Well, it is late and as I could go on for several more paragraphs, I won't. I will tell you that my passport arrived Friday afternoon much to my delight, I had received the address of my apartment that following Monday and my planes arrived early at each destination negating my other irrationalities of missed flights.
Tonight is my second night in Florence. I wandered around a bit discovering this hilarious mime with a burlesque hat diving into the crowds of Florence pulling startled tourists to engage in his comedic acts of magic, nothingness and at sometimes I must admit inappropriateness, but it all came off quite well. My favorite moment was when he started blowing up a red balloon and tempting a three year old away from his father to the point where the kid was actually running after him to get the balloon. The comedian must have ran 60 feet back and forth with the little boy running into his father arms in tears. The red balloon was handed to Dad and all was well. I guess the uncertainty of a moment or a few days makes anyone a bit scared, but in retrospect it always realized that the fear was irrational and was bound to pass. I walked away from the outdoor performance finally believing that I am living in Florence, Italy...at last.
