Another Best Day

I can't even count how many times I've said to Elyssa, or whomever I'm tooling around Italy with, "Today is the best day!" And the wonderful thing is, it's always true.

I woke up at 9, and then again at 9:10, and finally got out of bed at 9:20, with ten minutes to leave the house according to plan for my first volunteer session at the synagogue. Of course, I left at 9:45 instead, makeup-less with a bushy pony tail sporting gym shoes and work out pants instead of my usual I-won't-stick-out-quite-as-much-if-I-wear-these-jeans-and-boots look. Sorry Italy. Sono Americana. Anyway, I power-walked the path I had just researched on googlemaps and arrived with thirty seconds to stand and stare up at the stunning, surprisingly massive synagogue of Florence. Ah, Hebrew. Seeing ivrit felt k

Important Side Note! This day just got even better when Lauren, Fee, and I were suddenly disturbed from our pleasant computer work by a strange noise. We all unplug from our iTunes and open the living room window to find four men dressed in colonial costumes walking slowly down our tiny street playing bag pipes. Wells in Florence: 80 bajillion dollars. New leather jacket: 140 euro. Colonial men playing bagpipes at 1:30 in the morning on the tiniest street in Florence: Priceless.

Okay, back to the synagogue. Mi dispiace. Seeing Hebrew was even more comforting than seeing English. There are so many Americans in Florence, and most of the locals immediately speak English to us sore thumbs before even attempting Italian. I don't by any means miss English. In a strange way, however, I felt that knowing a decent amount of at least one non-English language compensated for knowing hardly any Italian. Emanuele led me into the preschool room and I met one of the two teachers while the other pulled a howling four year old away from his mother. Emanuele decided I'd come in every Monday morning to help with the bambini. (What a perfect word for children. Practically an onomatopoeia.) Finally, when the other teacher had a spare moment, I was introduced to her and she said something very quickly to me in Italian with a lot of gusto. I had no idea what she had said and my facial expression must have shown that because in choppy English she said to me, "You come here to learn Italian, eh? So I speak to you only in Italian!" I responded, "Bene!" I stayed in the classroom for a while, cutting out paper shapes to tape pictures of the kids onto. I stayed silent most of the time because I felt rude speaking English. Hopefully my Italian will improve quickly and I'll be able to communicate with the bambini and with the teachers after only a couple classroom sessions.

I of course got lost on my way back home. It's strange. I can get almost anywhere flawlessly, but as soon as I try to trace my footsteps, I second guess myself into a giant knot of narrow roads and street names that might never stick to my memory until my only hope of finding home is looking for the Duomo above rooftops. That is one of the many reasons I've decided Florence is the perfect place for me. It's so tiny that I can never get that lost or be that late.

When I finally made my way home, I made my face and hair less offensive to the human eye and Lauren and I headed to the Central Market. We'd been wanting to go to the Central Market since week one, but it's only open til 2:30 and we just never made it there. We tried to find it one of our first days in Firenze before meeting friends for lunch but of course got lost and ran out of time. The Central Market is a foodie's amusement park. You immediately know you can trust the quality of everything in there. The market is pretty much a 2-story warehouse with a variety of different stands specializing in all kinds of fresh produce, pasta, meat, and fish. Lauren and I weaved our way around every counter, oo-ing and ah-ing at the pasta and produce and wincing at the skinned rabbit bodies, calf heads, and mystery pig and chicken organs. Already, my Italian is getting better. I was able to ask for two blood oranges, eight clementines, sun-dried tomatoes, and a taste of dried fruit in a mixture of Italian, finger pointing, and violent head nodding. Mercato Centrale is right behind the leather market, so we of course had to say "Ciao" to our best friend Massimo before heading home. Lauren ended up buying another great-looking jacket and we stayed and talked to Massimo and Ferri for at least 45 minutes. Ferri told me all about the history of Iran. Massimo said he'd come with me to the synagogue next Monday morning. I actually believe him! We'll see. (I'll explain Massimo in a later blog, but in brief, he's a quality leather salesman and a wonderful man who all the American Jewish girls studying in Florence know and obsess over.)

The day ended with my friend Kara's birthday dinner at Dante's. The wine was free flowing, which always makes for a fun get together. On the way home, before crossing the bridge back to our side of the Duomo, we stopped at best gelato place of my life. Tiny portions for cheapsies on top of the best consistency and flavor flave yet. Life is beautiful.