roots

It was pouring rain when I stepped off the train in Siena. Giancarlo and I were drenched by the time we made it back to his apartment, but I couldn't have cared less. After a year, it had all come back full circle. I was reconnected with my Italian roots. I was home. With wet hair and squeaky shoes, we waddled our way to the Piazza del Campo. I had only one thing on my mind. Coconut gelato is perhaps the most delightful thing that I've ever tasted. After a year of separation, it didn't let me down. With the first taste of sweet and creamy coconut, the memories started pouring in and the sun emerged to shin brightly over a perfect piazza, a perfect day, and two friends reminiscing about a perfect Tuscan summer.

After a bottle of Prosecco, we headed to the school to accompany the new students on an evening walk around the city center. I enjoyed observing the reactions of the students as they learned about Siena's rich history and legends. I imagined myself in the same situation a year ago... eager to learn, to experience, to grow. I have learned, experienced, and grown, but I was still just as bright-eyed and mesmerized by Siena's beauty and depth. Giancarlo and I slipped off early and met Roni, another staff member, and her friend Monsi for dinner. As we discussed the previous summer as well as future plans, I realized that a lot changes in one year. But how nice it is to experience life's little comforts... Good conversation with old friends, the taste of fresh pasta, and a familiar night air veiled with stars that I have often contemplated.

The next day we took the bus out to Acquacalda to visit Luciana, my host mother from last summer. We walked down Via Dante. Rang the bell. Waited. Climbed the stairs to Number 18. And there she was to greet me with a glowing face, warm hugs and many kisses. I felt so loved. I sat in my old chair at the table as she served us coffee and chocolate cake. Nothing had changed. She was still my Italian mother... the woman who had fed me, cared for me, and taught me how to live in a new little world. The sound of her voice was comforting. Her thick Tuscan accent was no easier to understand, but I was glad for it. I somehow managed to say goodbye and we left. Just like that.

We spent Sunday in Florence. Once again, food was on the mind. We made our way to "Il latini," a restaurant popular among the locals for traditional Tuscan cuisine. We sat family style, surrounded by couples speaking Italian, French, and English. Just as the previous summer, the waiter offered us no menu, but this time I knew just what I wanted- pappa al pomodoro- a thick soup made from stale bread, tomatoes, onions, basil, and vegetable broth. Next, I had fresh pasta with tomatoes and zucchini. The red wine was bottomless, of course. Dessert was strawberry mousse and a glass of Moscato, followed by freshly baked cantuccini and a shot of a traditional Tuscan liquor (it was the only thing that we left on the table). Lunch was followed by a nap in a nearby patch of grass. Naps are a must after an Italian meal.

Giancarlo and I said our goodbyes and I headed to the train station. Three hours later, I was home again. To a new home. I wonder how deep my roots will plant here... What will grow from this new experience.