Day One
I’m not as nervous as I thought I’d be when the plane lands in Nice. The sun is too bright; the whole world seems to be right in front of me, ready to be grasped. I grab my backpack with ease and walk off the plane.
This is my first time traveling to a foreign country alone, my first time not knowing a soul for hundreds upon hundreds of miles.
There are many small children in line with their parents as I go through customs. I smile and they smile back. I wave and they wave. Mutual admiration is very encouraging to me, given that I am about to meet a small child who will be my responsibility for the next few months.
I pass through easily. I was rehearsing my answer in line: “Business or pleasure? Pleasure. How long will I be staying? Two and a half months. Do I have a return flight booked? Not yet.” But they simply take my passport, stamp it, and send me on my way. I am a bit disappointed, actually.
As soon as I find baggage claim, my luggage appears before my eyes. I don’t question my luck. I push my suitcases somewhat awkwardly around the corner. Before I can even process what is happening, I am pulled into an embrace by my new host family. They have a sign reading my name: “Ellie! We love Ellie!” We all hug as if we had been separated by the war and were finally being reunited. Fulvio, the father, is filming the whole thing behind me. They all pull me in for kisses and hugs and smiles and all I’m thinking is I smell so bad from this nine hour flight please don’t notice I haven’t reapplied deodorant yet.
They take my bags to the car, and we drive across the border into Italy. They ask me, “Ellie, do you need a sleep? Ellie, do you need a meal?” and they ask me again. I tell them that I’m okay, I slept and ate on the plane. I never know if they understand me because they nod their heads and smile so frequently.
Antonella, the mother, beings chanting, “cafe! cafe! I want cafe!” Fulvio rolls his eyes, but then chants, “spaghetti! spaghetti! I want spaghetti!” The whole time, Rebecca and I are in the back seat, as if we have been friends forever. She’s very affectionate and energetic. As soon as we finish one activity, we’re already onto the next. We’re playing on the phone, then doing handshakes, then playing truth or dare. We pull into a parking spot. Apparently Antonella has successfully convinced Fulvio to stop for coffee. We walk up to a beachside cafe, and they greet everyone by name. Everyone hugs and kisses Rebecca and warmly welcomes me.
Rebecca and I go off to play on the rocks that jut into the Ligurian sea. There is hardly anyone outside, it is cloudy and cold. We throw stones into the water. Rebecca gets great joy out of this, as I will later find out. She loves tossing things into the water to see what happens. Then, we all gather back into the car and drive to the market. Rebecca and I play outside while her father shops. We play tag, freeze tag, hopscotch, and then another game of tag. I am sweating even more now and hope I can take a shower soon before the family notices.
Finally, they say, we are going to their village. We drive up the hill, passing large expanses of gardens and orchards and rustic homes. Rebecca pipes in— “beautiful, isn’t it?” This is another thing I learn about Rebecca: she’s an expert at recognizing beautiful things. For a child who grew up among all this, I can see how it might become commonplace to her. But no, she’s just as awestruck as me. She’s eight.
The roads get smaller and smaller. The car barely fits around a corner, and I gasp.
“This road is so small!”
They laugh. “Oh, no. This is big. Just wait!”
We drive further up the hill, and they’re right. Somehow, it gets even smaller. All their roads are one-ways with missing signs.
“What if another car comes?”
They laugh again. They make a motion with their hands that I don’t understand. I assume that it’s complicated.
We approach their house, an old olive oil mill. There are plants growing everywhere. They give me a few moments to unpack, shower, and change. Then, Rebecca is at my door.
“Let us play.”
I follow her outside. We explore her backyard. There are strawberries, aloe plants, flowers, and other things growing in pots. They have animals everywhere: two cats, lots of fish, and turtles. We climb down stone steps where there is an opening at the bottom of the bridge. Rebecca leans over the water to see if she can find any frogs.
Antonella asks me if I would like a salad. I say yes. A few hours later, we all sit down and have salad with corn and arugula, tuna, tomatoes and fennel, peppers, and carrots with olive oil. The tastes of each explode in my mouth. They encapsulate Plato’s forms— what every vegetable and fish want to be. There is bread around the table, just sitting on the table cloth. I grab one and try to break off a piece, but it is hard as a rock. They laugh.
“You must use your strength.”
They make a motion with their hands, indicating that I split it down the middle. I almost pull a muscle trying to split the bread in half. They break off pieces and dip it into the salad. The bread is simple and tough, but not stale. Very good.
The whole meal is fresh and tasty. They casually ask me if I like it, and I try to hide a bit of my enthusiasm. Yes, can we please have this everyday?
“Yes! I like.”
“Great, we have salad everyday around 1 o’clock.”
When we finish, Rebecca asks if we can leave. They scold her and tell her to let me rest.
“Would you like a nap, Ellie? Fulvio and I go for a nap now. Rebecca usually goes on her country walks.”
I tell them I’d like to walk. Immediately, Rebecca and I are out the door. First, we stop in her backyard to pick lemons. She runs back inside yelling “un momente!” and returns with a knife. She cuts the lemon and gives me half. We walk all around the town, exploring this and that. Sucking on our lemons. Looking in empty windows, picking up large sticks, examining plants and wildlife. “Look! Beautiful!” she says around every corner. I agree.
There is a fountain a few steps from where their house is. It looks older than Julius Caesar. Rebecca drinks from it, and motions towards me.
“Very good. Come drink.”
Then we walk up a steep, stone pathway. Rebecca leads me to a cherry tree. We eat cherry after cherry straight from the tree and take some back with us for later.
We play with the turtles in their backyard, race on bicycles and scooters, and run around. Sometimes, a car will come, and Rebecca will yell “car!” We flatten ourselves out on the walls or stand in stone doorways. We throw our lemons into the creek that runs beneath their house. (Rebecca says, “It’s okay. Good for the plants.”) Later that night, we sit down for dinner. We have chicken and sausage on sticks with peppers. We speak a mixture of Italian and English, each of us learning the language of the other. We talk about word etymologies and tourism. They show me their recycling habits, and I clear my plate in the correlating bins.
After a while, I make my way to bed— the sound of the water and the frogs and the country serenading me. I sigh as I lay down, feeling the weight of the day. But I smile, too, anticipating the many beautiful moments yet ahead.
When Rebecca invited me towards the fountain, I drank from it immediately. I didn’t question its cleanliness or mock its dilapidation. I merely drank, and I felt satisfied.
On my very first day here, it seems as if all of Italy is motioning towards me— indicating that I approach it and drink from it and enjoy.