After a horrendous day of getting keys, signing in, and attending never-ending meetings, we finally got to meet our host families. I was pretty excited and only slightly nervous that they wouldn’t speak English or that I would feel uncomfortable in their home.

     Luckily, I had nothing to worry about. My host family is the bomb. The father grew up in Italy, and the mother grew up in Seattle, so she actually knew what Whitman was. Both of them were incredibly kind and hospitable. And because the mother is originally from the States, they both were able to speak English to us while we got to get to know them, which made feeling at home that much easier. They also have a 30 year old son and a 14 year old daughter. I’ve yet to spend too much time with their son, but their daughter is such a sweetheart. She’s also bursting with sass and wit and I absolutely love her.

     And then there’s my roommate. I was unsure of who I was going to be roomed with so I was mildly concerned that we weren’t going to get along, but to my surprise, we actually are really close friends already. In fact, she’s kind of a New Jersey clone of me. She’s an art major who does photography. She also is just as interested in social political conversations and classes about gender and sexuality like I am. She’s also full of sass but also so much understanding and heart. We also both share the same music taste, and also a bizarre knack for attracting drama, so it’s been fun to exchange scarily similar experiences. All in all, I feel like I lucked out so much with my family and my friends, which were by far the parts I was expecting were going to be the most challenging to deal with.

     Adjusting to the cultural differences in the home though has actually been more jarring than expected. They’re all small changes, but it’s still enough to make you understand that you are participating in a new culture. In general, food is such a pivotal part of Italian lifestyle and experience here, so all the small differences are still incredibly important for me to take note of. For example, here in Italy everyone eats dinner at 8:00 PM and every night we burn through several courses of dinner that our host mom prepares herself. All of the food is excellent by the way. Just bursting with rich tastes and heartiness. I learned that you’re not allowed to go back once you’ve eaten a course, which makes sense. It’s also not courteous to leave anything on your plate, so I’ve learned how to finish my food, even when I’m stuffed. In addition, I’ve learned that wine is a drink only to be really drunk with food, and that beer is consumed with pizza. I also learned that you can save yourself the mess of eating spaghetti if you actually twirl your pasta with your spoon like they do in the movies. Also, the coffee here is to die for, but on the go coffee isn’t really a thing here. Also, piece of advice for any Italy travelers- “bars” in Italy refer to coffee bars, so it’s best not to show up there expecting a drink, at least that’s what my host mom warned us about.

     Also other differences I’ve run into have to do with consuming and saving resources. In Italy also, the price of electricity and water is so high that you have to be constantly watching the lights you turn on, and make sure you’re conserving water. Apparently, Americans in general get commented on how much we use up these things when we live with our host families, so I’ve be conscientious about my energy usage. It makes you think about how much we take for granted our use of 20 minute showers, or that we can use the washer and the stove and the shower all at once without the blink of an eye. I feel like after being so conscientious for a week, I must have just been so oblivious to energy use prior to coming here.

     I could go on forever about the small differences I’ve noticed, but for now I’ll leave that for another post. Now I’m left to navigate a new culture, in a brand new city. I’ll keep you all posted soon. Arrivederci!

So after an entire summer preparing for and panicking over my upcoming study abroad experience, I finally found myself sitting in my beautiful apartment room, overseeing the warm yellow and orange buildings that run down the streets of Florence Italy. And well, I can honestly say, study abroad, at least in this first week, is nothing like I thought it was going to be; it’s so much more.

     Prologue: I spent the entire summer preemptively mourning my lost semester at Whitman and worrying myself over the simplest things like making friends, having a good roommate, not being able to get out of the airport, etc., so much so that I forgot what I had to look forward to. I spent little time thinking about the fact that I was going to totally immerse myself in a new culture, or integrate myself into a family with ways that I had to respect and adapt to. Probably for the better because I didn’t need any more worries to consume my headspace.

     So, on my first day, I arrived late in the afternoon after my 10+ hour flight. I was wracked with nerves and excitement, and mostly the concern that I was going to screw up my basic Italian and not make it to the right hotel. Once I got in the taxi though, I was finally able to relax, and then it hit me. I was in the heart of Florence Italy. And as my taxi whipped around the tight, windy streets, I soaked in everything I could see from my taxi window.

     Tall yellow and pink buildings with thin brown windowsills ran down every street. The sides of the pavements were packed with cars and bikes parked bumper to bumper. Moped riders zoomed every which way and pedestrians weaved in and out of the street, fearlessly strutting around while cars nearly grazed them. Already I knew I was in a completely different world. And as my taxi drove further into the heart of Florence, I started to notice how narrow the streets were, how old and refined the architecture was, how many tiny restaurants and shops could be jam packed into a tiny block. I also noticed that the people carry themselves differently. The Italian people I saw held their heads up high, with backs aligned straight. They were not timid dodging through the crowds and streets and they walked with an air of conviction and swagger.

Finally, my taxi arrived at my hotel and after exchanging a butchered “Grazie!” I headed into the lobby. This honestly, was probably the most disorienting and frightening part of my trip so far- assimilating into the crowd of American study abroad students. I apparently arrived later than everyone else and decided to not fly on the group trip, so to my surprise, when I walked into the dining room half an hour after dinner had started, everyone was already sitting in groups, talking like they had known each other for years, which some of them had. I quickly sat down at a nearby table hoping to blend in as much as possible. The people were courteous, though not great at talking to me, so I sat back and ate while I watched the crowds of people chatting. I learned later that many people had come to Florence with classmates and friends. I thought to myself, “I couldn’t possibly be the only one who’s alone here can I?” That thought was soon followed by “what in the world did I get myself into?” I went back to my room, feeling more overwhelmed and lonely than I’ve been since freshman orientation.

That night though, after an incredibly long and draining meeting on the dos and don’ts of living in Italy,  I was able to really connect with some of the Architecture and Art Majors in my program. It reminded me how refreshing it is to start over, and also how important it is to reevaluate your identity as you continue to grow.

     My Whitman orientation, I wanted to make friends with everyone and do everything; I wanted to be liked. Now, I know that I want to find the people that fit with me. Find the specific people that force me to grow. Find the places that will wow me. I want to go off on my own adventures and do as much art documentation as I can. And for the first time in a while, my identity was focused less on people pleasing, but on pleasing myself, and being confident in who I am and the choices I make. Though my first night was overwhelming and disorienting, I feel asleep knowing that I was going to be okay because I trusted myself to find people and things that make me happy. And I’m relieved to say about a week later that I was right to trust myself.