L’istituzione Napoletana

When I had my meeting at the Stazione back in March, I was offered an espresso. I declined, because despite having been in Italy for almost two months, I was still accustomed to my long coffee in the morning and basta. The lab director shook his head, took a sip from the fragrant cup and said,…

Purpo

I go to bed to the rhythmic boom of fireworks set off by mischievous kids, and I wake up to the pop of tennis balls hit by their parents. Except I woke up to silence today, and that is never a good sign. I realize it’s too late for breakfast, and I rush to the shower…

Mergellina morning

It’s 9 am on a Monday morning, slightly raining, and upper 70’s Fahrenheit, a chilly day to a Neapolitan. The marketers have already been up for hours: sellers’ twenty-something sons rubbing their eyes and throwing on backwards ball-caps; aloof anglers walking down a busy Mergellina street with buckets in hand, water sloshing and tentacle shadows reaching up the sides; fruit…

Mozzarella Day

Despite living in one of the most energetic, historic, and adventurous cities in the world, it’s hard to return by myself to the dorm, eat my dinner, and try to escape the torrent of thoughts spurred by my boredom and the silence. What allows me to seek refuge, however, is walking past my bus stop after work,…

Madònna

A running joke between the American students of various Italian heritage in Padova was how different regions in Italy have unique and often creative ways of resolving dilemmas. The best example of this was when a few of us braved the day and ventured out to Murano and Burano from Venice, retracing our steps through the Marauder’s Map of…

Six hours

I’ve been in Italy since the end of January, and the past four-ish months have been the longest I’ve ever been away from home. Like really away from home. I’m a Bostonian through-and-through, with spares of spares Red Sox caps, a mother who asks me to “get the paster out of the cah,” and a home video…

Americana

I have won Laundry Gate. I am ready to grace my pedestal and accept my gold detergent trophy, parade around in my gleaming garments, and have people throw dryer sheets on the stage in applause as I am adorned with a billowing, Downy-soft towel-cape of champions. Maybe it was my routine visits to the porter with…

For the love of it

During my first week in Naples, it rained. Desperate to get out in the city before work started, I sloshed my way from Villa Comunale in Chiaia to the Feltrinelli, and sought refuge in the internationally understood awkward silence that accompanies book stores. Except this was Naples after all, so of course there were a handful of…