is this real life?

My weekend came early this week, and it was definitely the best one since I’ve been in Florence (and perhaps ever).
The view from my second trip to the Boboli Gardens.

After a really tame school week–mostly just going to class, going home, catching up on sleeping, eating with the fam, and heading to bed–Thursday had a lot to offer. I met up with Mercy, a friend who dates all the way back to Andover, at the grocery store around 2 and we selected all the best goods for a picnic–salami, pecorino, fresh focaccia, and lemon soda. We set up our lunch in a beautiful park near the Stanford Center and over the course of two hours, completely finished a chunk of pecorino we had originally thought was far too big for the two of us. The weather has been absolutely amazing so far, in the mid 70s every day, so most of my days have included a few hours of lounging somewhere with plenty of sun. (Though Italians still look at me suspiciously when I wear shorts.) After our picnic, Mercy and I met up with Alex at the Boboli Gardens and lounged for 2 more hours, writing postcards, talking about the trips we hope to take, and discussing Italian style (hit or miss).

After Boboli, Alex and I headed to Teatro del Sale to meet up with a large group who had been anxiously awaiting this night. Andrew, our friends Gus and Jake, who studied with Andrew in Florence, and nearly every other person I’ve known who has visited Florence found it impossible to talk about Florence without mentioning Teatro del Sale. Owned by Fabio Picchi, the chef behind the renowned Florence restaurant Cibreò, Teatro del Sale is one of the most unique experiences you can find in Florence, perhaps anywhere. Teatro del Sale is a private dining and arts club that you can join for a nominal price, after which you are able to come for any meal and show for a not so nominal price. The dining area of Teatro is situated in an old theater with beautiful wooden tables, dim lighting, and an ambience that somehow makes you feel like you’ve gone back in time and are enjoying a night out with Shakespeare and his circle of artsy friends–eating, drinking, being jolly, and enjoying a quaint show following the meal. Chef and owner Fabio Picchi helps this fantasy seem even more real. A tall Italian man with an abundance of white hair, Picchi might just be the most unforgettable part of Teatro. Teatro is served buffet style with a new dish brought out every 10 or 15 minutes, though the actual number of platters is never revealed so you must pace yourself. Each time Picchi finishes a new course, he comes to a large kitchen window and shouts the arrival of his newest dish into the dining area, a bellow so intense I don’t think even Italians can make out what he’s saying. Immediately after Picchi’s war call, the diners at Teatro, classy as they may be, move in a stampede to the buffet. When it’s done, it’s done. After several battles to score myself a taste of almost all the dishes, I can say that this was some of the best food I’ve ever had, complemented of course by the amazing focaccia and the endless house wine. The highlights were two potato dishes, chicken meatballs with pomodori, rigatoni with the best bolognese ragu I’ve ever had, and rosemary chicken. After a quick espresso and a bite-sized brownie, the show began–A night with the Beatles! The performer played some of the most beautiful renditions of Beatles’ songs I’ve ever heard, but most of us agreed that he should’ve stuck solely with the guitar. His singing was borderline painful at times, but I know I felt comforted by the sounds of the Beatles that night, a little piece of home. We left happy and full. I hope to come back with Andrew when he comes!
Teatro chef Fabio Picchi.

This weekend my host father was out of town, selling his wine in Verona, so I think my host mom tried to monopolize on some girl time. On Friday, she took us to a choir concert in one of the most unique churches in Florence, Chiesa del Sacro Cuore. The choir, La Martinella, consisted of about 30 older men singing “traditional Italian mountain songs.” Though it was quite different from the kind of a cappella concerts I’m used to, it was by far one of the most beautiful performances I’ve ever seen, such a pure and blended sound. As far as it was from Michael Jackson or Boyz II Men, I couldn’t help but be reminded of Everyday People and how much I’ve been missing singing with them. At the concert, I met one of my host mother’s best friends from college, Francesca, and her father, Franco. Francesca also hosts Stanford students and is currently the host mother of my friend Gina, who is absolutely in love with Francesca and her other family members. Franco Vannini, Francesca’s father, might just be the coolest, most refreshing Italian that I’ve met in my time here. Franco is in his mid-80s and has been teaching architecture at the University of Florence for the past 20 years, before which he was an architect himself. When he’s not teaching or talking to people, Franco is working on some kind of art project. (Right now he is quite excited about working with watercolor–much less messy than oil.) He is witty, passionate, and warm. Franco and I spoke for about 30 minutes before the concert began, and I realized after going home that night that my conversation with Franco was the very first time that I’ve felt 100% confident carrying on with an Italian. He listens without judgment, helps you when you’re struggling for words, and always has something fascinating to talk about. At the end of the night, my host mother mentioned that we would be spending Sunday at a villa in the country with Francesca and her family. When I asked Franco if he would be joining us, everybody laughed. “è casa mia!” Franco said. I was so excited to hear that Franco would not only be at the gathering on Sunday but hosting it at his summer villa.

Saturday I woke up early to head to a tiny town called Greve in the Chianti region with a group of 9 for some wine tasting and motorino riding (not in that order). When my friend Riley mentioned renting motorinos in Chianti, I was pretty sure I would never partake. I associate motorinos in Florence with near-death accidents or death itself. Also, driving ANYTHING in Florence completely terrifies me. You’ve never seen insanity like the driving system in Italy–essentially, there isn’t one. But Riley assured me that there were infinitely less people in Chianti than in Florence and that we could find roads through the vineyards that would be completely isolated. So I agreed to go, but never said anything about driving. Riley was right, indeed. Greve was gorgeous and quiet, with very few people or cars in sight–such a wonderful change of pace. We rented 4 motorinos at a family-run bike shop called Ramuzzi (highly recommended to rent with them if you ever visit Chianti), and we were on our way. I rode with Riley, who was the only one in our group who’d driven a motorino before, and made him promise to be careful and start off slow. The drive to lunch was absolutely stunning. I’d never seen anything like it. We were pretty much the only people on the road, the weather was perfect, the air was so fresh, and the higher we went, the more we could see of endless green hills and vineyards. It was perfect. We stopped for lunch at a restaurant with the most insane view, and I ordered the papardelle with wild boar, bruschetta, and since Riley was driving, a glass of a local Chianti. Lunchtime conversation, and much of the conversation in the days that followed our trip to Chianti, hovered around the theme of: “this might just be the best day of my life.”

Later in the afternoon, to my great surprise, I decided I wanted to try driving for a bit. I can’t even express how much fun it was to be in the driver’s seat. Alex, Gina, and I, did a final drive right before turning the motorinos in, and it was even more gorgeous than the ride to lunch. The sun was setting over la campagna and we were all in heaven. This is definitely one of the best risks I’ve taken since being in Florence and ended up being one of my favorite memories so far.

It was a campagna filled weekend! Sunday afternoon, my roommate, Sarah, and I piled in the car with the whole family for a day with the Vannini’s at Franco’s villa in the Chianti region. After driving for about an hour–it was insane how quickly Florence was completely out of sight–we arrived at the Vannini Villa, a gorgeous 15th century villa that Franco purchased in the 1950s. Franco’s daughters–Elizabetta and Francesca, my host mother’s best friend–both came and brought their children, including Francesca’s host student, Gina. Franco was thrilled to see us again, and immediately took us on a tour of the villa. The villa boasted everything from a beautiful pool with a 360 degree view to an original kitchen from centuries ago (just one of the kitchens in the villa) to a large painted version of the Vannini family tree that stretches all the way back to the 16th century. Also, one of my favorite parts of the villa, Franco’s art is EVERYWHERE. Every room has at least 10 paintings or drawings, some from last month and some from 20 years ago. When I asked Franco about them, he said he isn’t one of those people who says he likes to paint but only paints once or twice a month. He does a little bit of art everyday, including leading an art class for children in Florence every week. Everything in Franco’s villa somehow related to his passion for life in general–his books of recipes, his boat room with pictures and models of traditional Italian boats, his paintings and sculptures, his wine collection. (If you haven’t figured it out already, I’m a little in love with Franco Vannini.)
The Vannini Villa.
Franco showing us the original bread oven in the Vannini Villa.
The view from one of the bedrooms.

After the tour, we ate very well. Pesto pasta, frittatas, cheese, salumi, bread and wine. Sitting in the sunlight of the patio, hearing nothing but Italian, it hit me how lucky I am. Not just to be in Italy, but to be experiencing Italy like this, like an Italian. This was the first experience that I felt was truly, 100% authentic–no tourists could ever find themselves here, with these people, part of these conversations. This is no ordinary abroad program. I’ve met several American students since being here who hardly speak Italian, let alone communicate with Italians on a regular basis. Every time I meet one of these students, I feel a little sad for them but am also reminded to treasure every single moment of this experience while I’m here. This Sunday also made me feel so appreciative that the people involved with this program really let us into their lives completely–host families, language partners, etc. The main reason Sunday was so unforgettable was because it felt like a gathering that I belonged at, a gathering of my friends and family. At the end of the day, Franco brought out his camera and led us three Stanford girls to the garage. He asked us if we’d be willing to take a picture with him in his vintage car, “like Charlie’s Angels.” We happily obliged–anything for Franco! I was really sad to leave, but Franco gave us his number and said we can consider him a new language partner if we want. We are already planning a trip back to the villa, but I hope Franco and I can meet up for many caffès before then. On the drive home, I was my very happiest happy. There really aren’t words, in Italian or English, for how beautiful and perfect this day was. I will treasure it forever.

Franco’s Angels.
Bertinis.

I haven’t made plans for this weekend yet, but I’m really looking forward to Rome Easter weekend and Paris the weekend after that. Andrew arrives the weekend after Paris, so I have plenty to keep me excited. Andrew is about to embark on his 9th day on the Camino de Santiago and seems to be doing great. Whereas a few days earlier, a few people in the group were really struggling with either joint problems, severe foot pain, or bad blisters, everybody seems to be adjusting now to the 15-20 miles a day. The group seemed happier than ever when I Skyped with them tonight, so I have no worries about them as they make their way across Spain.

To anyone still reading 2000 words later (this is the closest thing I’ve written to an essay since being in Florence), thank you very much and I promise I will be more concise or just write more short entries in the future.

I’m missing everyone lots and hoping I can bring all of you back here someday!
Florence is really starting to feel like my city. (Except when I remember that I speak Italian at the level of a 1 year-old, and that is likely a generous comparison.)