I survived a week in Italy! Technically it’s been ten days, a very long ten days mostly thanks to the 24 hour flight to get here. I’ve been playing catch up on sleep ever since those wheels touched down in Rome. Between lack of sleep, a different timezone and the arrival of a head cold, it hasn’t been the Benvenuto in Italia I had been envisaging for the past three years. Its been a rollercoaster of emotions from disbelief, awe and excitement to panic, sadness, elation and doubt. Every emotion is powered by coffee, cornetto, pasta and tiramisu.

Rome was everything I expected it to be. Unfortunately this city doesn’t appeal to me. I wasn’t a big fan in 2019 and the return visit failed to alter my perception. I find the streets too crowded with tourists, the traffic next level hectic and whilst it is a very walkable city (the historic centre away) the place is hellar hilly. Maybe it was just because the city was ridiculously hot for October and I didn’t pack to accommodate this, so maybe it's my fault, to quote Taylor Swift “it’s me, hi, I’m the problem, it’s me”. I didn't book the museums I wanted to go to prior to arriving incase I wasn’t in the mood on the day and by then they were fully booked, so I will have to return when I am better organised. Rome, I’ll give you another chance, one more strike and you’re out buddy.

On my fourth day I caught the fast train to Florence. Florence, bella Firenze, she has my heart. When I was on holiday in 2019, Florence was the first city I could see myself living in, then came Lucca and Bologna. I am very pleased the same feeling returned and without the rose coloured glasses from being on holiday this time. Florence is much smaller than Rome. I find Florentine’s more friendly and whilst there are still an immense amount of tourists in the centro storico (you can’t poke a stick without hitting an American tourist or student) there is a completely different feeling here. Ah tourists, I find their ignorance and lack of awareness of their surroundings absolutely hilarious. I often find myself wandering aimlessly for an hour and a half most days with ease. I may stop for an espresso, or like today an unplanned amazing lunch in a small piazza, and people watch until a waiter plucks me from my thoughts. If you are a people watching fan like me, it is heaven. I often have to stop myself from laughing out loud or smiling at what I see because I am aware I look like a crazy person. A girl alone walking around laughing is cause for someone to call the Carabinieri, which may not be that bad because hello Italian men in uniform! FYI the carabinieri are like our police but they aren’t police - law enforcement has a few tiers here.

On my first day in Florence I was lucky to meet one of my literary heroes. Kamin Mohammadi wrote the very well known Bella Figura. Her memoir covers her time spent in Florence in 1996 when she was writing her first novel about leaving her home country of Iran as a refugee. Bella Figura takes you on her journey and how the Italian way of living brought her to life. I listened to this book for the first time on Audible three years ago, and since then I have read it twice and re-listened to it over half a dozen times. She knows that her book was a massive inspiration to me and what she experienced 27 years ago when living in London was exactly how I was feeling prior to planning this move. I was burnt out, overweight and lack lustre in all aspects of my life. They say you should never meet your heroes for fear of them not living up to expectations. I’m glad to say that Kamin, in person, is even more wonderful than I thought she would be after listening to her read her memoir so many times. She is vivacious, warm, welcoming, engaging. Kamin’s generous spirit has continued to connect her to lovers of Bella Figura after all these years.

My apartment until the 25 November is in Sant’Ambrogio, around the corner from the famous Sant’Ambrogio markets. These markets also feature heavily in Kamin’s novel. I am not a stalker, it was completely unplanned because my accommodation was booked by the language school I’m attending. I like to think that serendipity had something to do with it. I’m blessed to be in such a central location, only a fifteen minute stroll to the Duomo and a little bit more to the Arno river. I am even more blessed to be in a room at the back of the building because once you step out of the front door you are greeted with a vibrant scene of locals going about their day, students frequenting the American style cafe opposite and the usual mix of beggars and street performers asking for money. One thing you will notice everywhere, be that outside the supermarket, in the piazza or following people around in general, are gypsy women begging for money. Today, whilst waiting for the bus, I saw one get out of her Smart car, put on her head scarf and venture off to wherever she was going to act like she was poor. Tourists beware, a scam is coming for you.

My time here thus far has been blessed with beauty, but the reality of being far away from family, the familiar and the security that home brings with it is undeniably hard. Prior to leaving, I kept waiting for the anxiety to come, but it didn’t. As my final week was occupied by catch ups with friends and family, the question asked at every meet up was ‘are you scared or anxious’. I answered honestly, ‘no I’m not’. At that point I had no worries at all, I continued to feel oddly calm about what was about to change. It seems those emotions were delayed a week. Maybe being so busy the week prior to leaving distracted me from sitting with those feelings, or maybe cloud 9 kept me floating through so the realisation wouldn’t prevent me from boarding the plane. Either way, all the feelings surfaced a couple of days ago.

I thought I’d make it at least to the end of the first month without a freak out but my mind had other plans. I finished Thursday’s language class with a migraine so I took myself to bed by 2pm. I woke Friday morning with migraine remnants, still sick and in a panic that this had all been a massive mistake. Multiple people told me they thought what I was doing was brave, that uprooting from the norm for 12 months, solo, was something they could never do. I joked every time “either brave or extremely naive”, Friday morning I felt anything but brave. I’ve been checking apartment and flat share rental websites for months prior to coming here, added all the Facebook groups as suggested by a friend already living in Florence, and the market offered slim to no vacancies in my budget. Finding long term accommodation has been the main stress point for months for my peace of mind to settle. People living here said there’s not much you can do until you are physically in Florence because you have to inspect the properties so don’t stress until you’re here. Easier said than done. Talk to a local and they all say the same thing, AirBNB has killed Florence’s historic centre for locals and long term rental opportunities. AirBNB has ruined the historic centre’s authenticity, it has become overrun with tourists and as a result the locals are pushed further out into the hills.

I’ve come with enough savings that if I could secure a long term rental, I could manage to feed and house myself for a couple of months if I couldn’t find work straight away whilst holding on to some back up funds. If I had to shell out $2K AUD a month in hotel apartment bookings I would burn through my savings at Usain Bolt speed. After only a week my outlook on trusting the Universe, that the Universe will deliver what is intended for me, was shot to the proverbial ‘shitter’. The calmness and faith that I’d arrived with was in pieces. I couldn’t stop crying Friday, my mind was racing with thoughts of homelessness come November 25 and I was on the verge of a panic attack, I hadn’t had one of those since before leaving Quest in 2020. I’d have to return to Australia after two months and how could I face people after returning so soon. That I’d failed before I’d even started. Thanks to a chat with my supportive and level headed parents, who have the distance and ability to see reason, I calmed down a bit. After all, I have only been here for a week. The planner in me doesn’t cope well without a plan it seems. Armed with a box of tissues hidden in my bag due to the endless running of my nose, I took myself out for a long walk to get out of the apartment. That night I prayed to God, to my Nonno and Grandparents watching me in Heaven, any spirit out there listening, for help. Whether the spirit lives on after death or not, I believe it does, I was begging anyone not earth side for some divine intervention.

After a restock of tissues, some carbs and a coffee, I woke up with a less sketchy perception of my future. I decided that Saturday I’d take myself to the Uffizi Gallery early to be overcome by beautiful art instead of self sabotaging thoughts. Thanks to a queue that went around three sides of the block I decided to go for breakfast instead. Melaleuca is a place that feels like home. It has eggs benedict with bacon and no judgement ordering a milky coffee at any time. It felt like the gentle embrace of someone familiar, and just what I needed. Not long after I’d ordered, the welcomed tones of an Australian accent could be heard from the table near me and the lovely couple who arrived invited me to join them for breakfast. I hadn’t just been delivered the familiar sounds of home in the accent, but my Fairy Godparents. In this short time I’ve learned that connections mean everything when you’re alone in a new country. Whilst I have the citizenship I am still a straniera, a foreigner. Meeting L & K has been an actual God send - they have a spare apartment with a free room until February, I will not be homeless come 25 November! I’ve got three months now to find a permanent place and work. Thank you God, Nonno, Grandma & Grandpa, Auntie & Uncle for whatever heavenly ju ju work you performed on Saturday - keep that shit coming! I can’t describe the relief I am now feeling. The level of stress has gone, I can breathe.

When you see these adventures on Instagram from those travel bloggers and the ‘you too can live your dream life’ bullshitters, they don’t portray the reality. They are all filters and fuzzy edges. Reality is tears, stress, panic attacks and anxiety. No one could have been more educated and prepared for life in Italy than I. I am well aware of how hard learning the language is, that the pay is terrible, so why do it? Quality of life, a slower pace, community, that’s why. I guess it’s only natural that a transition from home to the unknown will take time to settle in to.

What I’ve learned from only a week here is that I need to be kinder to myself. That as hard as it is to see my family via webcam and not be there, seeing their face means the world, I may shed a tear afterwards but that’s also ok. That it’s worth it to put yourself out there, say hello to that stranger, make conversations with everyone (maybe not the beggars though) because you just never know what will happen next. Serendipity, fate, whatever you want to call it, I now believe exists. What I promise to whoever may read my musings is that I won’t lie here. I won’t put a filter on this experience, you will have an honest account. Days will be filled with cobblestones, art, beautiful food, but they will also be filled with the mundane, laundry still has to be done, I still have to clean an apartment. But with the mundane comes excitement of cities and towns to be explored, new art to uncover, people to meet and many more coffees to enjoy. Here’s to seeing what week two has up its sleeve.

Alla prossima, from Angela in Italy x