(Almost a week has gone by and so much has happened. I will try fill you all in, but this is basically the first day reflection. I'm glad to finally be on board. )
In accordance to the laws that make up good birthdays, mine should have been the worst. Hours crammed on a flight with a pillow no bigger than a thought. Girls prattled on about something menial. The pushing and shoving and shuffle of unloading and the utter chaos of fighting to get a place around the belt to get luggage. Waiting, and waiting, and waiting with heavy bags and tired feet, to get rushed to the student congested sign in office only to wait some more. Then being dropped off who know where with the simple instructions to go up to second floor and turn right, but the keys don't work. Standing cold, tired and a little wet, with luggage, lost and knowing very little useful Italian. Carefully scraping together enough to say "Dove due?" to a nearby construction worker, he lead me to the third floor (which is the second floor) and I finally arrived, now cold, exhausted, wet and aching from traveling, and starting to get sick.
But I guess the rules don't apply for me, because not one moment do I regret for each moment lead to the next moment which lead me here. In Florence, Italy. A place I had only believed existed in my dreams and not ever in my present reality. And though I knew nothing of the city I was already in love. I felt myself not being overwhelmed but being encompassed by everything like a hug or a good coat. In moments I found myself giggling: getting a packet of Happy Mix filled with pretzel hearts and cracker heads; looking out my airplane window and seeing the snow kissed terrain of Switzerland; watching the cars, people and vespas pass by, a constant strand of motion; standing in the congested hallway after getting my orientation packet; investigating the cupboards of my apartment. I am here, the thought that danced over and over in my head. I am here. I am here.
After discovering it was my birthday, the three apartment mates (Michelle, Griffin, and Jordan) who had arrived abandoned their unpacking in favor of celebrating at a restaurant called Il Gato e la Volpe, which means The Cat and the Fox, or something of that nature. Each of us got a different dish. I got a spinach and ricotta filled tortellini in a walnut sauce. To sum up the experience in as few words as possible, I don't think I will ever completely enjoy Olive Garden ever again. We even went crazy, getting two pieces of dessert seeing as today was a special occasion. And not once did I trip on the roughly cobble stone streets there or on the return journey home, which is quite and achievement for someone who trips over invisible things.
And though my body still registered it as 3 in the afternoon, I comfortably fell asleep, still only half unpacked, exhausted, cold and completely happy.
