Back in the USA for Independence Day

Posted on July 8, 2013 by liguriansun

It was super wonderful to be back in America for the 4th of July, which is both the birthday of America and my baby brother Rich. When he was very little, he used to think the fireworks were for him. And for many, many years, the entire family gathered at my parents’ house for a massive yet chill backyard BBQ / birthday celebration. After a day of silly conversations, lots of amazing food, and chillaxin’ or napping in the grass with grill-scented dreams, we’d convene around a Carvel ice cream cake to sing Happy Birthday. Everyone in Red, White, and Blue. Family. Friends. Joy. At night, I’d head off for some excitement with friends – fireworks, another BBQ or party. I love this quintessentially American holiday – patriotism, a whole summer of memories awaiting us. The anticipation of many good days. The epitome of why I wanted to be home now.

When I get nostalgic for the way 4th of July used to be, I think of the last episode of The Wonder Years, as they celebrated Independence Day . . . one last time the way it was.

The next day Winnie and I came home. Back to where we’d started. It was the fourth of July in that little suburban town. Somehow, though, things were different. Our past was here, but our future was somewhere else, and we both knew sooner or later we had to go. It was the last July I ever spent in that town. The next year after graduation I was on my way [. . . ]Like I said things never turn out exactly the way you’d planned. Growing up happens in a heartbeat; one day you’re in diapers, the next day you’re gone. But the memories of childhood stay with you for the long haul. I remember a place, a town, a house like a lot of houses, a yard like a lot of other yards, on a street like a lot of other streets, and the thing is after all these years I still look back with wonder.

I grew up in Yonkers, NY on the border of the Bronx from 1980 to 1989 when I moved to a town much like that portrayed in Wonder Years, one of the Post-War suburban ideals where kids could be kids, biking to their friends, enjoying and exploring with wonder. Waldwick in Bergen County, NJ. I love my Yonkers experience, and it played a huge role in shaping my early years, especially with visits to Grandma in Innwood, Manhattan–sometimes feeling like a NYC kid. But I’m so grateful to my parents for choosing this beautiful, simple, peaceful town where I finished growing up and now stay when I return “home.”

Of course, just like for Kevin Arnold, home has changed.

After my grandparents passed away, as we all grew up and a bit more distant without the strong lure of the matriarch’s wings pulling us together, the giant family BBQ was canceled. Instead, now it’s just my parents hosting their kids, who have returned to the nest for the day or the summer. Yet while this year it was a bit quieter, with slightly less food and missing the laughter of my young cousins and the humor of my grandparents, it was a lovely day.

A friend visited me from the city, and we went swimming at Brookside, the lake where I used to lifeguard for many years. We enjoyed excellent food at my parents’ house, including the Carvel cake, and then drove into the city for a rooftop BBQ with some of my best friends from Fordham. Plenty of laughs, smiles, sunshine and relaxation as locals set off fireworks. I spent much of that party sharing stories and ideas from my time in Genoa, feeling completely grateful that, at least for now, I have the best of both worlds. I live a blessed life.

With my friend Denis who hosted a fabulous rooftop BBQ with his wife Natalie.

With my friend Kat, as you may remember from Whirlwind Weekend

I’m a Stranger Here Myself

Posted on July 1, 2013 by liguriansun

So here I am home again after 10 months away, with just a 2 week interlude at Christmas time. Coming to America then after 4 months abroad, it was nice to be home; it was such a whirlwind that I didn’t have too much time to notice differences. But now after 6 straight months, after Liguria started to feel like home, after I’ve gone through all the phases of culture shock and adjusted to life in Italy . . . coming home has been . . .surreal.

Back in my city with my Starbucks Iced Coffee and the Empire State Building in the background

Of course home is comfortable. And it’s wonderful not to work, focusing on traveling, seeing friends, and just curling up on a couch with a book or my computer and this blog. 🙂 But it has definitely been a kind of reverse culture shock that has had me feeling weird and sometimes overwhelmed.

They say, “Leave New York before you get too hard; leave Los Angeles before you get too soft.” I chose Italy instead of Cali, I guess. Same idea. But while I’m still known around the school and the hood for my “tough, no nonsense, get it done and get it done now style” I have learned to relax and slow down more. I have that side of me that loves “Il dolce far niente,” the sweetness of doing nothing, as the Italians like to say. In New York, that is viewed as time wasted, and we’d be criticized for being unproductive. Let me tell you, I love to chillax’ and I brought that peace right here to my couch and the local beaches.

Jones Beach Field 6 in Long Island — where I went Saturday (not my own photo)

A local swimming hole by my parents’ house. I used to be the head lifeguard here for many years. Now I just enjoy the sand and fresh water swimming.

Before boarding the plane, I had a strange thought. “I’m heading back to a gun culture.” A thought that never really crossed my mind until I had so much time away from it. I could walk around Genoa at 3am, and often did. Even in the “bad” neighborhoods, you wouldn’t have to worry about guns, and shootings were not really in the news. I lived in a neighborhood in the Bronx where I used to hear gunshots periodically, sometimes once or twice a month or more. I got used to it, and I knew how to protect myself and avoid dangerous situations. But now that I’ve . . .softened . . . I’m wondering if I let my guard down too much. I have to remind myself to watch my back but to avoid fear. My coworker Paul said it best: “Genoa is so peaceful and passive. We really don’t have much to worry about here, do we?” And that has been nice.

There have been other moments of reverse culture shock that I will list. Not necessarily bad, just clearly different.

Driving my car, I realized I didn’t have those smooth, sharp skills and couldn’t just parallel park her like a thoughtless breeze. I did, however, improve my scooter skills during the past few months.
In the grocery store, I was overwhelmed and almost didn’t know how to handle it. All the variety of foods that I couldn’t find for months. Cheddar, all kinds of cheddar all over the place. Mexican, Thai, all kinds of options. Yum! And then aisles and aisles of pre-packaged, processed or frozen foods — foods that taste great but are filled with things that poison us. I learned really quickly once I moved to Italy that my health, fitness, weight and general well being improved in days just by eating fresh food. I missed a lot of these foods, but I knew that I couldn’t just dive in and gorge because my body is not used to it. How do I shop now? And oh wow, that blood orange juice from Italy is $7, where I could get it for 2 euros in Italy.
In Duane Reed, waiting for a train, I spent the time walking up and down the aisles at the absolute variety of products. Dozens and dozens of options for shampoo, deodorant, even 5 types of nail scissors. In Italy, you got the few items (or item) that the store chose. And I saw Opi nail polish for $9. It’s 17 euros in Genoa! I just walked up and down, and left without anything. I have trained myself that I don’t need that much stuff, and ultimately can’t afford it. But I was just mesmerized by the variety.
Walking through the streets of Manhattan, I heard English everywhere and felt comfortable. And the streets were wide, big. Manhattan is cramped and overbuilt, but there was space. Genoa consists of tiny streets, alleys, roads where you have to squish up against a wall to avoid being slammed by a passing car’s mirror.
Lying in the sand at the beach. It was powdery, soft, take it home with you type sand. So different from my pebbles or the trucked-in “tiny pebbles” that some beaches have.
Lawns and trees. I’m staying at my parents’ house in the leafy suburbs in NJ, 25 minutes from Manhattan. There are green, landscaped lawns everywhere. Tall trees, pine trees, so many different types of vegetation. I was worried how I’d react after leaving so much sublime and stunning beauty, but I have come to realize that it’s still beautiful here, just a different type of beauty. And I’m enjoying it.
Tipping. As I purchased my Starbucks Iced Coffee from a drive through — how American!– I saw the tip jar and remembered to throw in a buck before grabbing my marshmallow dream bar. I have to remind myself I’m back in a tipping culture. In Genoa, you don’t really tip at all, except maybe a euro or two at the hair salon. When I went out to eat, I had to remind myself that the bill was more than I thought. I’m afraid I’ve turned so European that I’d accidentally leave without tipping — but luckily, I’ve been with others so far. I did have that mistake in Ireland after a haircut when I walked out without tipping more than a couple of euros, then went back to be sure they got their 10 percent. oops! And as we know, the US is a 20 percent culture. It’s so weird to me after so much time in Europe where it’s included. But I know all too well that servers don’t get paid much. When I worked at Chili’s after college before my Australian jaunt and then eventually grad school, I only made 2 bucks an hour on the clock! Then I had to report my tips. I needed those tips, and what I actually made wasn’t mine because I had to tip out to the bartender, the expeditor, the food runners, etc. Whew. Anyways, differences.

This is all that’s on my mind for now. I’ll continue to post as they come to me. It’s fun to drive the same roads and bridges, sit in the same diners and cafes, and visit the beaches and city streets that I missed so dearly during my time away almost as much as the faces of those I love. But I’m not the me of Summer 2012 . . . I’m slightly European and it’s all slightly foreign. Very interesting.

I can’t even imagine how comedy author Bill Bryson felt after moving back to the USA after living in England with his wife and children for 20 years. Upon his return, he published the book I’m A Stranger Here Myself, which I have chosen as the title of this post.

Send me on my way

Posted on June 21, 2013 by liguriansun

Today’s a special post. Live from my office at my school on the last day of work. 10 months to the day since I boarded the plane in a whirlwind of emotions, leaving for my new life in Italy. The amazing, challenging, fun and incredible year has come to a close. My 9th year as a teacher. 6th year as a high school teacher. 2nd year teaching middle school. And my first year in Italy! It was a huge and exciting decision, and I can’t imagine if I had not accepted this amazing offer which has changed my life so positively. So much joy, beauty, adventure, some loss and lots of reflection. I spent much time thinking about NYC and my family, missing home and the familiar comforts. I spent much time getting excited about my travels and exploring the gorgeous landscape and culture of Liguria, but I was also always counting back hours to see what time it was in NY, looking at the weather, and messaging friends at home. Yet over all that time, Liguria became home. Tomorrow, I have a ticket to fly home. Where is home?

When I purchased this ticket — Thanks Dad! — my father then said, “You should have stayed a week or so to enjoy Italy and your scooter . . . or even to travel.” To be honest, I’m low on my travel budget, everyone’s heading off, and I just was really looking forward to a long, relaxing, extended time in NYC and Jersey with family and friends I have missed so much. And my cats! But now the weather is absolutely stunning, day after day. The turquoise blue waters call, and I dive in after work, then bask in the warm glow of sunshine sprawled on warm, smooth rocks and pebbles. I head to my friend’s house for vino on her balcony, which faces a castle, as we watch the sky turn pink then an inky indigo, long after 9:30pm before walking home under the stars. I stroll uphill to my apartment, past balconies strewn with beach towels, couples walking dogs (everyone has a dog here in Genoa), and smell the flowers in full, lush bloom. Genoa is at her finest right now, and I have chosen to leave her. And that hurts.

One of the many beautiful beaches along Genova’s coast.

Genoa will be stunning when I return in August, as I have learned from last year’s arrival. I was able to swim well into October. It was sunny almost every day in those months, and it will still be lovely. I have so many adventures, good times, wonderful conversations, beaches, lakes, mountains, hikes, fire pits, great food and smiles waiting for me at home. I guess I’m just really realizing the huge effect of a transatlantic move. My heart belongs here as well as there. I’m very grateful that I have another year to return and enjoy, and now that I am settled, the lessons are planned, the books read, and the details sorted — I can enjoy it all even more!

I’m overwhelmed with emotions. Last night, I just said goodbye to a choir friend who is moving back to Lithuania. (A great excuse to travel one weekend in the fall!). We had an excellent sushi meal followed by Neopolitan pastries, and then stood in the parking lot, lingering, delaying the inevitable. Now, my classrooms are cleaned, posters torn off the wall, drawers emptied, my office tidied, papers purged . . . and it was all a crazy trip down memory lane with flashes from the past school year. It really was wonderful and joyful. This is a special school.

At graduation, we said farewell to our seniors. Administration prepared a special slide show, showing pictures of the kids through the years. 3 of them started at age 3! I managed to hold back the tears until that rolled across the screen to one of my favorite songs “Send Me on my Way.” A few days later, the seniors returned to our farewell ceremony, to give some more speeches, lots of hugs, and then . . . on to their lives. It was an honor to be their teacher, to get to know them, and to be part of their lives. They have touched my heart, and while we had so much work to do, I always looked forward to class.

It is my last day of work with my colleagues, friendly faces I met on an August day before sharing focaccia formaggio by the sea, sharing aperitivi in Piazza del Erbe, dancing till early morning, laughing in the office during stressful times, and over time, becoming cherished friends. Off to lunch, one final meal for the school year.

Send me on my way now, but just for the summer.

It’s really not all sunshine and roses – but life is still beautiful.

Posted on May 1, 2013 by liguriansun

Sweden’s Disillusionment. My friend and colleague just wrote the previous post about life and travel in Italy vs. other, wealthier countries. I truly agree. It’s amazing how people ooh and ah at home about Italy and refuse to let me say a negative word, thinking that I’m doing some kind of Eat Pray Love La Dolce Vita who knows a whata experience all the time. One friend even said, “It’s a 2 year vacation with just enough work so you don’t feel lazy.” No, no, no. And . . .it’s work just to live here. There is a very high price for all this beauty. I’m happy to pay it . . . at least for a little while, but I do love the ahhhhh I feel when crossing the border into Switzerland, for example.

I’ve had many visitors since I arrived, and many were happy to take in the sights, but they also quickly grew to see the subtle annoyances of life here. “Where can I buy a razor?” Not at this hour. (8pm) “Why is the store closed?” Nap time, lunch time, holiday, because they don’t care. “Why is this post box shut?” They can’t be bothered. “Where can I buy bus tickets at this hour?” You can’t. Hop on and take a risk. “Why did they just charge us 13 euros for boxed pasta?” Where is the food I’ve heard about?” The food in Italy can be hit or miss, and actually, the best food’s at home. Pasta Fresca, 2 euros! “Where is the sun?” Uh, I have no idea, that’s supposed to be a given . . .

I know some of my visitors on their first visit to Italy may have been disappointed. I remember the feeling. In 1997, I signed up for a High School trip to Europe. That year, it was Paris, The Riviera and Rome. yay! I wasn’t too psyched about Paris, but with low expectations and it being my first European country, I was thrilled and pleasantly surprised. I remember gazing in awe at the canals, finding the people friendly and helpful, and just kept hugging my friends because I was so happy. When we arrived in Italy, it was nice — but we were starting to get tired as we visited Assisi and then we got lost in Florence where the ATM took my credit card and the bank was closed and . . . it was a lot of nonsense. By the time we got to Rome, it was pouring rain, we were exhausted, and I just wanted to go home. Italy and the food didn’t really impress me. Too many tourist traps? Package tour food? Whatever it was . . .I was ready to go. Perhaps extra disappointed because my expectations were too high.

Moving here, I was well-informed. I had been to Italy 5 other times. I enjoyed the summer days Under the Tuscan Sun; saw the gorgeous Cinque Terre through train windows and wanted more; studied a bit of Italian in college; and had an amazing week along Lake Como. But I had my share of cancelled or overcrowded trains, travel stress, disappointing and overpriced meals, tourist crowds, frightening travel chaos, and bad attitudes . . . to make me notice the reality. I came to the conclusion that Italy knows that tourists will visit anyway, so who cares? They are too busy enjoying life! I also devoured travel writing that made no secret about how complicated, bureaucratic, and often completely nonsensical life can be here sometimes. I was prepared. But it can still be hard.

This is further exacerbated when the weather does not cooperate. The weather and beauty soothe the soul and make the nonsense tolerable. But this year . . .is a bit different. For some reason, Europe has been plagued by very strange unseasonable weather. Dublin was getting snow into March. Genoa even had snow. My students and colleagues said the swimming season is definitely in full swing by the end of March . . . but this year, I STILL have not been in the sea, except for a brief wade up to my calves while visiting the Cinque Terre for four days. Yup, for the Festa della Liberazione (Italian holiday last Thursday and Friday) I thought for sure I would have the opportunity for sun-soaked days in the turquoise water. But we had mostly clouds, walked around in our jeans and jackets — and were even drenched in pouring rain one day. I had a friend visit for Easter break, and excitedly told him “pack your swimsuit.” That was the only item of clothing he did not use, and we spent quite a bit of time wandering around the soggy streets of Rome and Milan. I felt so bad.

We’ve all been waiting for the spring that was supposed to arrive a while ago, but . . .it’s just taking it’s time. I have my mother here these past two weeks, and then on Friday, two of my best friends from High School arrive for a girls’ weekend, where we head to the Cinque Terre again. Mom and I spent 4 days in Monterosso, and I’m heading to Vernazza with the girls. I hope we have sun! I’m sick of disappointing my visitors and myself.

I often think of Wordsworth who wrote a poem when climbing through the Alps. He was looking forward to his first view of Mont Blanc. All the others on the Grand Tour, the artists and poets, have explained the view — talked it up so much, that when he did see it, he was disappointed. He regretted choosing the wrong trail, the mountain revealing itself in a different way, not the way he pictured it. He couldn’t appreciate it for how beautiful it was because it didn’t match the image in his mind’s eye, didn’t live up to the hype he expected. He didn’t feel the sublime light of sense he craved. Expectations breed disappointment. That’s why, sometimes, a small unknown city can bring me so much more joy than a famous tourist destination — ESPECIALLY when I don’t know a thing about it.

Italy is so hyped up. People have been raving and talking and writing about it for years. In NYC, there are whole neighborhoods devoted to Italian culture and cuisine. Movies are filmed here, books written . . . I remember when I posted that I was moving to Italy, the response was absolutely overwhelming. I wondered if people would have been as excited if I accepted a job in Kiev or Oslo or Kuwait or Jakarta or even London. I made the choice. I wanted the weather, the language, the location, the comfortable familiar culture, but I also know that if I was in London or Switzerland or Germany I would have a better quality of life. But . . .hey, the grass is always greener. I currently have a friend in Switzerland who can’t wait to leave and feels it’s too Xenophobic and cold and harsh. These feelings are all a part of expat life.

In grad school, I wrote an upside-down sonnet inspired by Wordsworth’s disappointment. I remembered hiking in the Swiss alps, with the beautiful snow-capped peek of Jungfrau in the distance. I have included this poem now because I was thinking about it this weekend in the Cinque Terre when I was disappointed like Wordsworth. I wanted to show my mom how beautiful and lovely it was with crystal blue skies, igniting a bold turquoise sea and an unparalleled, sublime vibrant glow to all the scenery. I couldn’t thoroughly enjoy the beauty that was before me because it wasn’t matching what I had in my mind’s eye. My mom, however, was able to appreciate it for what it was — gorgeous and relaxing.

Jungfrau, Switzerland

Shadowed by the image in my mind’s eye,
the crest thwarts my dream from across the vale.
Like Wordsworth climbing for the light of sense,
I grieve and regret choosing the wrong trail.
No sublime, no flash, can’t see — though high
struggling to comprehend the immense.

Soon I realize there’s no single right way
for in countless, varied directions lie
diverse perspectives of the same blue sky,
framing the same grand pinnacle. A gray
frosted mane of wisdom reflects each ray
as I snap breathless photographs and try
to explore every path, pretending to fly
soaring–arms spread– till the end of my day.

~July 2003

Cheers in Dublin to 6 months living in Europe!

Posted on February 22, 2013 by liguriansun

Exactly 6 months ago, on an unusually hot and humid day, I saw the twisting, stunning Ligurian Coast from the airplane and landed in Genoa, Italy with several new colleagues. It was the culmination of a whirlwind of planning that commenced around this time last year, as I started paperwork and the long process of packing up my wonderful, comfortable life in NYC for the adventure I always dreamed about.

The fountain at Piazza de Ferrari, cooling off in the mist. I was not posing, believe it or not . . .a friend just caught the bliss.

I had been plotting and scheming a way to do this for so many years, even as a high school junior, contemplating attending college at the American University in Paris. Studying abroad in England, with weekends all over the country and the continent, ignited the travel bug; the summer after that study abroad experience, I had the fever big time.

I was heading back to England for my flight home after three weeks solo backpacking around Europe post graduation from college. I was sitting on my overstuffed backpack at the Bruges train station when a woman started talking to me, explaining that if I was a teacher, it would be easy to live abroad. “I don’t want to leave Belgium” I had told her. “I love it here.”

“There are jobs in Belgium and all over Europe at US Military Bases,” she explained. That stuck in my mind, and a fantasy began exploding, but honestly, I had no intention of becoming a high school teacher, with dreams of a Masters and eventually PhD in English on my mind. A tanned, happy girl in low pig tails, a dreamer.

We parted ways, and I kept that dream in the back of my mind but thought it would probably be something else that brought me to Europe. One day, one day. Maybe grad school. Maybe working at a hostel, I dunno. But I had to come back. And LIVE here.

Eventually, after backpacking around Australia and many other fun post-grad adventures, I started my MA program in English at Fordham University, then wanted to get a PhD but took time off to sort things out, get on my feet financially, and figure out my whole deal. I got a job as an adjunct professor at Iona College in 2004, when I had just turned 24 years old. That was so much fun, and I knew I loved teaching. A few years later, very happy but pretty darned broke, it was time to reevaluate — and I saw a poster in the NYC Subway: “You remember your teacher’s name. Who will remember yours?” It was an ad for the NYC Teaching Fellows. I realized I loved teaching, wanted to give high school a try and wanted to help the community I had been living in for many years as I lived by Fordham University, which happened to be located in one of the most poverty-stricken neighborhoods in the city. I applied after the deadline was extended, after I stopped hemming and hawwing, and before I knew it, I was in an overwhelmingly intensive summer training program. Instead of sunny days on the beach at my lifeguarding gig, I was in an overheated un-airconditioned classroom with 60 kids. Yes, 60 “Don’t worry, many will drop out,” said a supervisor as I watched kids sit on the windowsill and floor.

That fall, September 2007, I began teaching at a high school right by my apartment, and met wonderful colleagues and amazing students that I am still in touch with today. It was one of the most challenging yet rewarding experiences of my life. Although I only had a 2 year commitment, I stayed 5 years, 3 additional years after completing my Education Masters at City College. Then it was time to reevaluate again. Time was ticking, life was slipping away and I thought: hey, I’m not married, have no kids, no property, and no serious strings. Remember that dream? Remember it? GO FOR IT!

So, how did I figure all this out? I thought, ok, I want to work at an international school. I looked into the military schools, but you have less options to choose where you work. Even still, I did apply. But after studying in Norway on a fellowship in Summer 2010, I learned about international schools and how great they are. I thought, ok, what are some of the best schools? Looked them up, and then looked up who accredits them. CIS. Ok, so I applied to be a candidate for CIS, the Council for International Schools. I also entered my information, got recommendations from my principal and other supervisors, put together an application package, and I was in the system. I paid for some of my own International Baccalaureate training (IB) to distinguish myself from the heaps of other English teachers, trying to give myself that competitive edge and a school the incentive to hire a non-EU teacher. Although they tell you to be open-minded, my heart was set on Europe. I was coming from one of the greatest cities in the world, and I wasn’t going to leave it for anything other than my dream.

January 2012, I flew to London for a huge fair, and was overwhelmed by the response of notes in my email and my mailbox in the candidates lounge. A day and several interviews later, I had narrowed it down to four exciting prospects. But Genoa was number one in my mind. Let’s be honest: I saw the salary online and didn’t even contact the school, thinking, “Oh no way can I make that work.” I did not know Italy had a special tax exempt status for two years. But still . . .

So, one of my emails was from my boss in Genoa. He seemed so positive, and I was curious. I went to google maps, knowing Genoa was in the North, the food belt . . . but where exactly? And then “OMG, it’s on the water!!! Oh, right on the sea!” I enjoyed the interview and there was just something so unique about the school community that came across in the director’s presentation. He showed us pictures of Salty Cats Day, and I thought “This place is special.” So, I had options at other schools that were amazing but when the Genoa offer came in, I knew I had to take it. But not before I had one of the most sleepless agonizing nights ever as I tried to decide. I woke up, and after checking my email, I discovered my dad had worked out my financials to show me that it would be possible. And that . . . they would help. (It is in a very large thanks to them that I have a little travel budget!!) My mom, who was originally against my coming said, “Who could you be if you followed your dream?” It was simple and short. And I knew what she meant. I walked over to accept my position.

When I told my other prospects I had accepted another offer, one man said, “It is a good decision. It’s how I started my own international career . . . in Italy. You won’t get rich, but you’ll live richly.” It’s true. I may not be paid a fortune, but I’m paid a fortune in beauty. La Vita e Bella!

Flying home, I was walking on air. I ended up getting a taxi ride all the way to the airport for the same price as if I had transferred to the train (nice cabbie), and then when I flew out of London, I flew right over Central London, with a sparkling view of the London Eye, Tower of London, all bright and glimmering in the sunshine. I had never flown this way in all my years of flying to England. Everything magically fell into place.

When I came home, I was so ecstatic, I couldn’t contain my excitement, as I called everyone and then eventually broke the news on facebook for 86 likes and a bunch of comments and well wishes. “This is pretty much a combination of everything you love,” somebody wrote.

yes.

Everything was dreamy after that. I had a glow that just didn’t wear off. Oh, and then I received a message from the US Department of Defense to come down to DC for an interview for positions for the 2012-2013 school year. Ahh, but I already had my job! But still, so nice to be invited. 🙂 With departure on my mind, my life had a new trajectory and spark, and I began to carpe diem and savor every sweet, delcious, awesome moment of the life I was leaving behind . . .for now. It was half a year of celebrating and partying which was revved up in the summer for The Grand Farewell Tour, one of the best summers of my entire life.

I was elated and exhausted when I finally landed in Genoa. While I do miss home, especially everyone I love, I also am savoring every moment here because although I can stay international as long as I want, I know this particular experience, given many factors, can’t last. But oh, it is so so beautiful and it has changed me and my career forever. Whether I return to the NYC school system (They have Public IB Schools) or continue at an international school or seek another private school, I know I will always stay with the IB and that I will always have this experience tucked away in my heart, soul, and . . . the very fabric that is me.

Grazie Mille to my former self for giving me this great gift! Grateful for everyone in my life for all their support during this process. I have never smiled so much.

Today, I am in Dublin for my annual visit with my mother (who just got her IRISH passport!) and my Great Aunt Minnie. Instead of flying from JFK with them, I just met them here. I will certainly have a Guinness in celebration. CHEERS!

I’ll leave you with this video which is like my theme song while living this good life here: One Republic “Good Life” 🙂

Sweet Home New York City

Posted on December 26, 2012 by liguriansun

I love my life in Italy; it’s a magical adventure filled with wonder, many discoveries, and lots of beauty. School is a full and fantastic busy, and I have fabulous colleagues. Yet . . . my home will always be NYC.

Getting here was quite an adventure. I departed on the morning of December 20th, eager for an evening arrival home. Mamma’s cooking, cuddling with my cats, and seeing friends — a cozy, chill welcome. Instead, my flight from Genoa was cancelled. I was at the airport with several colleagues who were taking the same connecting flight to Munich before departing for our various destinations across the US. As we waited, we saw one of my students, his sister and father. They were on their way to LA.

DELAYED. We stared at the board and I grew more and more nervous as my connection in Munich was just over an hour. First a half hour delay, then an hour delay. Then it disappeared off the monitor. This was how they informed us that our flight was cancelled. We followed my students’ father outside security as he explained that this happened last week with the same flight. Mechanical difficulties. My student said, ‘They were spinning the propellar for an hour, then gave up.”

After an hour online to rebook our tickets, wondering if they could find us seats during the Christmas rush, we finally had our new connections. I was going to Munich at 5, then to Frankfurt where I’d sleep in a hotel and fly out the next morning. 17 hour delay. During this process, several other coworkers popped into the airport for Ryan Air flights to England. When Ryan Air is the reliable flight, you know you’re in trouble.

I was sad because I was supposed to land in NYC at 6pm that night, and possibly go out to meet some friends. But instead, I passed out exhausted in a really nice hotel room with light snow outside in Munich. It looked like the bed was comfortable until I went onto it and almost bounced off a la Clark Griswold in European Vacation.

To the airport early in the AM. Lufthansa was full so they rebooked me on United and the woman was kind and upgraded me to premium economy extra legroom seat. I didn’t realize until I boarded the plane and learned that these seats usually cost an extra $179 each way. Finally a break. I slept most of the flight, read a bit, and then flew over Brookside Swim Club, my old summer hangout where I worked, taught swim lessons, and was head lifeguard for many years. Now I go as a patron. My parents live very close, so I tried to spot the house, but couldn’t find it. I did see my high school, then the NYC skyline. Oh, how could I ever leave this great city? Only for a place as magnificent as Italy. I swear, New Yorkers have to be darned choosy when we take a post overseas. And there’s no where else I’d rather live in the states.

Groggy and sleepy, I showered for a tea party with family friends, then showered again to go to a dinner party. Halfway through the appetizers, it was 3:45am on my clock. I didn’t make it to dinner and was in bed soon after. On my way out of the city, I met up with a friend for quick drink and a fun reunion. I mentioned something about going home on January 5th, and he said, “This is home. You are going to Italy on January 5th.” Ahh, yes.

The following day, I chilled, went for a haircut and enjoyed my cats. On the 23rd, my parents and I took a train into Manhattan to see the decorations, the windows, and go to the Bryan Park Christmas Markets, a tradition my mom and I have done since 2007. This year, Dad joined. It was a beautiful sunny day, and it hurt my heart to see places that were so everday to me, so splendid . . .and knowing that soon I have to leave again until the summer.

Christmas Eve, I met up with two great friends for lunch in Ho-Ho-Kus. Turkey and Brie. mmm. Turkey! My brother joined the fam for dinner that night, and then it began snowing! Soon after, I drove to Fordham to sing with choir alumni in the beautiful Midnight Mass, a tradition that I have been doing since 2002 after I graduated.

Christmas Day, I woke up to a sunny, cozy morning, nursed a big coffee (can’t do that in Italy, although the flavor is much better) and opened a handful of gifts. It was a modest Christmas, but that is good because how much can I carry back anyway? And I got some nice things, including a Chi flat iron to play with. Also, I have a nice check which I decided to use for Spring Break. I’m taking suggestions. Where shall I go? So exciting.

It was so wonderful to be with the family, with everyone I love. It is very strange to live abroad, with people who are fast acquaintances and buddies, but you are away from your true friends and family. Your coworkers become your surrogate family — but it’s just not the same. Permanent expat life is so tempting, but this is the hard side. Being away. I don’t think I can stay forever. But the reunion was so nice and filled me with a warm glow. Content. I am blessed.

Merry Christmas. Buon Natale a tutti!

Here is a slideshow of my pictures in America so far.

Flying over Brookside. By the time I got my camera out, a cloud was in the way, but it’s the oval below with the docks. Cute.

My high school

NYC skyline

1 World Trade Center with the newly added spire

Macy’s Herald Square

Bryant Park

Thoughts and Prayers with Newtown, CT

Posted on December 16, 2012 by liguriansun

I work in a school that houses kids ages 3-18. One of the best parts of my day is when I get to see the little ones, walking by with their sweet faces and innocent joy — it just warms my heart. How can you do anything but smile and love them? Today, the memorial page for Sandy Hook Elementary features photos and collages of their sweet cherubs. Beyond heartbreaking.

Before I left for our staff party up on a hill in gorgeous, seaside Bogliasco, I saw a “breaking news” post about a shooting in CT. It said that the gunman was dead and at least 3 people were injured. I thought to myself, “I’m so glad nobody died except the gunman” and was slightly disturbed at yet another school shooting. When I came back from the party, bubbly and happy after a great evening of live music, great friends /colleagues, and wonderful food — I wrote a couple of carefree emails, oblivious to the horrible news and grieving everyone was going through. I then read an email from my father who said he was “sick over the news in CT.” On my Twitter feed, I saw he had posted this story from CBS Local in NYC. http://newyork.cbslocal.com/2012/12/14/police-respond-to-report-of-school-shooting-in-conn/

Instantly, I was sick to my stomach and began the never-ending tears as I saw that at least 27 people were killed . . . 20 of them children aged 6 and 7. How do you shoot an innocent child? How do you do it 20 times? We are all wondering the same things. I began to get responses back to my emails regarding the weekend. One friend wrote that he was “mostly drinking away the horrible news day.” He works for a news website, and they have TVs in the office playing the news all day . . .so when it’s a bad news day, it’s overload. I felt like an idiot for being so bubbly and happy, but I didn’t know. The news is now global news as the world mourns and wonders why. Here is an article on my yahoo.it homepage. http://it.notizie.yahoo.com/strage-di-bambini-usa-sotto-choc-obama-mai-155000716.html. My students will definitely want to talk about it in class tomorrow. These things just don’t happen here in Italy, especially in safe Genoa. But as we learned from the horrific summer 2011 shooting in peaceful Norway, nowhere is safe anymore.

I felt so buffered here in Italy, without a TV and so far from everything. Yet news travels quickly with modern technology, and the grief is palpable thousands of miles away. CT, part of the NYC metro area, the tri-state area, is close to home in many ways. I am familiar with the location of the wooded town in Western, CT — always feeling safe and at peace when I drive through that part of the state. I can’t comprehend the shock, the parents with Christmas gifts waiting in their hiding spots, the parents with dreams for their little cherubs’ futures.

While it was mentally good to be detached from the media, I did need more information so read as much as I could, followed statuses on facebook and twitter, and watched clips of news reports from home, learning about the teachers’ amazing bravery as they thought quickly to save their children’s lives. Some of those teachers, including 27-year-old Victoria Soto, did not make it although her students did. She sacrificed her life for her kids. What an amazing, brave and heroic woman.

My friend posted this amazing quote from Mr. Rogers:

“When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, ‘Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.’ To this day, especially in times of ‘disaster,’ I remember my mother’s words, and I am always comforted by realizing that there are still so many helpers – so many caring people in this world.” — Mister Rogers

As I said in the heartbreaking aftermath of Superstorm Sandy, we get through tragedy through the triumph of the human spirit — by connecting and reaching out to each other. And that is definitely what I see now. And while it is no consolation and there are no words that can ever make sense of this unthinkable act, I wish everyone as much peace as is possible at this difficult time.

I never got to know you, but I will remember you. Rest in peace.

I Love NY and NJ

Posted on November 2, 2012 by liguriansun

A friend told me that when he found out his girlfriend was in the hospital, he jumped into a state of panic and would do anything to help, to ease her suffering. But he was far away at the time, and explained it was one of the most awful and terrifying feelings. He said, “You never went through that, so you don’t know how it was.” Well, I do now. The love of my life is the NYC metro area. But here in Genoa, there’s nothing I can really do but read and show my support.

It was a difficult decision to leave all my friends and family, and one of the greatest cities in the world with one of the nicest stretch of sandy beaches — the CT sound, Long Island, Queens, and my beloved Jersey shore. In the months leading up to my departure, I embarked on a “Grand Farewell Tour,” where I road-tripped to favorite spots — hiking in the mountains, visiting friends, and heading downtown to enjoy all the beautiful and wonderful things in my city. And my favorite part of the Grand Farewell Tour were all my weekend visits to beaches with one of my best friends. We went everywhere.

When we were at Point Pleasant, we gorged on greasy shore food from fried oysters to jalepeno poppers, washed it down with a cherry ice water, followed it up with an ice cream, then worked it all off in the waves for hours, bodysurfing and boogie boarding and feeling childlike bliss. Lying in the sand at the end of the day, salty and sun-kissed, we knew we had to hit the road for the traffic back home — otherwise, we would have stayed until the sun sank into the horizon and the stars appeared.

Point Pleasant Beach Boardwalk – memories from age 9 to today.

The day after my birthday in August, we went to Belmar, with a smaller more residential boardwalk and a more intimate beach setting. The waves were rough, tumbling us around like clothes in a washing machine, tossing me into the sandshell-strewn beach several times: the power of the ocean, of nature. It was another one of the best days of summer, followed by ice cream at what was probably the best place in Jersey. Chocolate peanut butter in a sugar cone. We were surrounded by kids and families and friends and everyone with that Jersey Shore smile. A day of beauty, of simple pleasures– holding on to the summer that was slipping away.

Homemade delicious ice cream and memories.

Belmar boardwalk

That was my last beach day this year. The next time I hit the salt water, it was on a pebbly “beach” here in Genoa, with calm blue waters, surrounded by dramatic cliffs and Italian bars. Different. I am so happy to live by the sea now; it’s always been a dream. Yet I miss the sandy beaches and quaint seaside neighborhoods of the Jersey Shore. I was looking forward to another beachy summer next year, visiting my favorite places and exploring new ones. Braving hours of traffic along with other beach-goers and only half minding because it’s so special and everyone’s so happy. It is the playground for the NY / NJ metro area.

Well, here are scenes from the Jersey Shore after Hurricane Sandy hit. 25 heartbreaking pictures. The shore was pummeled, with images that reminded me of Hurricane Katrina. I was so moved and horrified by the scenes of Katrina that I signed up for a Global Outreach alumni volunteer trip with Fordham University. I wrote the following article about my experience — even 6 months later, it was so devastated and heartbreaking. I open, saying: “I was expecting tears. Instead, I was numb.” That’s how I feel right now — always on the verge of tears, but just in shock. Bearing Witness in New Orleans The tears will surface soon, I’m sure . . . once I can fully absorb and comprehend what has happened.

So much of NYC area was damaged as well. My brother has a music studio in Jersey City that was flooded with a few feet of water mixed with sewage and diesel. It took years to build everything and now they must rebuild. But they are ok. Those same guys also are part owners of a Brooklyn Liquor Company (Jack from Brooklyn) located in Red Hook. They produce Sorel, an awesome liqueur infused with hibiscus, Brazilian clove, Nigerian ginger among other special flavors. I crave it here in Genoa and can’t wait for a sip when I return at Christmas. Red Hook was severely flooded, and I don’t know how bad the headquarters was hit, but the guys tried to prep it as much as possible. 2012 was the Summer of Sorel, as this small company released their delicious hand-crafted product. I went to so many Sorel events, and spent so many lazy backyard days, sipping Sorel on ice and enjoying the Good Life. Savor every moment because things can change in a flash.

Without a TV in Genoa or access to the news reports, I get so much of my news from facebook statuses and links. Each revelation turns my stomach: Breezy Point, Queens – flooded then burned to the ground. Body count rising everywhere. People all over killed in their sleep by fallen trees. People dying from carbon monoxide poisoning due to their generators. Survivors who have lost their homes, their cars, their communities. Families cold and in the dark without power. My parents in the leafy suburbs might not get power back for 10 more days or so. Dad has to keep going to work in Secaucus, with a view of the broken crane in midtown. Mom tries to stay warm. Everyone must wait in line for hours to get gas — pumps at most stations not working due to electricity. It sounds like it’s from some kind of disaster or horror movie. But it’s real. “You don’t want to be here,” said Dad. “Be glad you are in Europe now. It’s terrible here.” He’s at work, panicked with stress — distanced. “Enjoy Belgium.”

I am. There is a magic, peaceful beauty here — a timeless fairytale break from reality. Bruges has a special power to soothe. It’s raining today — and I really need a break. As it’s my 9th visit to this gorgeous city, I’ve seen much of it. I’m here to enjoy and rest. Food, relaxation, contemplation. Perhaps some Flemish art.

Tonight, I stay in Ghent with a great friend I met here in Bruges over 11 years ago. Tomorrow we will meet up with the other friend before heading back to Bruges. Two guys I ran into all those years ago who have become lifelong friends and confidantes. The wonder of travel and the wonder of modern communication, first via email, scrawled on a bar coaster. And now facebook. The world is small. And I am looking forward to good conversations, laughter, and connection. Just as E.M. Forester says in Howard’s End “Only Connect.” And while I enjoy traveling on my own quite frequently, I just want to reach out and connect. We get through tragedies through the triumph of the human spirit. My dear New York area, I can’t be with you physically but I am there in spirit, loving you and thinking about you and wishing you well.

Under the Ligurian Sun

My life and travels while living La Dolce Vita in Genoa, Italy.

Category Archives: expat thoughts