This day started out like the rest. Sun crept through the window of my room, waking me from a peaceful slumber. I rolled out from under my sheets, removing the cocoon I had forged out of an assortment of blankets splattered with strange but now endearing cartoon characters, and quickly put myself together. Still half asleep, I put on a pot of coffee, having finally mastered the three-piece Italian gadget that somehow churned out the perfect cup of coffee when properly assembled. I smiled, mind wandering to future plans of an afternoon at the Borghese gardens, a class trip to Florence, a weekend in Paris.
My roommate Lisa joined me, drawn to the smell of morning coffee. We idly chatted until I glanced at the clock, realizing that we had only minutes until class. I rushed to grab my school bag and followed Lisa out the door, coffee mug still in hand, an unintentional habit I had developed.
We rushed down the eight flights of stairs from our apartment to the Campo de Fiori market below. The market was busy already, overflowing with fanny-pack-toting tourists preparing to conquer the sights of Rome. Our friend “Spicy” was already working, corralling people into his restaurant for morning cappuccinos, a textbook example of unwavering charm.
“Hello, spicy girls!” he called as he sauntered over to us. After six weeks in Rome, we responded to this as if he had been saying our names.
“Hi Spicy, how are you?” we responded, perfectly synchronized.
He leaned in, arms draped lightly around our shoulders. “I am so fucking tired,” he whispered, before turning his back to us once again. Moments later, I could hear him laughing with new potential customers, an easy smile returning to his face as if it had never left.
I told Lisa to save me a seat in class as we went our separate ways, and I ventured off to get some breakfast. Tardiness, I had learned, was a small price to pay for that fresh market fruit that we had only a few more weeks to enjoy. And it didn’t strike me as unusual at the time, and maybe that’s what made it such a big moment, but as I walked through the market, that living postcard with its lively characters and its constant street music alternating between Edith Piaf and Led Zeppelin, I remember feeling an overwhelming sense of ease. I was no longer fazed by the vast array of vendors as I made my way through the chaos to get my daily morning banana.
For the first time that day, the man working at the stand looked up as I approached, his face lighting up with recognition. With an expectant look on his face, he gestured toward my usual purchase: a perfectly ripe banana. I nodded and thanked him as I paid, too quickly reaching the extent of my Italian.
I walked away, laughing at my own predictability and smiling at the recognition. Somehow, unbeknownst to me at the time, I had made myself at home on the other side of the world.
Allie is a senior at UW studying Communication and Sales. She studied abroad on the CHID Italy program in the spring of 2014.
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