Finding the Happy

I’m an avowed introvert. I know this about myself. My introverted nature can create an interesting challenge when traveling, because traveling generally means that I must leave my home and go out in public, with strangers. And there’s only so much of that I can take before I want to run and hide. I’m not shy; I just feel worn out around crowds after a while.

Sometimes, though, I will venture out and find myself in the midst of a crowded place, and remember why I enjoy traveling as much as I do.

Today was one of those days. I started off my day in a funk. We had a blizzard yesterday that dropped a foot and a half of snow on us over the course of a day. Today, we got to dig out – in sub-zero temperatures. Walking in to work from my car means trudging through snow in my warmest boots and layers and layers of clothing. I was leaving from work straight to the airport, so I also had my suitcase packed, my backpack to carry-on, my gym bag (for my lunchtime workout), and another bag with my dress shoes for the day. It was a lot of bags, a lot of fussing, and lot of hauling of crap through frigid temperatures and snowy everything.

Was it the end of the world? No. But it was annoying and a hassle.

I got to the airport and struggled with switching out from my snow boots to the sneakers I would wear on the plane while in the airport parking lot. The door to my car kept blowing open, and did I mention it was very, very cold? I made it to the airport and breathed a sigh of relief at the warmth, knowing I was on my way to warmer climates.

Then, the niceness started. First, there was no one else in line at the TSA Precheck lane, so I guess the TSA agents were bored, because the man at the metal detector joked that “you’re finally here!” I went through the metal detector and my new friend smiled and wished me a happy trip.

On my plane, I don’t even know how to describe the crew that boarded after me. I have no idea if they all knew each other or not but they sure all acted like best friends. They were cracking silly jokes while walking down the aisle to their seats, and when the plane lifted off the ground, there were cheers and “Whoohoooooo” coming from the back of the plane. Those of us in the middle of the plane couldn’t help but smile.  

I somehow managed to find the two nicest people to have as seatmates. Jason, the man in the middle seat, introduced himself and shook my hand. He then said that he was aware he had broad shoulders and he would do his best not to touch me but he was sorry if he did. No problem at all, I said. I get it. Plus, we had scored emergency exit seats and had leg room for days. All was well.

The woman in the middle seat was his girlfriend (whose name I did not catch), and we chatted a bit off and on over the course of the flight. They had a tight connection at BWI and asked if I was familiar with the airport. Ha, was I?! That’s my home airport, I know it well. I looked up their gate info on the Southwest app and told them they would have no problem making their flight. They were amazed at the app because they don’t fly much and didn’t realize there was an app.

When the flight attendant came by, they asked for two large cups of ice. She said they only have one size, but she would fill the cups as much as possible. She brought the cups and walked away. The next thing I know, my new best friend brought a full size bottle of rum out of his carry on bag and proceeded to fill his cup and his girlfriend’s. It was so funny I didn’t have the heart to tell him that he could get in trouble if a flight attendant saw that. After I finished my beverage, he offered to share. I took him up on it, because why the hell not?

As the flight went on, Jason was talking about the animals he used to work with at a zoo. I used to work at a zoo. He said he would still work there if it paid enough to live on. Me too, I said. He is Italian and his family is from southern Italy (me too) and he is now learning Italian (me too, me too, me too!).

It’s so easy to feel crammed into a metal tube, with little space, little choice, little freedom of movement. Often, airline travel is to be tolerated as a means to get to the final destination. But sometimes, the stars align and I meet others who are simply enjoyable. Then, I remember why I love travel as much as I do. Venturing out of my comfort zone does mean that I may encounter people whose company I do not enjoy, but it also means I could meet some enjoyable people who make me smile.

In good company

Me, C, and the Sindaco di Firenze

One of the best parts of traveling, in particular when traveling with a friend, is the chance to have unexpected encounters with others. I note that traveling with a friend is key, because traveling alone as a woman, I have to be pretty defensive when out and about. When on my own, I generally don't spend as much time in bars or restaurants, because places like that tend to invite company I do not appreciate. But when I'm with a good wingman, we get out and about all over the place.

So far this trip, in just one week, we have had some great chats with our new best friends.

One day, we went for a quick sandwich so we wouldn't be going to our wine tasting on an empty stomach. (Point of fact: Italians only drink when they eat. Culturally, they do not understand drinking wine if you are not also eating food. The tasting did involve some light food, but we wanted to be prepared.)

We found a great sandwich...shop? Stand? I'm not sure what to call the place, but I Due Fratellini (two little brothers) has a sandwich counter where they shave off perfect prosciutto, fresh mozarella, argula, pomodoro (tomatoes), and all sorts of other things on perfect bread. The sandwiches are huge, made to order from fresh ingredients, cheap, and freaking delicious. You eat them standing up, on the street. You can have wine with your sandwich, because of course you can. Our options ranged from a shot glass size, to small wine glass, to larger wine glass, and we could choose wines ranging from chianti classico to brunello di montalcino (which is pretty expensive, fancy-pants wine for those not in the know. Seriously. A sandwich shop serving brunello for five euros a glass. I love this country). We took the recommendation of one of the brothers and each got a small glass of the chianti classico for two euros a glass. And I mean glass. The wine was served in actual wine glasses so we could enjoy our wine while eating our humongous, amazing sandwiches in wax paper.

C and I were standing there, on the cobblestones, trying to juggle the sandwich and glass of wine, when I noticed a little wooden frame mounted on the wall. It had little shelves perfect for placing your wine glass while you drank.

The little wine shelf.

Right in front of the frame was a group of uomini (men) who were clearly having a power lunch. One of them was in a smart looking suit with a small pin with the symbol of Florence (the Florin) in his lapel. I had him pegged as a government official right away. There was also a man in an impressive and impeccable uniform, with lots of insignia on his lapel. He was clearly a very high ranking official in some military or psuedo military organization. The other men were also smartly dressed. They were standing right in front of the shelf, but I'm American, and don't care if Very Important People are standing there; the shelf is there for everyone to use and I'm not putting my wine glass on the curb while I eat. So, I walked over and helped myself to some space on the shelf.

After a few minutes, Mr. Fancy Suit asked where we're from. We chatted for a bit, and he introduced us to the other men in the group. Mr. Fancy Uniform was the chief of police. The others were presidents of various districts. Mr. Fancy Suit was the Mayor. "I guessed it was something like that, because of your pin!" I said. The next thing I know, he removed the pin and asked if he could put it my sweater lapel. Well, sure!

We asked about the street art that we saw throughout the city, including the piece painted right behind the wooden wine shelf. He liked the urban art, and told us a bit about it. He posed with the two brothers of the sandwich shop for a picture, so I asked for one, too. We walked away from our sandwiches smiling at the hospitality.

That's the Pitti Palace in the background.

Later on, we went to the wine tasting at the Tuscan Wine School, along with two Canadians, two Americans, and one German. We had a blast, learning about the various local wines, from a blond-haired, blue-eyed Italian woman. This made me happy, because at home, no one ever thinks I'm Italian because I don't look stereotypically Italian, yet here are blonde, fair-eyed and fair-skinned Italians, I swear. I'm not the only one.

We got along like gangbusters in this group, and afterwards, the Canadians decided we should go out for a drink to use our newfound knowledge so we figured what the hell. We thoroughly confused the waitress when we just wanted wine without food, so she brought us food anyway, which I find hilarious.

It was great fun, even if C and I were, somehow, the only liberals at the table having a conversation with two Americans who voted for Trump and said they would vote for him again and two Canadians who (I cringe as I say this) hate Trudeau. "So, I understand you like to smoke cigars..." was my segway the hell out of that conversation.

Political differences aside, it was an enjoyable evening, and one I never have at home. It takes the change of scenery and culture and a found, shared interest to bring together a group of strangers for a short while.

Austrians!

A few nights later, C and I headed to Venice for an overnight trip. She had picked out a fabulous restaurant for dinner, and we went to eat all the things. The amuse bouche was a straciatella cheese with a sardine that melted in your mouth, and it was divine. There were scallops with lemon, peanuts, and cacaoa, spaghetti with prawns (heads intact), and turbot with pumpkin sauce. Dessert was house-made tiramisu with coffee and grappa. The adorable German waiter brought out house-made limoncello and fennelcello on the house.

The food was great, but the best part turned out to be our tablemates. When we sat down, we knew the table involved family-style table seating and that we could end up with company. Two Austrian men took the seats next to us, and mostly left us alone. At some point, we started chatting. The next thing I knew, they were sharing their wine so the four of us could toast C's birthday with something in our glasses (as our wine had long since been consumed), I shared my tiramisu, we ended up talking about politics, with them cracking us up with their bafflement of American voting in someone like Trump. They also shocked me by sharing that Austrians don't watch The Sound of Music. Ever. They know the movie exists, but watching it is not part of their culture. They think it's hilarious that that's what Americans know of their little country.

I'm here for another week, and can't wait to see who I get to meet next.

Eye to the Ground

Not too long ago, a friend came to visit. On her short list of requests of things to do once here was to go on a “hike.” Her quotes, not mine. What she really wanted was a walk in the woods, not an honest to goodness hike up the side of a mountain that requires hiking shoes and walking poles and a bladder full of water on your back. I knew the perfect place. There is a lake not too far from where I live that has terrific walking paths through the woods. One path in particular is a four mile loop, mostly flat, winding through the woods, with a terrific view of the water at the halfway point. We put on our hats and our bug spray, grabbed some water and snacks, and off we went.

It was a cheerful, uneventful hike. I say uneventful meaning simply that we enjoyed our walk and the weather and each other’s company and nothing untoward happened. No one fell in the lake. No one sprained an ankle. No one got sprayed by a skunk. It was a lovely afternoon in the woods.

When we were about a half mile from the car, we noticed a small group of people huddling over something along the side of the trail. It was a woman and two girls who, judging by their resemblance to the woman, their ages, and how they interacted with one another, I am guessing were her daughters. They were with a young man who we guess may have been the woman’s stepson or perhaps a family friend. He was too old to be her son and too young to be a significant other. But, whatever, the dynamic there is not what is important. What matters is that they were a friendly group who were more than happy to share the purpose of their outing: they were hunting mushrooms.

It turns out that the young man hunts for and collects mushrooms to use as art projects. He will split them in half, dry them on paper, and create art images with them. He also enjoys studying them and was a walking encyclopedia of all things mycology (that’s the study of mushrooms). 

He cheerfully showed us which one will make you vomit for days while you hallucinate at the same time. He showed us the one that smells like butter. He showed us purple mushrooms, red mushrooms, all sorts of funny shaped mushrooms. He suggested which ones you could eat in a pinch, and which ones you really should just leave alone.

After we parted ways, I kept an eye on the ground, a bit more attuned to what might be growing there than I have noticed in the past. Sure enough, little spots of bright purple, red, yellow were more common than I had noticed before. 

What a lovely afternoon to meet some kind strangers who have helped me to look at the woods with new eyes. Do I remember the names of the mushrooms and which one is which? I do not. But I have a general rule of not touching mushrooms when out and about, so I’ll be okay. The important thing is learning to look with new eyes for what has been there all along.