Chapter Thirteen: I Was Never Good At Goodbye

I have said a lot of goodbye's in my life, but this one I knew would probably be the hardest of them all. There were things about home that I missed, but nothing will ever be to me what Italy has been. What has been difficult for me is finding how to convey in writing the feelings that I have about this country without just telling you the day to day events of my life. Aside from meeting some of the most amazing friends and the most amazing man, there has been so much that happened here that changed me and awed me and drew me in. My heart is attached to this place in a way I never knew was possible. How do I say goodbye?

                                                      ~

A few weeks before leaving I went to the sporting by myself, where I ran into Genio. He asked me if I had  eaten yet, and I said no. Although it was almost ten o'clock, we went to Babayaga, where they kept the kitchen open late, just for us. With the restaurant closing around us, we spent the evening talking and laughing and getting to know each other. Although I met him on my first night in the country, we were both in other relationships at the time and it was truly fate that brought us together this night. From then on we spent every moment away from work together. We spent a day at the beach together swimming and tanning and laughing and drinking, the day before my parents arrived, when he was off and I had just finished my internship. When we got back from dinner that night Genio's roommate told him that because the next day was a new month, the chef gave him that day off too. Although I wanted nothing more than for my parents to meet him, I could hardly ask that of him after only a few weeks...he offered to come without my having to ask. After spending an awesome day with my incredibly wonderful and understanding parents, we got back to Bellagio just in time to go to Lecco for dinner...this time to meet his mother. It was an eventful and emotional day. We only had a few days left, and they truly flew by. Not only with Genio, but with Cristi and everyone else. I had formed such strong bonds that leaving seemed impossible. 

The last day before I left Bellagio I spent with my parents, walking around a very rainy and dreary Bellagio...a feeling that mirrored my own heart. It was hard to not be sad when I thought about leaving everything I had known for the past three months. When Genio got off of work he came and picked me up, and we met my parents for dinner at the Hotel Florence, where we split two bottles of wine. Afterwards, we headed to the Enoteca Wine Bar and went through three more bottles...it was such a fun time I almost forgot that it was my last day there. Because my parents stayed in Como, they had to go back on the boat and I was able to get one last dinner with all of the Americans in Bellagio. It was a wonderful way to wrap things up, and lovely getting to see everyone one last time. After we ate, most of my friends came to the sporting and we relaxed and hung out for a few hours. 

Time came to say goodbye, and I wasn't ready. I cried, of course. More so when Cristi gave me a letter, not to be opened until I get on my plane home. The night was hard, knowing I was leaving a lot of people whom I loved. The morning was harder. I saw Cristi and Genio, before they each went to work, and we all cried. I cried as I walked down to town. Cried as I looked out over the lake and the mountains. I'm crying now, four days later. I also just said goodbye to Genio again...he had two days off and took the train down to Florence to spend here with me and my family. 

It's easy to say I will come back. I always said I'd go back to Mackinac. I also want to go to Nasville, Chicago, DC...truth is, I have no idea. What I do know is that I have felt and received more love here than ever before in my life. I ate better, drank better, and learned an entirely new language (given, that part began two years ago). I can honestly say I've never seen a more beautiful place. The drawback? The work leaves a lot to be desired. If I can get a job here, it won't be what I could get in the United States. I absolutely have better work opportunities there. Can I really hold back from doing what my heart is calling me to do because I can't get a job as a manager? It seems like a silly question. I know the answer. You know the answer. Now let's all just convince my mom, eh? Who knows. For now, I return. I finish school. Maybe I'll cry every day missing this place, and maybe I'll just drink more Italian wine. Maybe I'll never see any of these people again. 

One way or another, I've had the most incredible three months of my life. I lived without reservations and have no regrets, only incredible memories and, hopefully, lifelong friendships. 

Italy has my heart.

Chapter Twelve: We're Not in America Anymore

Giving the benefit of the doubt, I like to believe that most people recognize when preparing to travel abroad that they are traveling to a place that is very different from the USA. Most people probably understand that a country like Italy operates in a completely different way than we do at home. Everything from eating and drinking to shopping to relaxing is done differently here. Most people, I think, know that going in.

That being said, for some reason that "understanding" doesn't seem to translate into actual understanding when they arrive here. Here are a few situations I've noticed over the past ten weeks. 

The most prominent thing that I've noticed has to do directly with the hotel. In America, were bred on chain hotels. In fact, independent hotels make up only about 30% of the market in the US, whereas it's more like 60-70% in Italy. What does that mean for you? Don't expect to walk into a Ritz Carlton. The Grand Hotel Villa Serbelloni does not have a multimillion dollar chain backing it and setting service standards to make sure everyone receives the exact same, top of the line performance every time they stay. The Ritz Carlton has a $2,000 allowance, per guest, allotted for service recovery. That means that if something goes terribly wrong during your stay, any hotel employee from the general manager to the girl cleaning your toilet is empowered to spend up to that amount to make sure you leave happy. Why? Because you'll return. Probably for life. 

Small, independent Italian hotels do not have the means to implement such a policy. Guest expectations, however, dont always consider this incredible difference between the two types of hotels.

Next: Wifi

In America, it would be unheard of to go to a five star deluxe luxury hotel and be told at checkin that you get one free WiFi code, good for one device, and that if you would like additional codes (for, say, the other three people staying in your room) you'll just have to pay the small fee of seven euros per additional code. Not only that, but you have to re-enter the username (a six digit code) and password (a ten digit code) every hour or so. 

I can't impress upon you how many complaints I've gotten about the WiFi over the last ten weeks. But I don't like it either...so stop blaming me! What I have noticed, however, over my travels through italy, is that this is not an unusual policy. Proof that even I have to manage my expectations of what italy has to offer! 

One time I had to spend an hour alone in the room of a man who couldn't get the internet to work on his 1998 dell brick of a laptop and listen to him spout curses at the hotel and the country of Italy. 

"I've traveled all over the world and never had issues getting onto the internet like this before."

"I went to a hotel in Africa and was able to get internet. Africa!"

"This is why I never come to Italy. This is absolutely ridiculous."

All the while expecting me to diagnose and fix his computer. Do I look like the geek squad? 

I most certainly do not look like the geek squad.

Then, there was the rat lady. This has a little less to do with America vs Italy than a language barrier and a madwoman. 

Nevertheless:

Earlier on in the summer, Maria escorted a couple up to their room. She told the bellman the room number, and while she showed the guests some of the hotel amenities like our pools, restaurants and spas, the bellman went up to the room with the luggage. When Maria arrived, he was standing outside the room on his phone, talking frantically and making it clear that Maria should not enter the room. He went in and came out. The head housekeeper arrived, and went in the room. The wife turned to Maria and asked what happened. Maria had no idea, as they were speaking too fast for her to understand. Then the woman turned to the bellman, who spoke no English (which she highly doubted, thank you very much). They were permitted to enter, but the woman was apprehensive. She told Maria she thought there was a problem with the room. Was it a bug? A rat? Yes, a rat, she decided. 

<<Enter, me.>>

I was standing at the desk when a very nice couple walked up. The woman chatted with me a bit, and then asked me if I spoke Italian. Yes, I said I do. 

Oops.

She quickly stopped being nice, as she yelled at me and scolded me for what happened, said that no one would tell her what was going on, that Maria and the other person she spoke with were trying to hide something, and that I was going to find out what happened and tell her the truth. 

"All I want to know is what happened. I know there was a rat in the room, I just know it. But no one will tell me the truth, you're all hiding something from me."

Never mind what the housekeeper would have done with a live rat while the guests waited outside the door.

The exciting truth is that the bellman thought he saw the guests from the night before, who had checked out already, exiting the room. He called the head housekeeper because he thought the room hadn't been cleaned.

In other news:

-My parents arrive tomorrow

-I've officially finished work

-I'm going out to dinner tonight with a boy from work

-I have only two weeks left in this beautiful country and I absolutely do not want to leave. Keep a lookout for the stories to come about my travels around Italy with my parents, their friends Becky and Charlie and their son Chris. 

Feeling bittersweet, but enjoying every single second.