I'll Take It!

It's standing-room only on this maledetto bus to Siena.  Unanticipated, crowded and packed because the train conductor is at home instead of on a train.  The old man next to me is not happy about this arrangement.  Giuseppe is his name and, upon finding out that I am a Floridian, he tells me that he has visited Jacksonville, Florida...twice ("Jacksonville...Volkswagon,...Panama Canal...Hamburg" is what he says in explanation, nodding knowingly as if this clarifies everything.  I'm confused, but I don't press the issue.). And he will go on to explain to me that this bus is miserable, this holiday is miserable, this country is miserable...and maybe he's right.

"You like Italy?" He asks me.

"Ma, certo," I respond.

"Well you can have it, take it, it's yours."

And while I'm glad to have his permission, in some ways, I already have.

Because a city or a country is a bit like a person.  You don't get just the good parts, you get all of it: flaws and tears and frustration--all of it.  Because Italy isn't only spaghetti alla carbonara and Chianti wine and cannoli and rolling hills and scenic beaches and a stroll in the piazza in the evening.  It's also 3 days to dry your jeans and no direct trains on holidays and Silvio Berlusconi and  "is this bus ever actually going to arrive?" and waiting for hours to get your permit at the immigration office and no direct answers and no certainty about anything...not ever.

But at some point, you find yourself falling into this rhythm and you console yourself that you don't really need dry jeans anyway and you scold your friend for wearing sandals in March and you learn to deal with the uncertainty as some sort of perpetual, unanticipated adventure-game (or at least you hope that all these lessons in patience are somehow making you a better person).  And of course you eat your spaghetti and drink your wine and stroll in the piazza in the evening whenever possible.

And just like that particularly frustrating person that you can't help but adore, in spite of how crazy they make you (or perhaps because of how crazy they make you) you love Italy and you hate it and love to hate it and, at the end of the day, you hate to love it as much as you do.

And when Giuseppe on the bus says "take it..."  You say to yourself "Well yes, I think I will...."

Volentieri.