Traveling Italy – Second Part
A Three-Part Odyssey by Chelsea Weiss - July 23, 2005
I met my parents in the Rome airport without any trouble, but I noticed they already looked more European than when I had last seen them. My father had ditched his sneakers for loafers and my mother wore a brightly colored scarf around her neck. They had a certain air to them as they breezily walked toward me. I realized my father didn't have a cell phone to his ear and my mother wasn't in a rush. Take off the T-shirts and sneakers and my parents were suddenly European.
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| Colosseum, Rome |
Though I was jet-lagged, my parents thought it best to spend the day walking around Florence. Florence is a city of craftsmen, the shops are teeming with gold jewelry, leather goods and pricey gelato. The locals found refuge from the tourists by sunbathing on the break-dam in the middle of the Arno river. Across the scenic views of the Pontevecchio, a bridge over the Arno, I couldn't help but gawk at something that looked so familiar to me. I saw a scattering of Italian teenagers sporting T-shirts achingly similar to those in vogue in the states. With statements in English plastered across the chest like, "brunettes have more fun," complete with jeans and Pumas, the Italian youth mirrored my American friends.
Il Latini, a renowned restaurant in Florence, served me a night of gastronomical delight. The restaurant can be found set back from the busy roads, down an alley and around a bend. When Il Latini opened at 8 p.m. the tiny street was already crowded with those eager to taste their menu. Slowly, a charming host appeared at the door to calm the crowd. He allowed those with reservations to enter as well as a few pretty girls in pairs of two. As the roaring crowd waited their turn for a table, the host fed them slices of cheese with pear and poured out nearly 40 flutes of limoncello, an Italian liquer. I'd never seen such hospitality in the states and I was surprised to find that the Florentines even had fun waiting in line. Once inside the boisterous walls of the restaurant, I ate hand-made gnocchi, tapas with goat cheese and various cured Italian meats that I couldn't pronounce. Oh, and the wine, Italians drink wine like Americans drink Diet Coke
- Other articles from foreign visitors to Italy:
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