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My best mate Katie and I were sitting down at one of the nicest restaurants in Lecce, situated at the heart of its historic center. With the warm summer weather, we had requested a table outside, and were soon seated near the entrance of Torre di Merlino, menus in hand, already scanning their wine selections.

It was a bittersweet meal, as I was planning on leaving Lecce soon and heading to New York, my tourist visa was almost expired, and I was also out of funds. We picked this place because their outside seating area was always filled with beautiful locals, dining on lobster and sipping on their third bottle of Salento wine.

After ordering a bottle for ourselves, and an appetizer of grilled portabello, on top of buffalo mozzarella, on top of vine tomatoes, and finished off with a balsamic reduction. We began to relax into our evening, talking of people we had met, people we missed, and the incredible memories we had collected over the summer.

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It is 1:30pm in the afternoon in Lecce and the temperature has reached the ungodly extreme of 38 degrees Celsius (roughly 100 Fahrenheit), it is accompanied by the kind of humidity usually associated with the deep south of Louisiana. All of Lecce is at home, lying in their beds with a fan propped close to their faces as they sleep away the afternoon’s most intense hours of sunshine. As for myself, this is the Lecce that I find most enjoyable, a sleeping city, where I could roam the streets alone, seeing only a stray tourist in search of an open farmacia, not knowing that for 3 to 4 hours in the afternoon, all of the local shopkeepers leave their businesses, lock the doors, and go home for a leisurely lunch and a little nap, before heading back to work for the night.

There was one spot that I found was always open, and no matter what time of day it was, I could always count on this small bar tucked behind Piazza Sant’Oronzo to serve delicious iced espresso, or caffé in ghiaccio (a southern specialty), along with a cup of fresh fragola (strawberry) gelato, my summer favorite. When I found myself wandering the streets during these quiet afternoon hours, I would always sit here and read whichever book I had brought with me, for I always had a book in my bag. I ordered a caffé and sat for an hour reading, watching the locals jabber on in dialect, not understanding a word.

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Allison and I, along with a half dozen of our American friends from the Summer Abroad Program, had finally found the party for Bruco, or caterpillar, one of the Contrade (neighborhoods) competing in this year’s Palio in Siena. We had big plans to partake of the cheap wine and beer, dancing and general merriment that surrounds this type of festa. We stuck out like sore thumbs with our loud behavior and strange dance moves, but the Italians adored our outgoing spirits and would let us play along in the festivity, which they take so seriously.

This historic event has been a staple during the summer months for over 700 years, stopping only during the era of the Plague when three fourths of Siena’s population passed away from the disease, the rest simply fled the city. For the past thirty years, the city has been thriving, and the Palio fever is stronger than ever. Each Contrada has been like an extremely close family that you have to be born into or could join later, only if you were baptized into the community. There have been songs, bitter rivalries and alliances that have stemmed from centuries of bad blood and family ties between ancient members.

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I sat with Katie at the CinCin bar, my enormous rolling bag propped at my side, trying to find the silver lining to my increasingly frustrating situation. I had just left/been kicked out of the house I was living in after quitting my job as a nanny after only two weeks of employment, but that’s another story. I had no place to live, minimal funds, no job, and I could remember almost none of my Italian from classes only a couple years before. I was in a tight spot. Katie, on the other hand, kept telling me I would be laughing about all this soon enough, and although I was dazed, I was definitely not feeling at all jolly.

We made a game plan over a cappuccino, for myself, and a pot of hot water for Katie. She has her quirks. After we dragged my bag over the cobblestone streets to her house and stuffed it under her bed, we went in search of a hotel room where I could stay for a night or two while I looked for an apartment.

The first place we came across was a bed and breakfast near Piazza Sant’Oronzo. It was a bit more expensive than I would have liked, at 50 euro a night, but I was desperate, and tired, and also in need of a shower. We accepted the room from a sweet woman who was incredibly pregnant. As I was looking through the place, Katie and I told her in broken Italian my situation, and how I came to be here in Lecce, with no job, money or place to stay. Well, this lovely Italian woman felt for me and said she had a friend who may be able to help me out. On a tiny scrap of paper she wrote down his name, Stefano, and where to find him, across from P.zza Duomo. I thanked her profusely and, after showering, headed straight for his office.

She had let him know I would be coming so when I arrived we sat down together and had a long talk, in English and Italian, about what he could do for me. This man that I had never met before, offered me a room in one of the apartments where he collected the rent, and a job leasing four wheel bikes in Piazza Sant’Oronzo during the summer to tourists, with a monthly stipend that would allow me to stay in Italy for as long as I wanted.
I felt like crying, and when I made it back to my bed and breakfast , after a celebratory gelato from Natale, my preferred gelateria, I did. Happy tears, that is, and I felt my worries slide away from me as I drifted off into a mid-afternoon nap, very European of me.

The first Friday after I had arrived in Siena for a Summer Abroad Program through UC Santa Cruz, my new friend and soon to be soul sister Allison, and I, decided we needed to get away. That first week of language classes had tired us out and we were ready to let loose and start enjoying ourselves.

We had both heard of a small area to the northwest called Cinque Terre, or five lands, which was really five small cities situated along a breathtaking coastline with a hiking path connecting them. It was the perfect two day vacation we needed and on Saturday morning we took an early train out to the first city, Riomaggiore, and were immediately drawn to the startling view of calm, turquoise waters, which flickered specks of sunlight into our eyes as we stared down at the small city below, dazed by its beauty. We started along the path, which proved an easy and enjoyable walk that took all of 15 minutes.

The next city, Manarola, was more stunning than the first, with brightly colored buildings built one on top of the other, where happy Italians live their lives in the midst of all the tourists that coat their cities during the warm summer months. Here we treated ourselves to a mid-morning gelato and headed straight for the next city on the coast, Corniglia, where we planned to find a hotel and spend the night before attempting the two notoriously more difficult hikes the next day. We wandered around the city, inquiring at small inns at first, but found that they were all completely booked. After an hour we became a bit frantic and began going into restaurants and bars, asking if rooms were available upstairs. At one point a sweet Italian waiter guided us to his local bar where he said there were always rooms, but even this little unknown spot was taken. We began to freak out. We decided to hike to the fourth city, Vernazza, hoping to find a room there for the night.

This hike proved to be incredibly strenuous, and we practically ran it since the sun was setting and we didn’t want to be hiking in the dark. We arrived in Vernazza, sweaty and exhausted, and watched the sun set over the sparkling water, alternating between gold and black, and then we rushed down to the city below, in search of accommodation.

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Today is a really great day!
We are starting a series of blogs completely in English about life in Italy! They are written by a very special writer, Erica Rose!
She has tons of stories to tell and they are all so lively and interesting!

Please leave her a comment!

Ciao
Marco

With May we are starting a new series of lessons entitled Idioms and Proverbs!
Cinzia and Marco will take us exploring some of Italy’s most famous proverbs, explaining their meaning in context and also providing their English counterpart.
As always we need your feedback so please let us know if you like these lessons.

Ciao a tutti!