UChic Abroad: First Days in Florence

It has been exactly one month since my arrival to Florence, Italy, a month that has flown by in a blend of emotions and experiences. Living in a Renaissance city with more culture and history than most major U.S. cities combined forces me to constantly reevaluate why I am here. In the U.S., I am immersed in my own element; I rarely cross the dredged boundary that is my comfort zone. But here, it's an hourly, if not minute-by-minute reality check that I am on another side of the world, thousands of miles away from my established life back home.

The first few days proved difficult. I arrived Sunday evening and by Wednesday afternoon called my family in California (5:30 a.m. their time), blubbering about how out of place I felt. Walking along the streets I felt lost. Everyone else had a place they were headed to, a plan to conquer the city.

"I am not homesick," I insisted to my family on speakerphone. I could smell my dad's Folgers brewing, envision my mom sitting in her flannel pajama pants, looking distressed, and hear my sister growling at my rude wakeup call. "I just…" I couldn’t fight the tears. "I am just feeling so many emotions." It didn’t help that the first few days upon arrival, fellow Americans felt the urge to share their common adjustment struggles, so as soon as I believed something finally made sense, a student from Pennsylvania, California, or New York assured me it didn’t.

That summarizes the first week: seven days persevering in my initial ideal to not compare this experience, or any part of it, to my home country. My time here quickly improved, however, and within two weeks I enjoyed my daily routine of walking past Italian designer boutiques, chic art galleries, and outdoor cafés filled with lively locals.

I came to Florence for a one-month intensive language course and a three-month internship. Two weeks ago I had to meet with the head of the editorial group where I will be working for the next eleven weeks. The company is based in Prato, a fifteen-minute train ride and twenty-minute bus ride north. The afternoon humidity was unbearable as my school's internship coordinator, Giovanni, consoled me, even mentioning that the head of the company may speak to me in his broken English.

Walking into the modern, steel-furnished office, I knew this would mark perhaps the biggest challenge of my twenty years. Italian business professionals are notorious for their loose sense of time, so as Giovanni and I waited in a sunlit office, I observed the late-afternoon commotion of the editorial office. Suddenly a tall, dark-haired Italian man in his thirties flew into the office. "Please speak English," I thought nervously.

He didn’t. The next fifteen minutes were a blur of Tuscan tongue, my head nodding, flipping through pages of magazines he handed me, and saying "si" too many times to count. I left feeling overwhelmed and discouraged about my language capabilities. My internship starts in one week and despite constant reassurance that it is an amazing opportunity, I want to run and hide.

As for Florence, the city is the closest to a big city I have ever lived, and by no means does it measure up to New York. The costs of living, however, compare. Italians value their lounge time: eating, drinking, and socializing. So naturally, being youthful college students, my friends and I like to go out to absorb Italian nightlife. But several hours, four 10 euros drinks, and a night of dancing later, I wonder what will happen the day my wallet can no longer accommodate "La Dolce Vita."

Ciao!

P.S. If anyone has any questions/bits of knowledge to share, don't hesitate to contact me by leaving a comment below.

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