Everybody Has a Story: Welcomed by warmth of Italians

In 1995, after saving our money and vacation time, my best friend Sheree and I were thrilled to go to Europe. The World Wide Web was new, so we prepared by reading Rick Steves’ “Europe Through the Back Door,” and heard him speak in Seattle, where we were living at the time. We were in our 20s, open to adventure, and couldn’t wait to go. We had no idea how incredible our vacation would be.

We decided to visit four cities. London was first. Despite jet lag, we jumped headfirst into sightseeing with such eagerness that we forgot to get a city map until our third day. We accepted getting lost and walking for hours (in addition to taking the Tube and double-decker buses) as a great way to see a city. In pubs, we shared stories and laughs with locals and travelers from all over the world. A highlight was speeding through the streets of London at night on the back of a Harley Davidson.

When we flew to Paris, we were surprised to get thoroughly frisked by an airline agent because back home, security was at a minimum. In fact, our boyfriends had walked us all the way to our flight gate. (Less than a decade later, everything about flying would change.)

Despite arriving in cold rain, Paris was spectacular. Our budget limited what cathedrals and museums we could see, but we would’ve been fully entertained by simply walking around the beauty. The Eiffel Tower was a highlight, of course, as was the Louvre Museum and the Musee d’Orsay, but talking with people was equally cherished.

I kept a journal, but sometimes the fun happened too fast to capture.

As awesome as everything was in London and Paris, the pinnacle of our trip was about to happen in Italy.

We meant to take Rick Steves’ advice about sleeping on an overnight train to save money that would otherwise go to lodging. Even though we reserved a couchette (a sleeping berth) to Florence, Sheree and I didn’t get much sleep. We met a group of friendly train conductors, and the night was a blur of laughter, red wine, French language, hijinks and more laughter. They even let me “guest cook” for them after the dining car closed.

The next wonderful thing began with the simple act of opening a door. Firenze (as Florence is called in Italian) welcomed us with sunshine and the welcoming warmth of the Italian people.

It was after dinner on our first day. Sheree and I were skipping arm-in-arm down a narrow cobblestone street when we heard what we thought was a karaoke bar. We opened the door, then quickly closed it, feeling sheepish because inside was a small family celebration. I’m sure we looked surprised and guilty, but before we could flee, family members came out and invited us inside. They wouldn’t hear any protest, so we joined them and had the best time at the 70th birthday party of a man named Luigi.

When it got late, Luigi and his wife Ines invited us to have lunch with them the next day. They wrote down their home address in my journal and even included a detailed map with the duomo (central cathedral) as the key landmark. They were the perfect hosts as they served a delectable homemade meal of spaghetti and “tuney” (tuna). Others from the night before, Alberto and Antonio, joined us, and Luigi’s son, Luciano, pulled out his guitar and sang in his husky voice. The hours spent talking and singing were priceless. Before we knew it, it was time for dinner.

Alberto and Antonio insisted we join them at their friend Corrado’s dinner party in the hills of Montespertoli, a 45-minute drive from Firenze. Corrado made us feel at home, as did all the other guests. They were all warmhearted and funny people, ranging from 10 years old to middle-aged. We had a delicious, multi-course meal accompanied by wine made by Corrado’s uncle. There was storytelling and more music. While we didn’t understand all the Italian, we shared their contagious laughter.

When it came time for Sheree and I to leave, saying goodbye to our new friends was hard, even tearful. They were so quick to accept and embrace us, and they opened their homes and lives to us. We wrote to each other for a while, but eventually Sheree and I moved too many times, and we lost touch. We still talk about going back and looking them up. Perhaps we will next year, when it’s the 30th anniversary of our trip.

We had no idea how symbolic Rick Steves’ book, “Europe Through the Back Door,” would become for us. All the doors were wonderful and the beauty plentiful. “Experiencing the real Europe requires catching it by surprise,” Steves says. Europe certainly caught us by surprise. I’ll always be grateful for that time and the incredible people we shared it with.

Everybody Has a Story welcomes nonfiction contributions, 1,000 words maximum, and relevant photographs. Send to: neighbors@columbian.com or P.O. Box 180, Vancouver WA, 98666. Call “Everybody Has an Editor” Scott Hewitt, 360-735-4525, with questions.