Column: nothing is what it seems

It's day two in Italy and I promise I won't describe all 127 days individually and extensively, because then Christmas 2019 will be written for everything én has been read. But day two was a typical day. One of those days when you think: here I am. A second day is always a thing. On vacation, while staying with anyone, oh-far-all. You wake up somewhere else and realize that nothing is what it seems. You love it or you hate it: the second day syndrome.

The bond with the dog

I wake up to the barking of the big dog of the house: Aldo. In the meantime I had already found out that dogs in Italy have a completely different position than in the Netherlands. They only serve as watchdogs and occasionally they come in to eat. Aldo, who can put his head on the table in no time, stole not only a piece of pizza but also a bag of my Frisian Thumbs from my desk last night. So there really isn't a band yet.

I prepare for breakfast and use my own Italian 'shower' for the first time. I myself am not the tallest, but my new family consists of all real under doors and because of that I have to shower seated for the first time in my life. Fortunately, in Italy there is no lack of comfort and a bench has actually been thought of.

After experiencing the first cultural difference that day, I prepare myself for the second: breakfast. In other words: la colazione. I never liked breakfast, but now a whole new world opened up for me. A fresh cappuccino was waiting for me. In addition to the cappuccino: a huge box filled with more than ten different types of cookies for dipping. This of course after I had spooned off the foam layer of maybe five centimeters and after this meal an espresso was immediately put in front of me because 'cappuccino doesn't wake you up'.

Anna and Mattia, the children who will be my brother and sister for the next few months will be picked up by the school bus every morning. In Italy many schools only have class in the morning and in principle I could sleep in until half past one. My 'shift' doesn't start until noon, but you only live once dolce vita! And you understand: I really did that during those 127 days.

From my second week, I went from Verona to Bologna three mornings a week where I took Italian classes. I was immersed in Italian culture, Italian life among my peers and met everyone. Where I spoke zero words of Italian when I arrived, I was able to get by quite well after a month. This also ensured that I could go my own way more and more.

Time and again in the supermarket I was amazed at the almost a hundred different types of pasta, tomato sauces and olive oils. With my rather underdeveloped knowledge of football, I was chatting with the football mothers at the football field about what Francesco 1, 2 or 3 was doing wrong and how Filipe 1 or 2 could have taken his free kick better.

Names remain a thing in Italy. It seems like everyone is called Maria or Federico and sometimes names suddenly change. For example, I thought for 127 days that a boy from my group of friends was called Solieri, until I found out that was his last name. Simone does not only serve as a girl's name.

I was called Martina Magnani for 127 days because a girl's name ending in 'e' was not easy for the mayor. Let alone my Dutch last name. As the icing on the cake, I thought for 127 days that Aldo was the Italian version of Where's Waldo? (Where's Wally?) Maybe the dog was just lost a lot. Until Grandpa had traveled to Italy from the Seychelles in my last week and introduced himself with the name: Aldo.

Nothing is what it seems in la Bella Italia.

Photos: Martine van Groenigen