snapshot [Siena, Italy]

from September.

I'm waiting for this olive oil to start snapping in my pan before I toss in some basil. Outside the window of our small apartment, the sky is melting into the cut-side of an apricot. Siena, where we've made our home for the last four days or so, is just beginning to wake up. Italy has taken us pleasantly by surprise in that way. You never quite know which shops will be open or if they'll even roll open their doors before eight in the evening, but one thing you can always count on, is the streets flooding to life after dark. What a strange, beautiful miracle. Every corner, basking in the soft glow of light. A hum of conversation wherever you go. In the piazza, cafe's are spilling their lilting music. Cigarettes dangle from the fingers of strangers, along with scoops of gelato in cones, bowls. My husband says we are to get gelato every night, so when I say, surprise me with a flavor, he selects one that resembles nougat. I don't order any other flavor the rest of the trip, something about childhood and the candy my Opa always used to get that makes it feel familiar.

My husband and I have taken to cooking in our apartment. We wander into small markets and carefully pick up chestnuts, sprigs of basil, gnocchi and tortellini. We play with flavors and take note of how the Italians master their craft of food. Sometimes, when the sun drains us of all energy we settle into a cafe and haltingly order a meal. Grazie, we say after we've finished, as if to extend a hand of apology for our broken attempts, but also, friendship. A bridge, of sorts. Which is why, we slowly gather words to morph into our vocabulary. Not just for convenience's sake, but also, to say: we want to know. We want to learn. Due biglietti per favore, we ask the worker at a Lotto shop. We are answered with a stream of Italian and two tickets for a bus that will take us outside of the old city walls and to a shopping center. It's strange to be consistently on the outside of conversation. Yet, also freeing. We are free to observe, free to watch. Free to be uncomfortable, to feel the stretching of our skin as we make mistakes, are misunderstood, but learn. My pride fights this feeling of being out of touch, but the universal humanity around me sets me at ease. A smile, a nod, a look of understanding.

Siena seems to have captured the sun and it's looming architecture is warm and golden. We meet an elderly American on a bus and he gives me his seat, a kind gesture. He tells us that he moved here years ago. Just up and sold everything he had. I'm plodding away at it, he says about learning the language. I think, yes. Isn't that the rest of us? Plodding away at it, taking everything one day at a time. Through all the newness, the seasons, perhaps... through the sameness. Plodding away at it. Slow and steady.

I'm realizing that for the Italians, this life that I find fascinating is just that. Daily life. We just happen to be stepping into it. So, for the duration of our time here, we observe their way of living, and adopt the aspects that we see. We stay out late, carried by the ebb and flow of the crowd. I wear lipstick, a shade of berries and wine. We kiss on the bus. Wine is tasted and critiqued, although we laugh at our own lack of knowledge. We sit on the cobblestone of the piazza, listening to the faint whisper of music as it grows and grows. We learn to converse with each other and be more present. Never before have I seen a culture that is more focused on the moments that are happening right now.

The oil has begun to snap and my husband is at my side. We watch the sun disappear behind cathedrals and all at once, the Tuscan countryside is drenched in night. There's a softness, here. Maybe it's called healing, or maybe it's called settling into another heart. Rummaging around. Building memories that becomes pictures on walls.