Traveling is not always what you expect it to be, especially in Torino.
I stepped off of the plane. The airport was warm and stuffy inside, the air much more dense and humid than the frigid, recycled air conditioning on the airplane. After 20 hours of travelling and passing through two different time zones, I was jet-lagged and exhausted, but a surge of energy pulsed through my body as I caught a glimpse of the beautiful, tree-lined river and rolling hills of Torino, Italy. I caught a cab and watched in awe at the countryside, and beautiful old city buildings sped by, taking everything in and observing the landscape that was going to be my home for the next two months. I couldn’t wait to see what Torino had in store for me; inspiring friends, long, glowing nights running around the city in the warm air, great love, finding myself. My heart raced with excitement and anticipation.
Three weeks later, I sat on my expandable cot bed crying. I missed home; I missed my friends and family and felt uncomfortable and out of place in this strange city. I was bored, but most of all, I was lonely. I hadn’t made any fantastic, life-long friends, not one potential. I hadn’t spent a single night out in the city, twirling in the warm, star-strewn air. And forget about great love, I hadn’t talked to any guy above the age of 12 (I was working as an au pair) since I arrived; I felt stranded and miserably, hopelessly lost. I spent long days wandering in Torino by myself and then came home in the afternoon to help the children with their homework. After another week, I felt drained.
One night changed my outlook. I was talking to my dad on the phone, once again crying, and he told me to pack my bags and come home. My stomach jolted in passionate opposition to the idea. My eyes dried and a sudden sense of determination came over me. “No,” I said into the tear-soaked phone. “No!” I was not going to give up; I was 19 years old and in Italy; this was my life and I would not let myself waste this opportunity.
My entire disposition changed over the next month. I was happier and more energetic. I met amazing people and bonded irreversibly with the family I was living with. I learned to cook meatballs and discovered that I am a talented pastry chef. It was not the long night outs and life-changing love I had expected and the people I bonded with were not the friends I had imagined meeting. I had a hard time accepting it, but in a strange way, I had gotten everything I had imagined. I absolutely loved the little girls I was an au pair for; the mom I worked for had transformed from employer into a wild and hilarious friend I could share life stories and hours of laughter with. I wasn’t sure what I was learning about myself or how I had changed since arriving, but I could feel something shifting inside of me, I just couldn’t quite put my finger on it.
Traveling is not always what you expect it to be. A city is not as obviously glamorous as seen in an old Audrey Hepburn movie; the smells are unfamiliar and off-putting; the vibe you get from the place is not what you expected. When I stepped onto the plane to Torino, I came with the idea that I was running away from home, fulfilling my life-long dream of dropping all of my problems and worries, and escaping to Italy to start a new life, just as the movie “Under the Tuscan Sun.” I would live a worry free life; meet inspiring and new people; find myself and find love. One night during the last week of my trip, the family I was living with had two American business partners over for dinner. I moped through dinner, devastated to be missing the wild Euro Cup festivities taking place on Piazza Vittorio. As we wound down the hill after dinner, taking the business partners back to their hotel, the younger partner and I chatted about the general experience of traveling, and he commented on the unique opportunities I was receiving with the family I was living with. “It gives you something to strive for, doesn’t it?” It hit me then. The family I worked for was very wealthy and lived a very privileged, structured and sheltered life. I realized I would rather be in the thick of life, running through the streets on a hot summer night, waving a flag and yelling my country’s national anthem at the top of my lungs, than sitting high up on a hill, separated, sipping expensive champagne, observing everything rush by below.
Traveling is about losing yourself; getting completely, totally and utterly lost, and then, in a single miraculous moment, falling face first into the truth, and realizing a new vision and understanding of yourself and where you are headed. My experience may not have been what I had imagined, but in the end I found everything I was looking for, including myself.
