Home Sweet Homes

Home Sweet Homes

I am experiencing a bit of Home Sweet Home confusion. I am 100% a Colorado girl and always will be. But my heart, no matter how young of a heart it was, will always be in Sweden. But now once you add Italy and Germany to the mix, I'm so confused!

Every time we cross the border into Austria or Germany, my heart breathes a deep relaxing sigh of contentment. I remember the first time I visited Pat in Europe. I love Italy and it is a hopelessly romantic place. He drove me crazy always saying how Germany is so much better- cleaner, more hospitable, no raposo, etc. Blasphemy! But the minute we left our two week tour of Italy of all my favorite places- Florence, Pisa, Cinque Terra- and drove into Austria, I felt at home. The mountains, the green, the crisp dry air, the subconscious similarities to Sweden that I can't even put my finger on... The first hotel we stayed in was decorated just like my childhood home in Sweden, so much so that I had to take pictures of the lamps! The peace in Bavaria is- I just can't find the words for it. I felt immediately at home with Pat's family even though I couldn't understand a word they said. And by family I mean the entire little town of Unterleiterbach, all 600 or so. His mom's sister Hedwig and her husband Heinrich, his cousin Harrold (who does speak English!) and his wife Silke and daughter Gina Marie. His mom's childhood best friend Carmen and her husband Eddie, their family, mom's other friend Helga and her children Bree (who immediately took me shopping), Jeremy, his wife Melanie (who is a doll) and all the other Unterleiterbach 'family'. They all consider Pat family and come racing over any time the yellow Xterra is spotted driving into town. I think they all feel they had a part in raising him during his first five years. He and his mom lived with Grandpa and Hedwig and Heinrich. He grew up with Harry as his older brother and Harry's brother Jochen as his twin, only 26 days younger than Pat. Carmen and Eddie were always a part of his life, as were the others from town. It is an amazingly close and loving family/town.

I digress, as usual. Where was I? Right, Germany, home sweet home confusion. All this being said, the minute we drive back to Italy and I am surrounded by the sounds of Italian, I feel back at home. I love the sound of the language. It surrounds me and envelopes me in comfort, even in the midst of the hair pulling frustration of the buses and closed tabaccherias!

This weekend we drove to Bavaria for the four day weekend. I love road trips here, even though the trains are much easier. One of the main reasons I love the road trips- the Autogrills. Well, that and the cool bathrooms and the uninterrupted hours with Pat- I get him all to myself and sit in the passenger seat basking in his attention and proximity. Autogrills- these aren't just any old gas stations. They have the best little Italian sandwiches. The bread, the meat, the cheese, mmmmmm, mmmmmm, mmmmmm. And the madness in ordering! There are no such things as lines in Italy. We all wait for the bus or train civilly and as soon as the doors open, everyone pushes their way in, cuts in line, has no regard for who was there first. Same goes when ordering at the Autogrill. My first few visits I wanted to cry. I had no idea how the process worked, I couldn't understand a word, people pushed me out of the way, etc. First, you look in those deli case of sandwiches and pick which one you want. You then have to read the name of it, memorize it and attempt to pronounce it. You head over to the line/mob and attempt to say the word out loud that you have been repeating over and over again in your head in hopes of not forgetting it by the time you're up. Then you fumble through the mispronounced but attempted ordered. You try to understand how much they are charging you and then are grateful for the digital cash register and the cashier's possible switch to English. Then you stand there like an idiot with your receipt, wondering where your food is. Ha! Ends up, you then have to leave the cashier, head over to the other part of the mob, weasel your way to the front, hand a different lady your receipt, which she tears a notch into and then grabs your sandwich and places it on the grill. You wait, and wait, and wonder whether to go to the other line/mob to get your cappuccino, since heaven forbid you be given your full order from the same person. Then as you stand there wondering what in the world to do, getting jostled by the Italians, who right now are sounding like fingers on a chalkboard, not like the comfort described above, the lady gives your sandwich to someone else who was more assertive than you. !!!!! So you ask again, paying full attention this time and walk away triumphantly with your sandwich. But not so fast, now you have to take your notched receipt to the cappuccino man. He notches it again, sets out your little cappuccino saucer, spoon, sugar and cup, makes your espresso, adds it to your frothy milk in the cup on the counter and now you are done. Drink it quickly while everyone around you jockeys for sandwich, cashier and cappuccino position. Or order an espresso, stand at the counter in front of an even smaller cup, wait for it to be poured, take it one shot and head back to the car. Good times!

Well, eight weeks of life in Europe, two weeks of language class and a week of Benvenuti and it's time to test it out on our road trip to Bavaria. A+ for me! At the first Autogrill I felt like a pro! I checked out the selection, picked two sandwiches, this time knowing what was in them, ordered sandwiches, croissants and cappuccino in Italian, paid in Italian and waited in Italian. I even ordered my cappuccino to go in Italian- d'asporto. A Slavic family was trying to order in English and I heard the guys behind the bar make fun of them for being American. I held back and did not correct them, but I did feel good that I, the stupid American, was able to order in Italian, even when others where relying on my native tongue, their second language, to order. Not to say though that the Italians never revert to English the second they hear my Italian attempts, just not this time :)

Again, once we cross into Austria and Germany my heart finds a different type of peace. And my belly quickly finds peace via viener schnitzel, spatzle and beer. I love that in Germany I can just order beer and they bring me the house beer, I don't have to choose a specific beer. But once my heart and belly are at peace my mind longs for Italian. I feel like I am finally making progress with the language, I can get around town recently, order my food, shop, etc. But now my mind has to switch to German and isn't so happy about it. I can't automatically respond with please, thank you, order my food, etc. Yesterday I said thank you to a lady I passed on the street rather than good afternoon. This morning I responded to the waitress in Italian rather than the German or English which she was addressing me in. Allora!! At least it shows my progress with Italian?

I am realizing that I can find home anywhere, that I find peace everywhere. I constantly find myself coming across an amazingly peaceful feeling- walking into a beautiful church, riding shotgun next to my love, drinking an Italian glass of wine, finishing the last bit of schnitzel, successfully riding the bus watching the town go by, savoring my last bite of my little pony meatballs surrounded by my new friends drenched by the Verona rain, driving through the freshly fallen snow in the Alps, reading a good book- whether the Russian classic 'Anna Karenina' or the Swedish best seller 'The Girl Who Kicked a Hornet's Nest', checking out yet another medieval walled town and castle, watching another season of The Office on the couch with Pat. I am an amazingly lucky girl and am grateful to call so many places around the world home.