We came to Italy one year ago this week. A few things have not gone as planned — I broke my wrist less than a week after I arrived, and spent the first two months with my arm in a cast. For the most part, though, things here have been even better than we imagined.
Our apartment is spacious and comfortable. Our landlady, whose home this was for 35 years, has been especially gracious in helping us deal with the inevitable issues of living in a new country.
We have had an easier time than we expected making friends here. There is a small English-speaking community — most are American, but there are some Canadian and Irish folks too. But we have also found it possible to socialize with the people who have lived here most of their lives. At first, people expressed surprise that we left California to move here — we were kind of a curiosity. Now they seem to have gotten used to us.
Acquiring facility with the language has also been easier than we imagined. I had a basic knowledge of Italian grammar based on studying it in high school many years ago. And I could understand people who spoke to me slowly and clearly. But I was terrified of speaking, particularly on the telephone, for fear I might make a mistake. I had to get over that pretty quickly, though, because most people here don’t speak English. If you want to get things done, particularly with the bureaucracy, you have to learn to communicate in Italian. Fortunately, people are very accommodating with my fumbling attempts — I’m sure I sound like a second grader, but no one seems to mind.
Ted has made even more progress. He knew only a few words of Italian when we arrived, but with the aid of private lessons he’s made enough progress that he recently passed the written test for a driver’s license in Italian — not an easy thing here, even for Italians.
The food is also better than we expected. We seem to have stumbled into something of a food paradise here. Although much of the terrain in the Marche and nearby Abruzzo is mountainous, a lot of fruits and vegetables are raised in the local valleys. Green vegetables are available all winter — some winter vegetables, like spinach and chard, are well known to us, while others, like cicoria and agretti, are new. Food is hyper-local here — you can buy locally raised chicken and lamb in the supermarket, as well as locally made bread, cheese and salumi (the generalized name for cold cuts). The porchetta truck (whole roast pig) rolls in once a week, and they sell roast chickens as well. You can buy fresh pasta from several local stores. The local fish market sells a wide variety of Adriatic seafood; San Benedetto del Tronto, about half an hour from here, is a major fish distribution center. And all of the food, particularly the vegetables, costs much less here than we were paying in California. The wine is very reasonably priced too although, as with the food, most of it is locally produced.
Ascoli is a city of about 50,000 — about the same size as Palo Alto. But unlike Palo Alto or many other American suburbs, which are parts of major metropolitan areas, Ascoli is one of the largest towns in what is still a region of small villages and rural farms. Most of the people who live here, work here, and vice versa. That means you might run into your real estate agent outside the gommista (tire shop), your pharmacist in the square, your fish vendor at the bank. And when you see them, you smile and nod and, if there’s time (as there often is) you strike up a small conversation. That’s been one of the biggest and most unexpected differences between living here and living in the US. In the US, no one has time to talk to you. Here, almost every encounter is the opportunity for a small social interaction. It’s nice.