LIVING IN ITALY

My day starts slow. Double cappuccino. Rarely breakfast. Sit with the cats. It’s hot already- so I shut the shutters- because the morning sun is poring in and making my room hot.

I usually have a script or two to read. Depending on the heat, or my mood, or whatever- sometimes I’ll stay at home, lounge on the bed with the cats, or sometimes I’ll go out and read. Sometimes I go to villa borghese or villa pamphili. Some times I read at a pub or café.. but not usually in the morning hours. Often I stay at home. Read for 3 or 4 hours. Sometimes I write, look things up in the internet, email… draw.

I never have anywhere to be until 4 pm. So my days are my own… sprinkled with errands, reading… whatever. I spend almost everyday by myself.

At 3:45 I go to work. I ride my baby blue Vespa, Luigi to and from the office. I work behind the villa borghese. Sometimes I like to cut thru the park on my way. It’s illegal to ride a scooter thru there- taxi’s only. But it’s so beautiful, and it always smells so pretty, and people are just happier in a park. Some days I risk it.

Driving to and from work are the highlight of my day. When I am riding Luigi I am complete anonymous. There is no way to tell I am un staneri. (Foreigner). I look, drive and speed like a local. I swerve and jab- zoom thru traffic. Barely stop at lights- NEVER put my feet on the ground… it is bliss.

Work is a funny place. There are 4 people in the office. Christina- the woman I see most. I work in her office- the receptionist room. I help her answer the phone when she is on it, I open the door for people… she is Roman, and now that I work there- her English is fucking good. She is the first Italian woman under 35 who has been nice to me. And I like her a lot. Most days at work I write my coverage’s from the scripts I have read… sometimes I read in the office. Christina leaves me alone when I read, I don’t have to answer the phone or talk to her, I put my ipod on and see how fast I can get thru a script. She’s been timing me. I’m getting faster.

Faruk is my boss. He is Turkish and really nice. He is funny, handsome, charming, smart, and has excellent taste. (and really amazing art in his office- including an original Monet, two Warhol’s, a Chagall and a sketch from the school of Michelangelo…it’s intense). Then there is Massimo- still can’t figure out what he does. And Teng. Teng is Chinese, and as far as I have gathered, Faruk and him are old friends, and Faruk just lets him use the office for his fashion business in Hong Kong.

I don’t have to go to the office if I don’t want- but I enjoy it, plus it gives some structure to my day.

This will be my last week of work for a while- we are closed most of August. I have decided to go back to Italian school. So it won’t really be like I am off. I am just exchanging one daily project with another.

At 8 pm I get off work. I’m usually hungry. Sometimes I go home a cook something, Sometimes I treat myself and eat out. Sometimes I pick something little up and go down to Finnegan’s, my local pub and see if I know anyone in there. I almost always do. The thing about an ex-pat small nit English speaking community in a foreign city- is you tend to stick together. This bar is our living room, it is where we watch TV, and listen to music together. It is where we play pool and laugh.

A few months ago I didn’t understand the pub thing. I went there and got drunk. Didn’t realize yet that the alcohol is a total secondary thing at the pub. Don’t get me wrong, it’s nice that it’s there- but it is hardly the root cause of why we, and I go there. At least, not anymore.

I pull up on my Vespa, and there is a group sitting out front. Zoe and Suzie yell in unison “Yeaaaa, Chase!!!” They make me feel nice. They like me. And finally, after 7 months I’ve realized, I like them too. They are great. Then we sit around and tell some crap story. Talk about some bullshit or another. It’s the same core crew, give or take a few. People come thru all the time… transients, temps. Giles is here just for 6 weeks. He works for the Canadian embassy. He is smart and funny. And I get to talk international politics with him. Hugh was here for 3 months. He’s gone now. Hannah has left too, so has Damaris. Suzie and Tony are moving to Sardinia. But not for a year. There is always a feeling of the temporary here. We are always aware that this ride is short, and everyday we just try to stay on for as long as we can. None of us are from this place, but this is where we have chosen to be. And we all just hope that no one will show up, and make us go home.

Sometimes I hang out for a while, sometimes I just pop in. When I go home. I have to read a script. But I don’t do it right away. I sit in my room, look out the window. Smoke a cigarette and let the sky cross my mind.

Pete is sleeping on the floor by the closet. Sally is asleep on the chair. It’s cooled down a bit – but it’s still hot. Finally it’s gotten quite. The occasional scooter goes by under my window, the building shakes slightly.

Maybe I’ll take a look at that script. Who’s in it? Nah. I think I’ll just go to bed. I’ll have plenty of time to read in the morning.