Viva Italia! essays

Viva Italia! essays The only directions to my Great Uncles restaurant rested on a yellowed old postcard that my Nonno gave to me right before he died. He had drawn with his fragile, shaky hand, a little map of the lake from his memory of where my Nonna was born. His map took me to the waterfront of Lago Di Garda, Northern Italia. The town was called Castelletto. After making it this far and alone, I was exhausted but extremely excited. I was determined to find the restaurant, so I kept my eyes peeled like lemons. As I walked, I reflected back to the reasons that brought me there. So here is the way my story goes... Italy had always been a dream of mine and now I was actually there, but most intense, was my great need to touch base with my ancestors. My Nonna died before I was able to meet her and I felt as though this was the perfect opportunity to connect with my family roots. I had awoken to a beautiful sunrise out of my hotel balcony. The rays filled my room with an illuminating glow and the fresh morning air made me rise out of bed with no hesitation. I had an eager, adventurous feeling inside me and I was ready to start my long days journey that I had on my agenda. I quickly got ready, grabbed a bite to go, and started walking to the bus station that was located about two miles from my hotel. When I arrived, the woman handed me my ticket after I paid my dues, I said Grazie! and she sent me off with a polite Bon giorno. Not much later when the bus pulled up, I got on and was greeted kindly with a Come sta? from the petite, sweet-faced old man behind the wheel. I responded with Bene, e tu? Our conversation ended quickly when he ripped my ticket stub; I then headed to the back of the bus and sat in the squeaky seat. The bus made a big jolt and started to move, I fell into an automatic relaxation period as I watched the tantalizing scenery roll by. ...