Jeremy promised to take me to Italy after graduation. I got so excited. I think I fell in love with the idea of Jeremy more than the reality. I loved his mom–a native Italian, and I loved the promises he made. But the reality was he had a lot of baggage and I wasn’t the one to unpack it. And once police get involved in a relationship, it’s mostly always doomed. But I still held on to the idea of Ischia and more broadly, Italy.
And arriving in Rome was everything I imagined it would be. Getting off the metro stop at Colosseum and seeing the literal colosseum was awe-inspiring. And being in Rome. Simply Amazing.
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After 2 days in Rome indulging in my archaeology-nerdy side, I headed north for the Winter Olympics. I am a major Olympics nerd, and a chance to see some of the less popular sports was high on my list. So off to Torino I go…
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” Hi. Is this seat taken?”
I look up and gesture that it isn’t. I’ve got my headphones in and don’t really want to engage in conversation. Also, I don’t speak Italian, or at least not enough to have a conversation. I’m much more focused on the scenery. A train ride through the Alps. In winter. Swoon.
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‘Wow. It’s really chilly.” I mention to no one in particular, after arriving back in the hotel lobby. Someone laughs, not really at me, but more my comment. “Well, it is winter. In the Alps.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m just not used to it. I love it and it’s amazing, but it still catches me off guard.”
I was talking to Andrea, a fellow Olympic nerd, who I’d met in the hotel lobby the night before. Andrea was originally from Milan, but had been living in Stockholm for the last few years so winter was nothing new for him. We had spent the day completely outside watching some of the skiing events. I’m quite sure my fingers and toes were numb from the cold.
“Hey, are you going to biathlon tomorrow? If so, do you want to meet in the lobby tomorrow morning? I’m going to go up to my room and defrost.” I asked Andrea, careful to cut off any possibility of anything else happening.
“Sounds like a plan. See you in the morning”
Andrea was a buttoned-up Italian who had been living in Stockholm for a while. Emotional expression was not his strong suit. But I was in Italy to heal. Heal from Jeremy, James, and Justin. Heal from everything that had happened with my dad. Figure out what the fuck I wanted to do in my life. More Italy. Less bullshit. How do I make this happen? I absolutely did not need to think of the buttoned-up, well-dressed Italian in any way other than a fellow Olympic nerd.
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I arrived in the lobby a full 5 minutes before our scheduled meeting time, and Andrea was there, two cups in hand. Northern Italy is a lot more time conscious than Rome, or even me. Maybe it’s the proximity to Switzerland. Who knows? I feel as if I am always running late.
“Cioccolato. Caldo. Doppio. I still cannot believe that you do not drink caffe. In any form. Do you know how hard it was to get this for you?
“Thank you. You didn’t have to, you know?”
“I know. But it blows my mind that you start your day without anything”
I took the paper cup containing decadent hot chocolate from Andrea and we boarded the bus to take us to the biathlon site.
Other than ice hockey, biathlon is my favorite winter Olympic sport. I can’t explain it, I’ve never done it, but one day, I will. Curling also fascinates me, but I understand nothing about it.
“Hey, do you want to have dinner with me this evening. I know a really good restaurant that’s not too far away.”
‘Sure. I could go for a good meal. One cannot survive on bread, cheese, and gelato alone.”
“Great. I’ll meet you in the lobby at 4:30”
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Whilst packing I debated against bringing my knee high boots and a skirt. I’m glad I decided to pack them for the inevitable ‘what if?”. Clad in my pumpkin orange cozy sweater, cream courderoy skirt, brown knee high boots, and a chocolate brown pea coat, I was in the lobby promptly at 4p. I headed to the hotel bar and ordered a glass of chianti, partly to steel my nerves. Andrea arrived at 4:15 and was pleasantly surprised to see me.
“Where are we headed for dinner? 4:30 is a little early, isn’t in?”
“Well, we didn’t have lunch so I thought we’d have some appetizers on our way?
“On our way? Where are we going that we need to pack snacks?
“To Milano. I know a place…”
“Of course you do,” I laughed as he took my hand and we headed off towards the train station.
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We arrived to a rustic trattoria and the scent of garlic and herbs enveloped us. Andrea hugged the maitre’d, and launched into rapid fire Italian. They hugged again.
“My cousin’s family owns this restaurant. That was a friend from childhood who I haven’t seen in years.”
We went to a cozy corner table adorned with a checkered tablecloth. The walls were lined with rustic wooden shelves filled with jars of preserved vegetables and bottles of Chianti. As we settled in, Andrea eagerly pointed out the day’s specials, highlighting dishes that celebrated the rich culinary heritage of Northern Italy. I’d naively assumed that “Italian cuisine” was all tomatoes, pasta, and seafood. I’d never really thought about Northern Italy being so close to France and Switzerland and being influenced by those cultures.
“I have to recommend the risotto alla Milanese,” Andrea said, his green eyes sparkling. “It’s creamy and infused with saffron, a true Milanese classic.”
“I’d love to try it! And maybe the ossobuco?”
We talked about life in general and how the fates aligned to have us both in Torino for the Olympics. I talked a little bit about my work–people are usually impressed by the fact that I work with sick babies and children. It felt like the conversation had just started when the food arrived.
The risotto had a golden hue to it indicating its culinary perfection. Each spoonful of the risotto was a delightful blend of smells and flavors. “Andrea, this is incredible.”
“I’m glad you like it! It’s my nonna’s recipe,” Andrea said, pride shining in his eyes
We shared the ossobuco, the tender meat falling off the bone, and got lost in laughter and conversation, our connection deepening with each passing moment. The ambiance of the trattoria made it feel like we were in our own little world, separate from the winter chill outside.
After dinner, Andrea suggested a walk to the nearby Navigli district, famous for its picturesque canals and vibrant nightlife. The streets sparkled under the soft glow of lights, and the sound of laughter echoed from the bustling bars and cafés lining the waterways. We found a small gelato stand and Andrea tested my “It’s never too cold for gelato theory.”
“So, what’s your favorite thing about Milan?” I asked Andrea.
“The food, of course,” he smirked. “But really, it’s the way the city combines history and modern life. There’s always something new to discover, just like tonight. We went to my family’s restaurant but that gelato stand was not here when I was last in Milano”
“I feel the same way. Milano has been one of my favorite discoveries so far. I never expected to come here. Roma, of course. Firenze–absolutely, but I really had no plans to see Northern Italy other than to see the Olympics”
As we reached a quiet spot by the water, Andrea turned to me, his expression serious yet gentle. “Can I kiss you?”
I nodded, my heart racing as he leaned in. Our lips met softly, a sweet moment filled with promise. Andrea’s kiss was different, maybe because we both knew we have tonight. And tomorrow. And then Andrea goes back to Stockholm and I continue my journey in Italy.
As we pulled away, laughter bubbled up between us. “Never wait too long between adventures,” Andrea advised. “I think that’s advice I’d take to heart.” My heart–my spirit–felt lighter than it had in months.
Under the starry Milanese sky, we continued to talk and laugh, the winter chill forgotten, knowing this night was the beginning. Not necessarily the beginning of us; I’m not that naive. But I do feel, for the first time in a long time, that I’m truly open for whatever the future holds.
