ti voglio bene

il mio nonno e di sorrento, ma lui parla solo inglese con me in california.

my nonno is from sorrento (italia), but he speaks only english with me in california.

nonno (pictured far right), alongside our favorite waiter at parucchiano + my zio (great uncle tony on the left), back in their hometown, circa last june 2023.

it’s always so special to me visiting sorrento with nonno + our famiglia. last summer, 19 of our italian-american family ventured to sorrento together, to explore the sights, reconnect with lost cousins, & root ourselves in the italian heritage we so often don’t get to experience on that level. the food, the music, the culture, the laughter, the friends, the family, the town. it’s something really beautiful & exciting that allows us to draw near together & experience ‘la dolce vita’ once every so often growing up.

the parents; my mom, my aunt, my second cousins & uncles/aunts, (really everyone’s an aunt or uncle twice removed at this point), all travelled back and forth to italy often as they grew up, and while i’ve had the privilege of making my way back to our family’s hometown 5 times now over the years, it’s always a blessing when we can get everyone together, and have those long three-hour 40 person dinners, & jump into regina giovanna all together, or grab a peroni at marina grande.

it’s been a huge part of my life to have my italian culture so prevalent & so intentionally carried on by nonno, as he and uncle tony were the only ones to leave italy and move to california (& florida). i feel so appreciative that they didn’t let the italian side of our family fade as the years passed, but did their best to incorporate, even beyond a time when being an immigrant was not so welcomed in the united states during their initial transition.

his reasoning for not teaching us italian growing up was twofold— 1) “we need to learn ourselves” (as he was the only one in our immediate family who actually spoke it and communicated in his native language..although i disagree with that one because i could be bilingual right now!) & the other 2) it was looked down upon to speak another language when he first came to the usa back in the 60s. so english it was & english it’s been, until i had the opportunity to study in italy once (& now again), and am excited about the potential of becoming more than just ‘conversational’, and to the point where i may be ‘fluent’ & able to not only communicate with individuals in and around me in italy, but with my family down south..although many of them speak neapolitan & that is an entireeeellly other language altogether (ha).

but one thing nonno taught me is ‘ti voglio bene’, or ‘i love you’, and i haven’t decided if i am going to get it tattooed on my body or not yet, so for now, while i decide, this blog post will do. xx

72 hours in austria. by train.

shelby & i had just been in florence for a little over a week and were deciding between a weekend trip in lake como or through austria. hence the title, we obviously ended up in austria.

it was 72 hours—a mix of chaotic, wild, & beautiful. the views were amazing, the weinershnitzel was okay, and the people were great.

we hopped on our train from florence to vienna, but decided to make a stop in venice along the way. 2 hours, before our overnight trip; just enough time to eat some seafood and walk the floating city before sunset.

we hopped off the train, walked around, snapped a few shots here and there, met with a friend from socal to eat some expensive seafood & a canoli that tasted more like 0.99 walmart frosting than the glorious goodness we’d been prepped for. (later realized it was sicily that was known for their canolis, not venice).

hopped back on the train, 9 hours overnight. we’d reach austria by 8am—so we thought. somehow got clumped into a tiny car with two austrians, one girl a year or two older than us with decent english, and a middle aged austrian man, kind eyes, but with no ability to communicate to us without the girl there. they brought us tea, spent the night half awake/half asleep with us until we reached vienna at 10:30am, due to some overnight patrolling from the austrian and italian military…delaying our trip by 2 hours.

5 hours in vienna. enough time to walk the sights briefly, eat some strudel, (i prefer pop tarts), and try real wienershntizel, which tasted like fish sticks.. kinda?

back on the train, to salzburg, land of sound of music & apparently rain. it was so gloomy our entire time there, and pouring rain as we walked back to our hostel but i guess it fit the feeling as we visited the von trapp house, drank a beer in a beer graden with some study abroad students from new york & german men from the military, and checked into our very first hostel experience..nothing grand but at least we had a place to rest our heads.

morning! to innsbruck. one of my favorite cities by far. ever been to vail? a serene, stunning ski town, with mountain views and hole-in-the-wall kebab doner restaurants. not sure why we tried that, but ended up being the best kebab doner we’ve ever had. (no regrets!)

enough time for a quick spritz & glass of wine and back on the train! not enough time in the ski village, but exciting enough to travel the entirety of the country in less than 3 days…

guess that’s what they say about being young—do it all, see it all, right? an experience to say the least, and the first of many times abroad while studying in florence.

firenze

i joked with my friends & family that when i would reach florence at the start of my study abroad program, that i would kiss the cobblestone once i finally got there.

i can, in fact, confirm that when i arrived, i laid flat on the ground and gave it a kiss— having had to jump through just about every hoop you can imagine to get there, including a lost passport & visa, it was like i had accomplished this dream that seemed so far off, for so dang long.

firenze. florence. more like a small town, than a bustling city.

a place where italians live life abundantly, fully & in community with one another.

a place where the italian culture is true, and the wine is “molto buono” (very, VERY good).

a place where vendors greet you with a smile, offer you samples & speak with you in broken english.

a place where life seems to feel slower, more intentional, and freezes in frames where life just doesn’t feel real.

a place where you can stand among thousand-year old buildings, watch the sunset alongside tourists at piazzele michelangelo and enjoy gelato as you stroll along the arno river.

my time there seemed not long enough, yet the relationships and experiences made were as though i’d know them for all my life. i felt comfortable there, like i knew where i was, yet continually discovering hidden alleyways filled with quaint storefronts, garden coffee shops & a dedicated “market man” who came to know me by name.

coming from an italian family, my nonno, born & raised in sorrento, i knew bits and pieces of the language prior to arriving. but my understanding expanded as i spent time with friends, vendors and professors who spoke to me in italian, helping me improve and correcting my broken phrases. “parla solo italiano con me, per favore” became a common phrase amongst my peers in florence & on facetime calls with my nonno back home.

i dream of florence, the streets, the culture, the wine, the food. i miss the gentle excitement i felt each time i stepped out my front door of my studio apartment alongside the ponte vecchio. i miss it every day, but know as soon as i return i’ll be greeted all the same with a “buongiorno gabriella!” & un bicchiere di vino rosso shortly later.

mi manchi firenze, a presto.

la dolce vita

“la dolce vita”

the sweet life in italian.

this photograph is of my sweet grandparents. they hold a very special place in my heart and i love them deeply.

my grandma, the sweet little 5’0 red headed woman, (though you can’t tell in black and white), is one of the most compassionate and thoughtful women you will ever meet. she desires to know about my life, my endeavors, encourages me in my pursuit of faith, school, and travelling, she’s a listening ear, a friend, and loves me so well. she’s one of the first to know about my big changes in life, and the second facetime call when i’m away from home.

my nonno, pictured on the right, is everything you’d imagine an italian grandfather to be. (btw, nonno means grandpa in italian, friends). he’s quite the character, you’ll usually find him drinking a glass of wine, cooking for hours in the kitchen and making quite literally the most incredible pasta sauces you could ever dream of—no, literally, his pasta is straight from the mediterranean. he was born and raised in sorrento, italy, and loves to sing my way by frank sinatra. i can’t make this stuff up.

they met in sorrento; my nonno was a tour guide and my grandma happened to be on his tour. they had some mutual friends or something, and met up at a restaurant— she was from pennsylvania eventually they married and moved to california years later. pretty cool right?

honestly, when i think about my grandparents, their lives make me think about the wonders of life. they share stories of the places they visited; my grandma studied in paris, france, my nonno has toured around europe, places like spain, portugal, and croatia..they’ve seen the world and experienced life at a much slower, more intentional pace.

my grandma has shared stories about what it was like growing up in the 50s, basically explaining dances that make me think of scenes from grease, an era with no cell phones, my nonno tells me stories of his nonno taking away his milk when he was 8 years old and giving him wine, or shares the beauty of knowing over 8 languages simply because you should traveling around europe.

they live in a beautiful house in mission viejo, california, and they care deeply about getting the family together.

i love this life i’m living, it’s sweet in it’s own ways and i’ve gotten my own taste of adventure. but as i grow up and reflect on their lives and the one i’m creating for myself, i hope i can pause, experience, and be present, getting just a little bit closer to “la dolce vita”.

the woman in press brothers juicery

It was my sophomore year of high school. My photography teacher took us to Los Angeles on a field trip. A few of us has recently watched the film, “La La Land”, and were excited to visit Grand Central market to photograph and see where they shot some of the scenes of Ryan Gosling (eek) and Emma Stone.

We kind of were wandering aimlessly checking out all of the different stands and restaurants, cafes, and shops. I can’t entirely remember if it was my friend or myself who suggested we get a juice, but we waited in line for “Press Brothers”, where there was a single woman working.

She had this joy about her, almost excitement and just pure satisfaction for serving the people in front of her. We approached the register and I remember she greeted us very kindly, probably asking what she could get for us. We asked her how she liked working there and her response struck me.

I can’t give you the exact words she used but I can summarize what she responded. After asking her how she was doing and her day was going, etc, she responded to our question of how she enjoyed working in grand central market with something unbelievably remarkable.

She told us she loved working there, it was an opportunity to meet people and talk about her love for Jesus. Genuinely and in complete authenticity, she shared her heart for God and told us how much she loved sharing about who Jesus was and what he’s done for her. She expressed immense gratitude for where she was working and shared a testament to faith in bold confidence.

I was astonished by her boldness and vulnerability with a few high school girls, and couldn’t help but think about how often she probably had conversations like that throughout her day. As a follower of Jesus myself, I admired her honesty and commitment to her faith. She was unashamed and unafraid to stand confidently in His promises to her.

It was a moment I cherish deeply and a reflection of faith that influenced my own honest pursuit of Christ and daring decisions to share him with everyone I meet.

Now to how I got the photograph.

At the time, we were working on a project about semiotics, and our theme was “value”. We were instructed to photograph things that reflected value, or in some cases, were valuable to us.

After my brief conversation with this woman, who I don’t even recall asking her name, I found myself desiring to capture the moment. I wanted to remember her, and I wanted to incorporate her into my project somehow.

After some deliberation, after all I was a 5’2 high school student nervous about asking someone for their photograph, I decided to wait in line again a bit later on, (right before we had to leave), and asked if I could take her picture.

I explained to her about the project I was working on, and remember mentioning how I valued her kindness and authenticity or something along those lines, hopefully how much her faith inspired me though I don’t remember mentioning that, and how I wanted to make her one of my 6 photos.

She obviously said yes, or I wouldn’t have captured this photo, and then I left, thanking her and I can’t remember much after that.

I wish I knew her name, and I wish I could contact her, to send her this photography, so she could see how clearly her beauty was reflected, and to tell her the ways she impacted my heart and my faith that day. I am not even sure she works there anymore, nor have I attempted to revisit.

But, regardless of if I ever encounter her again, I want to share this story along with the photo with the rest of the world, hoping to make known the woman at the Press Brothers Juicery.