By some miracle of heaven above I got a row of three seats to myself on the Atlanta-Milan flight, so I basically slept the whole way here, little eye-mask and all. This has not stopped me from getting a ferocious case of jet lag, however, despite my being full of high spirits when I bounced off the plane this morning, so here I am at 2:30 in the morning while D. sleeps in the next room and the dark lays softly down and every now and then a car swooshes by on the road on the way to the lake.

By this point in my career I have long plane flights down pat so by the time we landed at Malpensa I was changed out of my yoga pants and hoodie I’d slept in and was freshly face-washed and hair-attempted-to-combed by the time I floated through customs, which was so laid back compared to New Zealand that the biggest problem I had was explaining that even though I have an Italian name I do in fact, have American citizenship, so that’s why the American passport, grazie signore. He was right there to meet me and what can I say about seeing his face there on the other side of the gate? I can say this: your shy and retiring friend Chiara, who is usually of the Get-A-Room-Why-Don’t-You persuasion when confronted with public displays of affection, was actually kissing for multiple minutes at a time in an international airport, right smack in everyone’s way, with tongue, and she is not even sorry, not one bit. My bag ended up being mostly presents for him and his family and there was a yellow rose for me on the passenger seat of the car when we got there.

When we got to the shores of his lake and he pointed out the castle and his high school the houses where his parents were born. His childhood home is gorgeous and gracious, with a big garden and a chicken coop and a refrigerator in the kitchen that I did not recognize as such because it just looked like a mid-size cabinet to me. His dad speaks a little English but his mom doesn’t at all so over lunch there was a fair amount of quizzical looks on all sides, while I attempted to make semi-comprehensible conversation and D. translated heroically for everyone, at one point forgetting himself and speaking earnestly to his mother in perfect English, to everyone’s hilarity. His family is gentle and funny and, thankfully, loved the Pacific Northwest chocolate sauce and jam and honey I brought them, even if I didn’t know the word for blackberry. Over dinner they explained the subtle differences between their own dialect and the dialects of Milan, Turin, and Venice (apparently the main difference is that their own is comprehensible and all the others aren’t) and shooed me away from helping with the dishes. “They like you so much, amore” D. told me as I drooped up the stairs. “I like them so much!” I attempted to say but it ended up in a snore instead.

So far I’ve eaten rice salad, unpasteurized Asiago and Gorgonzola, fruit salad, ice cream, and an entire pizza al quattro stagione to myself; I’m anticipating at least a five-kilo weight gain by the time I get back to Seattle. We went to Arona this evening to pick up the pizzas and walked along the lakefront holding hands and talking talking talking; it’s such a relief, such a luxury, to be able to chat randomly and quietly for as long as we want to, without worrying about time zones or going “What? Huh? Sorry, what?” across the Atlantic ocean. We kiss and talk, talk and kiss, sit speechless for a while because we’ve really done it, we’ve taken the next step together. “What’s it like to sit here with me where you used to eat your lunch when you were in high school?” I asked, looking at the graffiti on the stone steps (LUANA TI AMO DA MORIRE LUCA). “It’s normal, natural,” he said. “You are a part of my life now so of course you should see where I grew up,” and it makes sense to me too. He’ll come to the island one day too, he’ll see the beach and the grapetrees and the lizards underfoot and have Chips Ahoy cookies (ugh) all day and all night he wants.

We go to Rome Tuesday, depending on his work; it’s so strange to be here with no plan or agenda but to spend time with him, without a background of backpackers and train schedules and attempts to read menus. I’ve been a little worried about what it would be like to be here but so far it’s easy and gentle and fun. I can’t wait to see what this time together is going to be like, what parts of the deep blue reef we’ll swim to next.

Posted on July 11th, 2008 by Chiara
Filed under: Everything