Bella Ferrara

Last night I had a little vino before I sat down to write about my weekend in Ferrara. I found it difficult to think about what I wanted to say. So, I have now decided that coffee is the drink for writers. As I was sipping my cappuccino today I was imagining all the great writers of the past drinking coffee while they dreamed up their works. I wonder if Edgar Allan Poe or Mark Twain sipped espresso? All the same, I can now script my weekend in Ferrara with my café in hand.
On Thursday, Giacomo (Vischi, better known as “Giacomo uno”, because there are two) picked me up from the Palazzo after my last class. My stomach was full of butterflies; I was eager to visit my old stomping ground. For me Ferrara feels akin to home in Italy. When I left Ferrara in December, I did not think I would return, especially this soon. Federico and Sonia dropped me off at the airport on a foggy morning in late December. I remember feeling the same about leaving Ferrara as I did about returning there this weekend. I had the same butterflies, which told me I was glad to return to the United States but anxious about the arrival. As Giacomo and I pulled into Ferrara my head immediately flooded with memories. “We used to have mimosas at that bar on Sundays”, “I used to ride sidesaddle on Mike’s bike”, “This is where I fell off my bike and the police tried to charge me money”. I laughed both in remorse and happiness at my former home. I feel as I have returned a different person. I went to Ferrara this weekend, with a new spirit and a whole new agenda. My life has changed so much since December. But, this is a beautiful thing. I gained friends whom I would not have had if I stayed in Ferrara for a year and for this I am truly thankful. And with a little less modesty, I know Taylor Pickard is also thankful!
After dinner, I went to visit my favorite pub in Ferrara, Loba Loca. This is the place of multiple beginnings and also conclusions to my time in Italy. Of a lesser reminiscence, this is where I become acquainted with the notorious American guy, whose name shall not be mentioned and who also led me to value against dating in Italy this year (thank you). But it is also where I bonded with my very best relations in Italy. The owners of Loba Loca are Federico and Sonia, whom I affectionately call “my Italian parents”. I stayed with Federico’s parents a few days after Christmas, prior to returning to the States. I could not speak enough Italian to communicate anything besides my basic needs. “Dove’ il bango?” “Sono fame!” Federico told me this year, that even though his mom does not speak English, she somehow understood me. Before studying abroad, I may have doubted the ability to cross linguistic bounds. But, I know understand that communication exceeds verbal means. There is sometimes a moment when two people encounter one another and have the ability to communicate nonverbally. I do not know how, but it penetrates much deeper than the physical or verbal communication. I have friends whom I have spoken less than two hundred words too, but they are no less of a friend. I have learned to communicate with my hands and my heart. This is the true Italian way.