Like a Virgin

Every time I travel I inevitably get the feeling, at some point, as though it was my first time away from home.

On a recent trip to Italy, the feeling of experiential virginity washed over me.  The trip was a fluke.  My friend won the trip.  Seriously, he won it, sweepstakes and all.  I thought that only happened on TV and in horror movies.  It was a trip for four, airfare, rental car, accommodations at an agritourismo outside of Florence, and a wine tasting were all included.

As the cast, my friend, his pregnant wife, myself and my partner, assembled at the airport, I could tell this would not be the usual travel experience my partner and I typically have.  We are the bed and breakfast, hostel, and occasional couch surfing type.  No amenities, all meals sourced locally, no chains.  We love open air markets and grocery stores.  We have never rented a car, rarely stay outside walking distance from basic necessities, and have never been with anyone beside ourselves.

We met my friend at the airline ticket counter.  The airport was busy, but the beach ball belly of his pregnant wife and suitcases that could smuggle mules tend to stick out.  As I walked toward them, I could see security start to circle, their talons on their radios.  Just before I reached them, one agent spoke, loudly enough, “Ma’am may I ask you to . . . Oh my!  Congratulations.  When are you due?”

I was nervous traveling with a soon to be mother.  What if she went into labor in Italy?  In the car?  While driving some absurdly steep and windy road?  I know nothing of how babies are born, stork?     Then I laughed out loud.  Women in Italy have babies, too.  I reminded myself.  And, my friend can rub her feet.  I hear that feels good.

Sitting comfortably in my coach window seat, I thought of the adventure, of Italian wine, the Tuscan hills.  I would be enjoying the same vistas that for two millennia have pleased people the world over.  I have never seen the movie Under the Tuscan Sun but saw the stage I would soon grace.

During the long flight over the Atlantic, I thought I would speak with Lauren, the mother to be.  I asked her about her job as an elementary school teacher.  About curriculum, state and federal standards, students and their parents.  Each new topic ended with some reference to pregnancy, newborns, and was generally preceded by “When the baby gets here . . .”  Then it dawned on me.  “Have you ever been overseas before?” I asked.  Her response “I've never been outside the county.”  Her eyes were wide with worried fright.

I was speechless.  I had to give her credit, though.  She was traveling thousands of miles.  To a country where she did not know the language, with two strangers she has never met before, no expectations (except maybe the worst), no knowledge.  She must have really trusted her husband.

The trip started out on a hilarious note.  She was white knuckled on the seats of our new rental car (an Audi, literally 106 miles on it) as we maneuvered the roads southeast of Florence.  Screaming, for the safety of her unborn child.  When we finally arrived, about thirty minutes later all she mustered  was a frantic “I have to pee.”

Everything was new for her.  “How do I get my hair dryer to work, I don’t see any plugs?”  to “What is that man saying, his hands are all over the place.”  It was not as funny as the trip went on.  And I could not help but remember my first trip anywhere.  I thought I was pretty smart deciding on Ireland and Scotland because they speak English.  At least that’s what I thought until I arrived.  They may as well have spoken another language.  But, here she was, somewhere where they were really speaking a foreign tongue.

I started to feel bad for her.  Her hormones were swinging wildly.  She had no idea what to do.  One hand was always caressing her beach ball, somehow assuring her soon to be daughter everything was ok while at the same time reassuring herself that her bump was still there.  Even at the end of our week, she looked panicked, fearing the worst.  About the only time I saw her smile: eating a cannoli outside the Uffizi.

But, it got me thinking.  Everywhere we go and everything we do while we are there is a new experience.  Some small part changes, even if we repeat the process.  But perhaps most importantly, we change.  Our principles may not, but our priorities do, our personal states of affairs.  There is a large world out there to discover and experience, but what we learn changes based on whatever filter we use to screen the outside world.  Our impact on others change as we change, as we evolve into global legionnaires, doing battle not with our surroundings, but with ourselves as we struggle to break the bonds to the land beneath our feet and our notions of how the other half live.

I instantly reverted back to that state of mind, where the possibilities were endless, where just around the corner would be something I personally have never seen, and would be seeing it for the first time, to touch the door and move the handle and step though to a new world.

I learned a lot from this trip and from Lauren.  You never know what baggage people bring with them, whether as the traveler or the local.  But, mostly, I learned that everyone loves a babino.