A Very Snowy Day in the Fashion Capital of Italy, Milan

As our train cut across northern Italy, the ever-growing snowstorm made the countryside appear so quaint. We passed through Verona, setting for Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, but the graffiti we saw of the station didn’t do any justice to the tragic romance for which that town serves as a setting. The snow lining only became a bit less appealing as our train slowed down while pulling into the Milan station and we realized we’d be in for a real treat. After taking a metro and a bus ride to find the hostel, my luggage became a set of mini snow-plows as the wheels were utterly ineffective through the thick, freshly fallen snow. Fortunately, my luggage had been decreasing in size as I left a trail of my worldly possessions in trash cans across every major Italian city at which we’d stopped. The sore arms could to a number to one’s materialistic desires. Still, the effort required to drag those bags through the snow was remarkable. Furthermore, I found that the most comfortable pair of shoes I had left was a pair of pointy (albeit low) stiletto boots. (Un)fortunately no one was around to witness the perfectly comic scene as I had to lean so far while pulling my bags that I fell flat on my face in my super-high-maintenance shoes with my two hot pink suitcases in tow. It made for a good laugh at the least.

Our theme throughout this trip was low budget: we made reservations back in August and selected only the least expensive (safe) places to stay in each city. Still, I think we topped everything by making our Milan reservations at a hostel in a mental ward. Now that was awesome. In fact, the place was very pleasant and is run by some of the most highly functional patients. Nonetheless, as we had to leave before 6am the following morning, we needed special written permission in order to not be mistaken as escapees.

Having completed the paperwork and my efforts for the day as a human snow plow, Christie and I hit the city with every intention of going shopping. First we checked out the duomo, which most Italians have advised me is the best thing to check out in Milan. This is the second largest church in Italy and is decorated with all sorts of artwork. The Piazza del Duomo was absolutely incredibly covered in a coat of fresh, brilliant snow. Upon leaving the duomo, we discovered that unfortunately between the date (the Annunciation) and the hour (7pm) nearly every store was closed. After swinging by a few along Via Torrino and Corso di Porta Ticinese, the snow began sinking into our shoes and we decided that perhaps it was high time for dinner. Our restaurant quest brought us down to the Navigli district along the Milanese canals. Yes, surprisingly enough, Venice is not the only city to boast of a canal system. Here, at a restaurant along a canal called Da Noi 2, I had my last (bizarrely American proportioned) pizza al salmone e crema, a white pizza with salmon and creamy cheese often referred to as pizza norvegese. Afterward Christie and I both had a torroncino semifreddo affogato al caffè. This was an absolutely unforgettable nutty vanilla-based gelato topped with crushed nuts and doused in a wonderful Italian espresso. It was unquestionably my best Italian dessert, and a fine way to part with the country I’d called home.

Nearly back in our hostel, I found I could no longer resist. After all, I was already a human icicle: the freezing water that had seeped into my boots had left my toes without feeling for hours, so what would be the difference? The snow was so soft and untouched, so I threw myself into it after we had entered the mental ward and I made myself a perfectly wonderful snow angel, complete with purse as this is Milan, the fashion capital of Italy and arguably the world. Christie was concerned that they might think I was an escapee of the ward, but no nurses came running out to catch me. I was thoroughly pleased. Making snow angels is one of my favorite things about winter.

Sparkling Glass and Jet-Black Pasta: Venezia

At the end of a very long day traveling with heavy burdens through Tuscany, Emilia-Romagna, and the Veneto, Christie and I lay ourselves down on twin beds in a small hotel room on the island of Lido. We had successfully made our way to Venice, despite missing a handful of trains that day. The next morning we found our way, sans baggage, to a little café when I sipped my last caffè al ginseng and nibbled on a cornetta alla mandorla, an almond paste-filled croissant. We then caught a boat to the island of Murano, where glass-blowers have been making the world-famous Venetian glass having to leave the mainland of Venice in 1292 due to all the fires they’d regularly caused. Instead of paying entrance fees for a museum, we dedicated much of the day to simply touring all the different shops, displaying all sorts of museum-worthy creations for sale at prices to prevent me from doing anything more than what I’d do around art at a museum. Still, the Venetian glass clocks, statues, chandeliers, trinkets, and jewelry were enough to keep anyone sufficiently entertained, especially given that they were nearly all indoors and the piles of snow remaining outside served as reminders that Venice was unusually cold even for the winter season.

Dodging inside a café at one point to avoid the cold, we decided to indulge in our first Italian hot chocolates to discover that what an Italian knows as hot chocolate is what the Anglophone world might call chocolate pudding. Thick while it was still steaming, it became so thick that it had to be eaten with a spoon as it cooled. However, there is little to complain about a warm cup of chocolate pudding, even one masquerading as a cup of hot chocolate.

As the sun set we left the island of Murano for the island of Burano, famous for its lace-making traditions. We did manage to find a couple of stores selling interesting laces, but more memorable were the homes we passed along the way, painted in every color of the rainbow. I couldn’t get past the hot pink one. How crazy would that be to get to live in a hot pink house? And better yet, to not even have your neighbors hating you for it?

Back on the mainland of Venice that evening, we took a boat down the Canale Grande, passing under the Ponte Rialto, the Rialto Bridge, and stopping near the Ponte Accademia to go hunting for some food and drink. Nearly frozen solid, we settled in for a warm meal at the Taverna San Trovaso where I sampled a local specialty, tagliolini alle seppie nere: flat, stringy pasta with cuttle fish and black squid ink sauce. My plate of jet black pasta was, in fact, delicious! We also split a bottle of vino della casa, sparkling house wine, to try to help us defrost. As the clock began indicating that we really might want to consider turning in for the night, we asked for the check and found several waiters more than happy to assist us. In fact, even after leaving the restaurant, one of the waiters popped out of the restaurant’s side door as we passed to bid us farewell once more and wish us a buona notte. Oh, those Italians…

On our boat ride back to Lido we passed by the Piazza San Marco and admired from within the relatively warm confines of the vehicle, considering that sufficient to check off another famous monument. We were both awfully cold and the next morning was not the best for either of us as we braved a nearly hour-long boat ride back to the train station without the luxury of covered seating to shield us from the below freezing air whipping across our faces. After one last stop at a café, we actually caught our train this time and were off to Milan.

Bologna, Stuffed Pastas, and the World's Largest Zodiac Sundial

My sore arms had taught me to do away with my materialism to the extent that I actually left one of my pieces of luggage, now completely emptied, at the disposal of the hostel in Florence this morning. I can only imagine what the other girls thought of the crazy American who showed up late one evening with an absurd quantity of luggage for a single evening and slipped out early the next morning leaving behind one of her suitcases, yet without a trace of any of the presumed contents. My day of absurdities had only just begun, and before Christie and I could board a train we first had to be rescued from an elevator in which we became infuriatingly trapped, missing our train and having to then travel across Florence to another station from which the next train would be leaving for Bologna in some several hours.

From my perch atop my luggage in a train headed to Bologna without any free seats, I caught my first glimpse of snow this winter season. It was quite exciting, looking much like how I’d envisioned Switzerland in the Christmas season. Stopping in the Po Valley, our train at last brought us to the city of Bologna, home of stuffed pastas and Europe’s oldest university, founded in 1088. Here, I dragged the past seven months of my life around the city all day. Fortunately, I was only almost killed by a bus once. In between dodging tourists and vehicles of public transportation, I admired the apparent wealth of the city. The city sidewalks were very wide and covered by ornate arched stone overhangs extending from the fancy storefronts.

Utterly exhausted and fairly chilled, Christie and I were quite pleased to find ourselves a quaint, non-touristy restaurant, the Ristorante-Pizzeria Victoria on Via Augusto Righi, 9/c, where I ate tortellini alla bolognese (meat-filled tortellini with tomato-based meat sauce) and learned that if you want pasta filled with cheese, you should order tortelloni. That “o” makes all the difference. I love meat, but Christie was somewhat less fortunate. Luckily the waiter bought our story that she happens to be a vegetarian so crisis was averted. We enjoyed a half liter of Pignoletto, an Italian sparkling white wine, and a dessert of mascarpone and tiramisu.

After eating, we accepted the fate of lugging these suitcases across the city and continued our trek, slightly warmer and with very happy stomachs. We reached the Piazza del Nettuno, a piazza centered around Giambologna’s 16th century fountain of Neptune and Attendants. This piazza melds into the Piazza Maggiore, home to the Basilica di San Petronio, designed in 1390 and home to the largest zodiac sundial in the world. It hosted the Council of Trent and, in 1530, a ceremony in which Pope Clement VII gave Italy to German Kaiser Karl V. Christie and I took turns guarding the luggage while the other toured inside the church. As I sat atop the luggage in the Piazza Maggiore in the center of Bologna, I finally finished reading Catch 22. The text finds a way to wrap up darkly, seriously, and yet comically and with a profound sense of hope emerging eternal from the darkest depths of desperation. It’s quite a theme in the midst of the political events we see unfolding, from the financial crisis to the desperate and futile wars in the Middle East. I’d been planning to read this classic for ages, but finally forced myself through the novel while traveling through many of the cities in which it takes place. Though unplanned, it seemed somehow very symbolically satisfying to complete the book in this manner.

At long last, the Uffizi (and a bit of Florence too)

On my final chilly night in Pisa, I wrapped up all my belongings. The next morning we left my keys on the dining room table, wheeled my bags out, and shut my door for the last time. We “enjoyed” a final mad dash across my hometown to catch the next train to Florence. Braving several forms of public transportation with the past seven months of my life in a few suitcases, I soon realized that perhaps not all of my belongings were really that essential.

After relieving ourselves of our burden at the hostel, we traversed Florence, checking out the Duomo and the Battistero, across the piazza from the Duomo and adorned with several sets of bronze doors including the famous Gates of Paradise designed in 1425 by Ghiberti. After more than six months in Tuscany, I at last made it in my final day to the Uffizi Gallery, the most famous Florentine art museum I had been meaning to see for ages. This building originally housed the uffizi, or offices, of the de Medici, the Florentine ruling family. The artwork in the architecture and decor of the building alone is amazing. Displayed inside are sculptures and paintings by famous artists including Michaelangelo, Botticelli, Raphael, Leonardo. Wandering through the halls, I think Christie and I were both particularly struck by the number of androgenous sculptures. Afterward, we returned to a small, classic Italian restaurant where I’d eaten with Jack and Ivan. Here we enjoyed some pasta and calzones before trekking across the very cold city in a pure show of dedication to our nightly Italian delicacy, gelato. After a brief detour to admire the Ponte Vecchio, we arrived at the Gelateria dei Neri where I enjoyed some gelato alla ricotta e fichi, ricotta and fig flavored gelato. Ready to turn in for an early evening, we were greeted at the hostel by a group of very friendly Australians and a Canadian with whom we shared a memorable evening together. Sleep is lovely, but there are times when the deprivation is worth every minute.

New Year's in Rome

Wandering through the streets of Rome, Christie and I stumbled across the Colosseum unintentionally on our first night in the Eternal City. We shared a nice sit-down meal of penne con salmone and a liter of house wine to celebrate the start of our adventures together. We wrapped the evening up with some gelato—I had two of my favorites, Malaga (rum raisin) and coco (coconut)—on our way home, and we turned in for an earlier and much warmer evening compared to the previous night in Pisa.

On New Year’s Eve, we began our morning with cappuccinos in a classy café on our way to Vatican City. We toured Saint Peter’s Basilica, admiring Michelangelo’s Pietà and many beautiful sculptures of brightly colored marble. Rising over the papal altar is Bernini’s baldacchino (canopy), completed in 1633 under Pope Urban VIII of the Barberini family. Pope Urban VIII’s family symbol, bees decorate the ornate structure. Outside, Scottish guards in traditional attire still guard the basilica.

After lunch, Christie and I did a bit of shopping along Via del Corso, saw the Trevi Fountain, and refueled on coffees at the bar of the famous Tazza d’Oro (literally translated, "Cup of Gold") coffee shop. Then we visited the Pantheon, which has stood nearly unchanged since its construction was completed in 125AD under Hadrian. After leaving the area, we stumbled into Chiesa di Santa Maria Sopra Minerva, an entirely unimpressive exterior which hides Rome’s only gothic-church, brilliantly painted and home to several masterpieces including Michelangelo’s Christ Bearing the Cross statue which stands unguarded and in easy reach to the left side of the altar. I was impressed by this remarkable hidden gem.

In the afternoon, we checked out the Forum and the Colosseum before dinner and gelato. We made our way to the Piazza del Popolo with time to spare and scouted out a prime spot to watch the fireworks. We were surrounded by people speaking all Western (and even some Eastern) European languages. As the time approached, Christie and I shared a noisy countdown and began shouting and cheering as my watch turned since this was our closest estimate of precisely when the clock changed. As luck would have it, the crowd erupted into cheers all at more or less the same time, so we seemed to have it about right. Champagne corks flew, fireworks shot up, and eventually bottles took to the air as we celebrated the turn of the New Year and Christie’s birthday.

I still can’t believe the year on my brass rat finally matches the one on the calendar. You can only imagine how I am anticipating June 5, 2009. On that first morning of what promises to be a most exciting year, we allowed ourselves a slow start. We found our way to the Jewish Ghetto by lunch time. We wandered through Piazza Mattei, home to Taddeo Landini’s Fontana della Tartarughe, in the heart of the neighborhood to which Pope Paul IV confined Rome’s Jewish population in 1555. There, we sought shelter from the rain in a small restaurant. Later that afternoon, we made it out to the Circus Maximus, once Rome’s largest stadium, to discover that all that is left of it is just a grassy field. That evening we celebrated Christie’s birthday with a nice meal and some strawberry wine. Afterwards, we found an excellent gelateria, Della Palma, near the Pantheon, where I had a particularly wonderful flavor, sesamo e mielo (sesame and honey).

Our trip to Rome would not have been complete without a day in the Vatican museums, so after a stop for cappuccinos and chocolate-filled croissants we took our place in the quickly growing line. Touring the museums, we saw famous works by Raphael, Romanesque and Egyptian statues, and even many modern works. One of my favorites was the Crocifissione by Dono Tancredi Loreti, shown on the left. Christie happened to sit down in the Sistene Chapel next to a young American touring Rome with his parents. He had been living in Rome for some months studying to enter the priesthood. These Americans were quite friendly, and it was interesting to think of the different significance the room must hold for each of us. I was particularly excited to get to see Rodin’s The Thinker statue though I’d never realized that is really is quite small. To exit the Vatican museums, one must walk down Donato Bramante’s famous spiral staircase, designed in the early 1500s.

We wrapped up our trip with a final victory: on our way back towards the station, we stopped in at a small boutique and found Christie the Italian leather jacket she’d been aching to find. We then chatted over a couple of cappuccinos to kill the final hour before making our way to the train station and heading back to Pisa.

Eurotrip, Winter Edition

Today when Christie walked through the gates at the airport, I was already waiting with a big hug for her. The time had finally come: last August, we booked all our flights, reserved our hostels, and made plans for her to spend her Christmas vacation touring Europe with me. What a way to finish out my study abroad experience, touring with one of my best friends from high school, definitely the one who’s heard the most about all of my experiences over the past six months.

Today we just chilled around Pisa, both figuratively and literally. You see, the heat in my apartment is not working (nor is the hot water), so we had to be quite creative that night to stay warm after we’d visited the tower and the duomo, gotten our first Italian coffees together, gone back to lab for my final bit of work, and run a few errands around the city. Fortunately, the Italian fashion police did not have access to my apartment, so no one has to be any the wiser of the fashion crimes committed this evening in the confines of my chilly home.

A Classically Sicilian Villa and Some Spicy Desserts in Modica

Claudia insisted that we see her father’s hometown before I left Sicily. I didn’t quite appreciate why we had to, but I loaded into the car with her father, brother, and her and took the drive through rolling hills with a distinctly Italian driver. Fortunately, I have a strong stomach.

In Modica, we met a couple who led us into a gorgeous, old, beautifully restored villa which, I soon learned, was the home where Claudia’s father had been raised. A few years ago, after her grandmother had passed away, Claudia’s family had sold the villa but have stayed on good terms with the current owners. I couldn’t believe the house: with its thick stone walls, arched entryways between rooms, old furniture, airy design for Sicily’s moderate climate, and vista over the hilly town, it was everything a classical Italian house should be. We sat down at the table to share some orzo, an interesting caffeine-free, coffee-type drink made from roasted barley which is quite popular in Italy. We also shared some treats from a local pasticceria, pastry shop, while we chatted with the new owners.

Afterward, we took advantage of our free time to explore the town a bit. We visited several cioccolaterie, chocolate shops, selling all sorts of trendy, modern, stone-ground chocolates in many flavors. Claudia even treated me to two of my favorites, cinnamon flavored and hot-pepper flavored chocolate bars. And as any trip to an Italian town would be incomplete without a sampling of the local gelato, we also made a stop at a gelateria where I got gelato alla canella and al cioccolato al pepperoncino, cinnamon and spicy chocolate. It was a scrumptious way to take advantage of one of my last chances to get some flavors I haven’t found often outside of this delicious country I’ve been calling home.

From Mountain Tops to Shorelines to Historical Downtown Palermo

Only a day after arriving in Sicily, Claudia and I loaded ourselves onto a bus to cross the island towards Palermo, the fifth most populous city in Italy and home of our friends Arianna and Danilo. Palermo is over 2700 years old, and is rich is its culture, history, and geography. The two full days we spent there far from covered all the city has to offer. On our first day, we admired Sferra Cavallo on the Tyrrhenian Sea and I could not get over the fact that I was walking freely along a beach three days before Christmas. In the afternoon we were treated with Part One of our grand Tour of Palermo, guided by Armando, Arianna’s childhood friend with a passion for Sicilian architecture and history.

We grabbed some traditional food at the Antica Focacceria San Francesco, a focacceria famous for refusing to pay the pizo, the Mafia’s tax. It is thus constantly guarded by Carabinieri, the most effective Italian police force. I was amazed to hear my friends’ attitude towards the Mafia. While they don’t personally support it or take part in it, they explained to me that the Mafia is a part of the culture, even perhaps the true governing force in Sicily. Many Sicilians do not see themselves as a part of the state of Italy but as more of an independent entity governed and guarded by the Mafia. The Mafia, at least in Sicily, is viewed as fairly effective and generally does not harm anyone who has not directly confronted or challenged them. Citizens scoff at tourists’ fears that the Mafia would waste its time on people who have nothing to do with its affairs. I found this all an incredibly interesting and wholly different perspective.

After dinner we returned to the city center where we saw the Teatro Massimo, the largest theater in Italy and the third largest in Europe. It’s an architectural feat for which Sicilians are quite proud. I absolutely loved how the main stairs were filled in the center with a blanket of poinsettia plants giving the appearance of a giant red carpet lining the steps up to the theater. During the later part of the past century, the theater closed for some routine safety renovations and did not open again until 1997, twenty-three years later. Efficiency is not always high in Italian priorities.

The next day we drove up Monte Pellegrino, which offers a breath-taking vista across the Tyrrhenian Sea and the city of Palermo. We also took a power tour through the seashore of Mondello before our train left for the city center.

That evening we returned to the Centro Storico, the historical center of Palermo, for Part Two with Armando. One of the first things we saw, after the inside of a pasticceria, or pastry shop, was the Palermo Cathedral, built in 1185. Though chiefly designed in Gothic-Catalan style, it was renovated until the 1800s and shows influences from many different schools of architecture. Inside this church you can find a meridian across the floor with all the symbols for the different astrological signs. I believe some sort of light shines in through the some window overhead and based upon the time of year will hit the appropriate zodiac symbol. Inside, the cathedral was incredibly ornate and beautifully decorated as was to be expected, I suppose, but proved quite impressive nonetheless.

After leaving the cathedral, we walked through an immense market selling all sorts of fresh produce, regional foods, and spices. The sounds, colors, and smells painted a wonderfully old-world Sicilian image. It was a path few tourists seemed to cross, and I was thrilled to wander through it with my Sicilian friends. I had t resist urges to buy all sorts of wonderfully colored, delicious looking items since I knew Arianna’s mother would have another delicious, typically Italian dinner waiting for us when we came home that night.

I couldn’t believe how much Armando knew about nearly every building and piazza we passed, and I certainly couldn’t absorb most of it. I did learn, however, that for the brief period of time around 1000 AD after the Arabs took over rule of Sicily from the Byzantines has had a strong lasting influence on Palermo. It was during this time that Palermo truly rose to prominence in Sicily. By 1100 AD Sicily was under the rule of the Normans, and so the classical architecture across the city is a blend of traditional Norman and Arabic style. What a fascinating blend! Between 1300 and 1700, Sicily was under Spanish rule (first through the House of Aragon, which ruled the part of Spain nearest France where Barcelona is located), and this culture’s architecture and language has also left strong traces throughout the city. I was captivated by all the magnificent churches we saw and also undeniably surprised to notice at buildings scattered throughout the city that have still not been repaired since World War II (love that Italian efficiency), though I suppose on the scale of Sicilian history, not much time has passed since those buildings were damaged.

We passed through the Quattro Canti, a square which divides Sicily into its four mandamenti, or quarters. It was beautifully decorated for Christmas and generally ornate with sculptures of the four seasons, the four Spanish kings of Sicily, and the four patronesses of Sicily on the four buildings that delineate the square. After this we visited our final church, Chiesa Sant’Andrea Avellino. I realized as I was listening to Armando describe all this history and watching my friends admire the architecture that the experience was quite different for me and them. It was all so exciting and exotic for me whereas this was their history, their home that they were exploring. At one time, it had been my ancestors’ story too, but it is not mine. I felt distinctly like an outsider, yet it wasn’t disconcerting. Being an outsider has its advantages, too.

C’era una volta in Sicilia…

The Sicilian sun was already shining through the window when I woke up today. Claudia and I spent the morning with some friends wandering around Vittoria, her hometown. Outside the Teatro Comunale, the city theater, we found a carretto Siciliano, a traditional Sicilian cart, only about five minutes after Claudia had been telling me as we checked out a tourist gift shop filled with replicas of these carts that there are pretty much none of them left in Sicily. Together we stopped at a cafe for some coffee with cinnamon, something I'd never tried before. We visited a beautiful old church and admired a view over the fields surrounding Vittoria. We also got a kick out of the locals and their driving skills. We had lunch with Claudia's parents and I can't deny that the home cooking is a going to be a major bonus of celebrating Christmas with an Italian family.

In the evening, we went out with some friends and checked out an art exhibit featuring work by the Sicilian artist Eva Montanari who art has been shown across Europe and the US. The exhibition was called C’era una volta, or Once upon a time, and depicted fantastic scenes from many fables. I particularly enjoyed the magical teapot scene on your left. After dinner with Claudia’s parents, Claudia and I went out with her cousin Valeria and her friend Serena and I tried some typical Sicilian cinnamon-flavored liquor. Everywhere we went Claudia ran into all sorts of old friends. I noticed that the concept of personal space is completely lost on Sicilians. When they greet each other, they rub their palms across their friends' cheeks, grab their chins, pet their hair, and sometimes even stroke their shoulders and poke their stomachs. Fortunately, it seems they reserve this for people they've already known for a bit. All the people I met were very kind, the food was wonderful, the city was beautiful, and the weather was excellent. Everything seemed so stereotypically quaint and Italian. I couldn’t believe I was really here to spend my Christmas. My first day in Sicily just felt somewhat magical, like something that might be captured in one of Montanari’s paintings.

So it seems I’ve finally become a Pisana

I took advantage of my proximity to Florence to spend a Saturday evening simply wandering through the city. This time I tackled Oltrarno, the neighborhood on the other side of the Ponte Vecchio. On my way, I passed the Chiesa Santa Maria Novella and the Piazza della Repubblica, taking a slightly different route through the center of the city. Passing by the Uffizi, I finally found the painting for which I’d been searching. On my last full day in Boston, while with one of my best friends, I found an artist on Newbury Street selling paintings of Boston. One painting found its way to my nightstand here in Pisa; it’s the last thing I see before I go to sleep each night. Though I don’t like collecting art in general, I think it would be sweet to have one painting of each city I’ve grown to call home. I haven’t found any artists in Pisa selling paintings on the streets, but last night I finally ended my search in Florence.

I loved seeing Florence decked out for the holiday season. Every street had a different style of Christmas lights strung out between the buildings. The Ponte Vecchio was particularly cute, with branches of pine trees and artificial fruit strung with small blue lights overhead. That night I had dinner at a small, classic Italian restaurant and, of course, finished the evening with a gelato and a stroll past the Duomo. What a luxury to be able to simply spend an impromptu Saturday night in such a fashion.

On Sunday, I toured Nina and her friends from NYU around Pisa. I loved playing hostess, for once having the opportunity to show off my own town. I took my friends through back routes and showed them the best places to get coffee, gelato, and an inexpensive sit-down meal. Walking down the old, narrow, familiar streets, Pisa felt cozy and comfortable. It occurred to me that this city really has become my home.