<p>So here's an article from a close friend of my d.:</p>
<p>I know that I will get lost. In fact, it is my exact motivation for heading out alone without a map on a Saturday morning. I am not able to distinguish one narrow cobblestone street here in Florence from the one adjacent to it, and for this reason I set out on my first adventure alone, so that I can soon look down those streets with nothing but recognition and a curious smile. Equipped with an Italian dictionary and writing implements, I wander aimlessly down the middle of the uneven streets, saying "ciao" and "buon giorno" to the owners of shops who wait patiently outside, smoking and chatting with the owners on the opposite side. I walk in a kind of zig-zag line, often stepping around bicycles that are parked on the sidewalk which permits either a person or a bike. I wait at a stop light to allow an impeccably dressed young woman on a Vespa to whiz by me, designer heels delicately placed on the pedals, and shopping bags hanging off the handles - this kind of driver is not a rare sight! After making several random turns and traveling down long paths, I find myself at a large outdoor market. A grin creeps across my face, and I walk directly into the chaos. Imagine the stock market selling fruit; this is the kind of market I have found. I stroll past wet, colorful fruits, the largest mushrooms I have ever seen, and tables piled high with vegetables I cannot name. I watch a woman cradling her cell phone in her shoulder, passing her cigarette from her hand to her mouth in order to retrieve the vendor's scale and weigh her produce. She is bargaining with the vendor and telling the party on the other line that, yes, she will be sure to buy yellow peppers; she is looking at them right now, so what does he want for dinner? I could stand in this market for a long time, listening to the musical language pour out of their mouths and wrap comfortably around my ears, but I must continue; there is more exploring to be done. </p>
<p>I am lured into a shop after glancing in and seeing a wall of nothing but jars. It is a marmalade shop unlike anything I have ever experienced. A woman about 65 years old, a little more than four feet tall, coos in joy at my entrance. She quickly comes over to me and asks me what I need. I do not know where to begin. It turns out that Alberta studied in England for some years and speaks English very well. I insist that she speak only in Italian, and she excitedly claps her hands as she compliments me on my mastery of the language. I inform her that I want to buy a little gift of marmalade for my host mother. She reaches up and squeezes my cheek, "Che bella sei tu! What a sweet-a girl-a to bring-a little gift-a for the mother!" I then stand in silence and absolute amazement at this woman's knowledge of her shop, and how many different jams there are and their various purposes-I didn't really know jam went on anything other than bread. She directs me to pick out jars from the high shelves (shelves which are at my chest), and I tell her she has a beautiful store and a fabulous variety of jams from which to choose. Alberta then leads me by the hand to show me the store next door that her sister owns, "Ooh!! Wine on tap! Wait-a til-a you see this-a!" As I am being tugged down the street, Alberta's hand wrapped tightly around three of my fingers, I examine her beauty. She is looking at me over her shoulder, verbalizing how delighted she is that someone has come to visit her. Her smile, the lines around her eyes and her hearty walk tell me she is doing what makes her feel good. I think to myself, "If we could all be so lucky." </p>
<p>Alberta proved that getting lost in a city that has innumerable joys to offer is only beneficial. I am introduced to her very handsome nephew, who is an English professor at a university. Alberta raises her eyebrows at me, and I laugh at her attempt to set me up with one of the family. The three of us talk of John Donne, Calvino and Shakespeare on the steps of her sister's wine shop-wine on tap, by the way, is hysterical to see! She tells me to come visit her, and her nephew of course, anytime I want. I promise to do so. After buying some marmalade, she leads me again by the hand to a café in a piazza, where I sit alone and think about my experience. One woman affected my entire day, my mood and my sense of belonging here in Italy. I head home, not only confident of my Italian language skills, but also sure that I will truly find anything I am looking for. From here on, I make my own map.</p>