Expectations, Pre-Arrival

My first time being acquainted with Italy was probably in some angsty, children's book--Bloomability, I think but that probably isn't right, where one of the characters was Italian and would talk about the duality of the word "ciao". It was unrelentingly romantic and I feel like, somehow, that book has embedded itself so deeply into my childhood psyche that my adulthood self expects something romantic out of this visit too. Not necessarily in the emotional, loving sense--despite what everyone at work keeps telling me, I do not plan on getting impregnated in an Italian fling--but something beautiful instead, something, and though I dread to say it, magical. I want to walk into Italy and be inspired. I realize that's a sort of American tourist-y thing for me to expect, like I'm entitled to be wowed upon arrival--but everyone around me sets Italy up to be this fantastic, gorgeous place full of life and love and I can't help but to want a piece of that to take home with me.


I suppose I'm expecting Italy to impress me where my own experiences so far have not. When I try to write, I often feel like my own emotional experiences are rather lackluster and the setting is often irrelevant and absent. I want a setting. With that said, realize my standards have been set up as pretty high for Italy so far. We grow up hearing about this place in books, movies. I can't help the ideas I have about it. I suppose my greatest fascination with Italy derives from my interest in art--Florence, home of the Renaissance. I want to see a Caravaggio so bad I would willingly pinch a baby for it--and I hate hearing children cry; it hurts. So I guess as far as physical expectations go, that's what I aim for--a Caravaggio, in my face, immediately. I want it to confirm my worst fears and I want it to make me feel inadequate.