Sognando Italia- The End (of the Beginning)

The best experiences in life always seem to end too quickly. I’m not so sure what that says about previous ordeals that seemed to last a lifetime (i.e. corporate finance class or doing the dishes). However, what I do know is that the past two months have flown by. Alas, the filming of Sognando Italia has concluded and I find myself back in Italy- struggling with jet lag and attempting to reinstate myself into the life I knew when I left two months ago- as a slightly changed version of myself. And although in the whole scheme of things, two months is a finite period of time…the things we did, times we laughed and tears we shed- are countless. It all transpired in the blink of an eye yet at the same time, the sum of events is inestimable.

I have always been a firm believer in the fact that each person we meet in this life, each individual we spend time with- changes us in one way or another. The format of Sognando Italia- the fact that we toured through 10 different cities- meeting 10 different individuals and their friends and families, is just the basic idea. The truth is, these protagonists/subjects of ours- let us into their homes- into their hearts. And each individual had messages for us- wisdom to impart. The best bit was that it was all there for the taking- like an abundant feast of knowledge and truths.

So amidst the work, the early mornings and long hours- we had 10 wonderful chaperons- maneuvering through their cities, and their lives- displaying to us what they understand to be true…allowing us to partake in a bit of them-and take what we wanted….well, what they allowed us to have.

Therefore, in the past two months, I have a large file of encounters rich enough to fill up a short lifetime. Each of which, more remarkable than the next.

I have been in a stem-cell research lab watching as the future of medicine changes, driven a 1952 red Cadillac up the Vegas strip, jumped out of a plane with some of the global champions of extreme sports, been part of a TV set in Los Angeles, sung (albeit poorly) in the recording studio with one of the most notable Italian singers/songwriters in the US, played Anita Ekberg in a reproduction of the Trevi Fountain at a black-tie gala in Chicago, been backstage with the headliners of the largest show in Vegas, biked through times square on a Sunday morning, opened a New Orleans radio show, learned to Salsa dance in a basement dressed as a cat, met noted photographer Doug Kirkland at one of his own openings, played poker with professional players in Sin City (and lost even with two Aces in hand!), seen Elton John live, sat and chatted with legend Peter Bennett about the real reason The Beatles broke up, been first row in a Broadway show, attended (and took a little nap) at the opening night of Richard the 3^rd starring Kevin Spacey in San Francisco, been to the Venice film festival as a guest of the production of the new Al Pacino film (thanks Giulia- you rock!). I flew in a wind tunnel, danced in the middle of Hilton’s ornate ballroom in Chicago, witnessed astronauts training in the biggest pool in Texas, touched a moonstone, learned Bocce Ball with the team at Tulane University, visited an authentic oil rig with a select group of MBA students, seen a jazz legend play on Bourbon street in New Orleans, learned to roll a cigar in Miami’s Little Havana, interviewed Italian Ambassador to America Giulio Terzi di Sant’Agata, chatted with Nancy Pelosi and the same day, met with Dr. Robert Gallo, the embodiment of AIDS research in America. I’ve seen innumerable sunsets, far too many sunrises to be considered healthy and dined in the best Italian eateries throughout the US. I sat in NASA’s ground control rooms, seen the Vegas strip from the seat of a helicopter, jetted around the gulf of Mexico in a speedboat, sat in front of the vastness of the desert in Death Valley thinking about nothing- thinking about life, chatted with the director of the Corcoran gallery at an art opening in DC, gotten caught in a hailstorm at Red Rock in the Nevada desert, ran up a $2800 minibar bill by just picking up the objects and putting them back down, danced the night away dressed as Wonder Woman in one of the most famous restaurants in DC, eaten meat after 27 years of being a vegetarian just for the love of the program, rode a horse on a Texas ranch, seen NYC from the back of a Vespa, toured the Miami Design district and been introduced to Wynwood by one of the most up and coming artists in Miami, held a baby albino alligator, hung off of a San Francisco tram in the middle of a sunny day, and the list goes on.

I got to know America again- after many years abroad. I got to know myself again- something I didn’t realize I had lost.

But above all this, I have come across and become acquainted with some of the most extraordinary people I could have ever encountered. And for this, I am eternally grateful. Cristiana Rastellini and her beautiful family taught me that boundaries don’t exist- that anything is possible…maybe with a bit of “flexibility.” She and Luca inspired me on a personal level and a professional level, to an extent that I thought I was incapable of. Roberta Mancino taught me to fly. And for that, I will be forever thankful- and to her friends, some of the most fearless people I have ever met- I thank them for letting me into their world and therefore, opening up mine. I learned from her that we find our own happiness…as she found hers- in the freedom of flight and exploring new frontiers. To Joelle for fighting everyday- for herself, her family, her son. For her strength and talent and strong spirit. For letting me know that its ok to cry- but when the lights go on and the curtains are drawn- to take all the love and passion for what you do- and let it take over your soul. To Giada whose positivity is addictive and smile is captivating- for redefining for me what it is to be successful- and for totally proving me wrong about my thoughts of being a diva. To Annah, for showing me that I should always “Love Today,” and reminding me that maybe I have found my “happy ending” to this new beginning. To Peter for showing me no matter how serious the subject, we can make it funny. To Checco, Robert, Giulia, Franco and Alex for opening up their homes, introducing me into their families and friends, and opening their hearts to the crew and me. Each one of Sognando Italia’s protagonisti, in their various cities and diverse industries, proved to me that there are no limits- that anything is possible. They taught me about bravery and persistence, belief in oneself and having the courage to keep believing…everyday.

To Nikki, Jeihson, Tree, Melissa, etc…for making me beautiful everyday, covering my pimples and dealing with me in the mornings- and Sandro’s “Madonna hair and EYELASHES” in the afternoons.

And to my beautiful team- my new family…whose talents are boundless and humor is unparalleled. Words don't suffice- they never will. We have shared in an experience that only we will ever understand and exchanged an untold amount of compassions, uncertainties, hardships and kindnesses. You made me laugh and cry and yell and smile everyday for the longest two months of my life. You have opened my heart and invaded my soul- and each one of you will remain there forever- along with your immeasurable time lapses and paglie giganti. Thank you.

It’s a happy ending…to the very beginning

Sognando Italia: The Beginning

Three weeks ago, nearly 1.5 years after the format was conceived and dutifully developed, after the hoping and toiling and wishing had all been hoped and toiled and wished- a group of eight individuals left Italy to embark on a journey- picking up friends and lessons along the way. Each day brings phenomenal amounts of novelty- and even now, at the very beginning- I can say that this will be one of those times of my life that leaves its mark on me, like a star shooting across a night sky…burning with the kind of flames that rarely fade.

And now here I am- in another somber hotel room, in another city- after three weeks of filming-physically exhausted, mentally satiated, with an alive spirit…and beyond any shadow of a doubt, steeped with excitement about what is to come.

Everyday I am fascinated- astonished by all I didn’t know and startled at myself- the good and the bad. Because in a situation like this one: living out of a suitcase, stuck in a 13 passenger van for hours on end with a group of people who were perfect strangers only a few weeks ago, working 16/17/18 hour days…and for me personally- doing something I have never done before- it’s easy to identify one’s flaws…and one’s strengths. But it’s the flaws that are more noticeable.

And I truly believe that, even in the early stages, before I have had a chance to live it all- and to look back and pick each fragment of each day apart, I am learning that fearlessness is no easy feat, but in this particular situation, it’s the only choice. Not only have I jumped in head first, but I have jumped from a higher altitude I have ever known, head first, in reverse, and done a few backflips on the way down. I am, no doubt, pushing my limits. Once again.

I am seeing America in a new light: through Italian eyes….which makes each moment sweeter and each breath fresher…but I should have expected that. I am falling in love with false eyelashes and beginning to hate hotel room service. I have learned to appreciate individuals I thought I couldn’t support and fallen out of love with aspects of myself I assumed were essential. Every day there are a million lessons to be learned, and I am lucky to seize 10 of them- because they are priceless…and awesome…and just simply beyond…

I genuinely sense that after all these years, and all of the messes I’ve made, tasks I’ve undertaken, and errors I’ve committed- that I have found something that truly works for me. I underestimated the power of being tall, blonde (in Italy) and animated to a point of exasperation. I overestimated the value of remaining within the corporate confines and boundaries that we are taught, at too young an age, exist within our futures.

I think I have finally taken most of what I know, a large portion of that which I have experienced, and all the tiny little aspects that make me, well, me- thrown them together, and come out with something that works- something that I can be proud of. And something that however exhausted I may be at the end of the day, I am thrilled to wake up the next morning and begin again.

Sleep deprivation is beginning to look OK on me, organic protein bars (and organic protein bars alone) are beginning to nourish me, and being a television host is starting to suit me. Let’s just hope the rest of Italy feels the same way.

Sognando Italia

I was always told, "give a busy person something to do and it will get done"...and I find this to be true. Oh lord, how I do. However, what they don't tell you is that when one is busy- some of the secondary things get pushed to the side. I.e. blogging, writing, running, inventing new recipes, keeping in touch with old friends and of course, manicures ;)

In the past four/five months, I have been in and out of Rome- traveling for work and admittedly, for pleasure. I have begun planning a wedding, raised the most special puppy in the world, remodeled a new home- AMAZING VILLA in the middle of Rome, and have helped to create, organize and begin pre-production of my newest baby/endeavor- an Italian television program aptly titled, Sognando Italia (Dreaming of Italy). Below is the facebook link (become a fan!) and the website will be up soon.

I have to say, despite incredibly long hours, moments of doubt and hesitation and above all, fear of the unknown- I know that without a dubious bone in my body, this next phase is right... I.e. I am exactly where I was meant to be.

The production crew and I will be leaving Italy for the U.S. in mid-September to film: hitting New York, Chicago, Washington, Las Vegas, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Houston, New Orleans and Miami and will return to Italy by the end of November (not before my bachelorette party in Miami though!)

Therefore, I would like to present you with, Moi- Italian Television Presenter! Who would have thought doing an MBA would lead me here? I plan on blogging during the filming and post-production process so I hope that whatever it is I encounter- whether it be triumphs or failures, laughter or tears- I can share with you.

Wish me luck...

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Sognando-Italia/171613956244724

Man Down

There is a reason I haven’t written in a while. (A real reason this time.)

I have news.

Big news.

News that changes everything….news that I am still digesting…news that until I say it out loud, change my facebook status, or write it down- doesn’t truly become official.

At this point, I’ve processed it as much as I can so I suppose I am going to go ahead and make it legit.

So here goes…deep breath…

I’m Engaged!!!

The World Today

I sit down and I write about my life- my world. I ramble on and on about daily episodes, transient sentiments, long-ago memories and future uncertainties.  Occasionally, I touch on something “valid” that strikes a chord with a reader here, or a reader there- and then realize, again, that it’s the small stuff that connects us- i.e. a new song, the photo of a foreign city or a clever quote. Hence, I continue to write about my woes, about the good times and about the stupid bits and pieces that really don't matter in the grand scheme of things.

But recently, more frequently than not, global catastrophes are taking place and I choose not to write about them. This doesn't mean I am not thinking about them- the honest answer (and excuse) is that I just feel so helpless, so powerless- and I suppose that even mentioning the current international misfortunes and tragedies would be a waste of everyone’s time. Nothing I could say would shed light on the situation- or create any comfort for those suffering. It’s all being covered…and will go down in history books- to be studied by future generations of scientists and sociologists, anthropologists and geographers. But what about us- here and now? How are we supposed to take this?

I seem to be overwhelmed by bad news, fears and sorrow. I sit down to write about my latest adventure and all I think about is how selfish I am. How can I be enjoying myself when the planet is falling apart? In the apt words of Stephen Tyler, “There’s something wrong with the world today, and I don't know what it is.”

When various birds and fish started suddenly dying- and multiple countries began publishing puzzling statistics- the nihilists were arriving in droves with Armageddon premonitions, and I continued to write about cooking pumpkins. When an earthquake hit China last April, I made a reading list. When the volcano erupted in Iceland I wrote about socks. And when the capital city of Haiti was struck by a 7.0 earthquake, I droned on and on about falafel, cheese and in-flight magazines. Maybe I was doing the right thing, maybe not. One certainty is that the world will go on, it always goes on- humanity always recovers.

At night, I lay awake in bed, with images of that day’s newscasts scrolling through my mind- wondering about Japan- the death tolls, the devastation, the nuclear reactors and associated risks. And yes, Japan will recover too. But what about the unborn babies who will come into world from the bellies mothers exposed to the radiation? And the children who waited, in vain, for their parents to pick them up from school, not knowing whether they will ever see them again? What about the innumerable families whose homes were swallowed by the waves of the tsunami?

Then, of course, there’s the lingering question: what’s next? Because it will happen again- and we don't know when, and we don't know where- whether it will be right here, or next door, or so far away that it seems like a nightmare that we will wake up from.

On the other hand, and on the other side of the world (although only a few short kilometers from Italy)- there is a war. Operation Odyssey Dawn. Civilians have perished at the hands of their own leader, casualties are rising, and the words “installations, bombings, forces, targets, sieges and so on” are making more appearances in the news than they have since Iraq eight years ago. Gheddafi is promising “a long, drawn-out war with no limits” and I’m writing articles about marketing and researching natural dog biscuit manufacturers.

I don't know if the world is a scarier place than it was 100,200,1000 years ago- or if the information age merely gives us what it has promised to- information. And here I am, trying to figure out what to do with this influx of data and knowledge. How am I supposed to react? And more importantly, should I be doing more? I wish there existed a handbook to tell me the appropriate reaction to diverse situations. But alas, there is no instruction manual, and there is no guidebook on how to save a world that seems to be imploding on itself.

So I guess I must answer with what I find most suitable in this situation. I watch the news, I write, I contact my friends in Northern Africa and Japan to make sure they are OK, and I promise myself that This Too Shall Pass just as all the other wars have passed and cities have been rebuilt. And I hope that the scars- mental and physical- will one day heal. I hope that future generations we will be better prepared to deal with environmental disasters. And I keep thinking to myself that all those insipid beauty queens had a point as they stood on stage, lights glaring in their faces, spreading their phony dreams of “world peace” as the rest of the world lauged. But the world isn’t laughing now. No one is laughing now. There’s something wrong with the world today…

 

blogs, tweets, status updates...oh my

I had a dream....

That I could resist marrying myself (sans prenup) to the web: to actually maintain some semblance of anonymity with regards to social networking.

Alas, I have given in.

I now am, officially, on twitter.

Maybe its the innate desire to assign some importance to my daily life- real or imagined. Possibly its my final desperate attempt to remain connected, somehow, to the world that is so much greater than myself- and wider than the tiny insulated bubble I call my life here in Rome. Maybe I just want to feel loved.

Anyway- Let's hope I don't get myself into too much trouble!

xx

m

https://twitter.com/MorganWitkin

My friend, I'll say it clear...

Here’s the truth: I was in Miami on my actual birthday. I woke up at the crack of dawn, glanced at my watch and read 6:10 a.m.- precisely a half hour to the exact minute I was born thirty short years ago. So what did I do? I cried. I let a few idle tears slide off the sides of my face and onto the pillow- I silently whimpered a final goodbye to my 20’s, telling myself that yes, we had a good run.

When I was done with my gratuitous blubbering, I got out of bed, tiptoed downstairs, opened my mom’s sub-zero fridge in order to eat what was left of my Publix birthday cake- every last hot-pink butter cream rose. Although I felt sick for the rest of the day- it was well worth it. I had told myself that in my 30’s- I would be more health-conscious, I would be happier and not wallow in unnecessary self-pity, and that I would (continue to) live my life to the fullest. Well, at least I got the last one right.

In my teens- I wanted to be older. I longed to be able to drink (without the use of my fake ID), to vote, to drive, to get a tattoo…I wanted freedom: no curfews, unlimited television time and financial independency. In my 20s I wanted love. Now, I’m in my 30’s and I don't have a curfew, I can watch as much TV as I want (albeit in Italian), I have a tattoo that I totally regret and I am (pretty much) financially independent. I have found and lost and found love again…many times over.

30 is an age that has been creeping closer for a few years now. When I turned 28, I vowed to make the final two years count. When I turned 29, everyone, and I mean EVERYONE, reminded me that it was my last shot at my 20’s. Then, as the final few weeks flew by and my birthday skidded closers and closer, I tried coming to terms with the fact that the mathematics don't lie: 29+1=30.

I have to say, now that I have finally hit the big 3.0.- I don't feel any different. I am not wiser than I was yesterday. And although I don't feel older, I did look in the mirror and happen to notice a few more wrinkles…but when I asked if this were a good age to start considering Botox, I was told I was nuts- so that contemplation was put to rest.

Somewhere amongst my journals, hidden away, I have a list that I made regarding what I planned to have accomplished by the time I was 30. It’s probably a good thing I can’t find it. Although, as best as I can remember, my goals were not unreasonable. I think, more than anything, I wanted to be a published author- a novelist, by the time I was 30. That didn't happen. I hoped to live abroad. That did happen. I wanted a master’s in business. Got that done. My own puppy. Yep. And I sought happiness. Check.

Now is the time, I suppose, to reassess my goals- and possibly put a few to rest- push harder for some- and bury others, pretending that they never even existed at all. I have to admit, it's a bit confusing when I consider what it is I want to accomplish in my 30s. Part of me says that if I haven’t done “it” yet, “it” will never happen. The other part says, go for it- this is really the last chance. I look around and in truth, it’s hard to judge, based on experience and influences, what I should or should not be doing. At 30, a great number of my friends are married- many with kids. Other groups are starting new careers or embarking on solo-ventures. Some have already made their millions, others are just beginning. I suppose, as opposed to the 20’s filled with education and career decisions- what we do with our 30’s is more of an individual choice.

Looking back, the 20s were amazing. But then again, everything is amazing “looking back.” However, I still think I had a good time. I managed to get a Bachelor’s and a Master’s degree from two great universities, I moved from Miami to DC, to Italy, to NY, to England, to Russia to Mexico to Dubai, back to England, to Barcelona and wound up in Rome. Beyond that- I traveled throughout the world. I met so many incredible individuals that they are hard to count. I’ve had experiences I never even dreamed of having. I’ve learned a million and one things- from making pasta from scratch, to the basics of many world religions, a number of languages and how to change a tire. I gained “non-transferable and thus highly valued business skills” (thank you Steph) and I now know how to care for a bonsai. I’ve climbed glaciers, jumped out of planes and seen my byline in global publications. I have slept under the stars in the Sahara, cruised the Mediterranean and saved endangered sea turtles in Central America. I’ve been chased by a zebra on Safari in Kenya, been skinny dipping in the Redwood Forest, seen the Taj Majal at sunrise and gone on a camel ride around Pyramids of Giza. I’ve taken a boat trip down the Mekong Delta and planted a tree in Israel. I’ve walked through the ruins of Pompeii, Ancient Rome and Greece and spent three days ambling through the temples of Angkor Wat in Cambodia. I’ve bathed in the oldest Hammam in Istanbul and drank too much tequila looking over the Zócalo in Mexico City. I tuk-tuked through the colorful markets of Jaipur and witnessed to a ping-pong show in the Patpong district of Bangkok. I am a godmother, a daughter, a sister, a girlfriend, a best friend, and I hope- a good mother to my puppy. I sang Karaoke in Beijing and visited the clay warriors in Xian. I sailed a felucca down the Nile and drank far too many pints at Oktoberfest in Munich. I’ve gambled in the casinos of Macau and Monte Carlo, and seen Mt. Kilamanjaro from the sky. I’ve been scuba diving in the Red Sea and later, off the isolated islands of Malaysia. I learned to wakeboard in Sardegna, to surf in Costa Rica and to play pétanque on a small island in France. I’ve crawled through the Cu Chi tunnels in Vietnam and sailed along the Norweigen Fjords at springtime. I hope I’ve been a good friend to some- and maybe even made a difference in the lives of others. I’ve laughed till I peed and cried myself to sleep and now, I feel like I'm singing the final lines of Sinatra’s My Way...I did all this- and not in a shy way. And I’m only 30.

Part of me is scared. I can confidently note that I happen to be happy where I am now and I can see myself here for a while- but then sometimes, I wake up and think “is this it?” Is this where the journey ends? I could say that it’s been a good ride and leave it at that. But I know- in my heart of hearts- that I’m not ready to put away the compass and maps yet- that I can’t say that I’m done- I’m not even close to being done.  So I guess this is my personal message to my 30’s: Get ready. Here I am!

And a New One Just Begun

I was wondering…how does one welcome a new year with enthusiasm when the old year was already so good?

Truth is- I would have been perfectly content sticking to 2010. The arrival of 2011 means that I am less than a month away from hitting 30…an age I was planning on avoiding…

2011 means that I graduated from my MBA “last year”- not “this year”- soooo…..no more excuses.

2011 means that if the Mayans were right- this is it. Our final year. Our last remaining chance to do everything we told ourselves we would. And even if the Mayans were wrong- the New Year means we are all (me…you…them) one year closer to the inescapable finality of our time on this earth.

I have never been good at making resolutions- and even worse at keeping them. I.e. Eat less- sleep more. Bitch less- write more. Spend less- smile more.

Truth is- whatever resolutions I would have made- had I bothered to make any- would have been the general rules I attempt to live by on a daily basis.  (And usually come up a bit short).

But enough of my unconstructive ranting. As with every dark cloud- there promises to be a silver lining. Therefore, my resolution this year will be…(drum roll please)… to seek the light out from the dark- to live within the silver lining- you know, glass half-full kind of thing.

Instead of moaning about the Christmas lights coming down and the dumpsters full of half dead pine trees- I’m perusing the stores, making a check list of all the goodies I plan on buying when the sales start in 3 days. And yes, I may be getting older- but I am convinced that I am also wiser. Plus- although the New Year means that I have no more time to fit anything into last year- I am told that we all get a clean slate- that we are absolved of our past transgressions and indulgences- saints and sinners alike- and everyone in between…

Other than that, the transition from one year into the next means what it always inevitably does- a chance to celebrate.

Being that my life, currently- is pretty much a infinite holiday- one big, fun stimulating feast of extravagance and excess…it was a bit hard for me to allocate too much importance to New Year’s Eve. But it seems that everyone else around me insisted- so in normal Italian New Year’s fashion- I attended a fabulous party with fabulous people at a fabulous locale- I ate too much, drank in excess, danced just enough, had my new years kiss and managed to not burn any body parts with sparklers. And due to the horrible man walking around with a bottle of Sambuca- pouring that syrupy sweetness down the throats of innocent party-goers (including myself)-I spent the following day ringing in the New Year comatose on the couch- nursing a hangover and begging Dudy not to pee on the floor until I had the energy to get up and take him outside.

Now that the festivities have officially come to an end- and I have finished complaining- I can only hope that 2011 brings me as much excitement, happiness and pleasure as did 2010.

Happy New Year! And may all your resolutions come true…

Christmas Lights

The Christmas lights have, at long last, been threaded throughout the dazzling streets of Rome. And as I walk along under the evening light, gazing at the beaded illumination, glowing sparklers and shimmering ribbons of bulbs- I experience a mixture of emotions- joy, nostalgia and regret. Joy- because how can one not be joyful in Rome around the holidays? Nostalgia- because…well I don't really know why. Maybe I just miss my family. And a bit of regret- because I am leaving for India in three days- which means I will fully miss out on the three most important Italian winter milestones: Christmas, New Year’s Eve and the Winter Sales (sigh…particularly due to the latter).

Right now- Rome is so beautiful, so festive- and so incredibly charming. But I’m sad- and as I sat on the couch attempting to find the words to explain how I feel, with MTV blaring on the television in the background, I heard Chris Martin’s familiar voice singing a new song, Christmas Lights. Coldplay sang… “Doesn’t really feel like Christmas at all.” Good song- just about how I feel- have a listen below…I guess I would call it my 2010 Christmas anthem. I have to say, its much better than Train’s overplayed Christmas song, “shake up the happiness, wake up the happiness, come on ya’ll…it’s Christmas time.”

I mean, come on. Seriously?

To make matters worse- I just found out that Limewire is under a court order to stop distributing software. Which means no Christmas music on my new hard drive. Sorry Mariah.

Of course, I am thrilled to be leaving for India- it's a trip I’ve been anticipating for the greater part of five years. On the other hand, having spent nearly 15 days of the last 30 in the Indian Embassy has not proven been the best launch to the magical experience I have in mind. In Shantaram, the author mentioned something about the Indians being the Italians of the East. Now, I haven’t yet been to India- but I have spent days waiting around the Indian embassy- and I can honestly say, based on first impressions (from a bureaucratic standpoint) that this statement couldn't be more true. I laughed when I read it. Yet- I cried when I realized it was true.

I have been completely at the mercy of this incredibly unfortunate culture clash. Simply put Italians (disorganized, slow, stubborn, proud, fiery and aloof) in an office, add a few Indians (indifferent, smug, stubborn and apathetic) and voilá- welcome to inefficiency and a lot of unanswered inquiries. Finally though, I am happy to report, I did manage to get my visa. Please don't get me wrong- the larger fraction of my favorite people in the world consist of both Italians and Indians- I am purely speaking on my experience with the employees of the Indian Embassy of Rome on Via 22 Settembre, 5 (in case anyone was wondering how to find where misery lives…)

I suppose one good thing about Italy is that its national colors are already green and red- therefore, only a few changes have to be made in invoke the “Christmas Spirit”- a snowflake here, a silver bell there- and there ya go. Along with the lights and the trees and the Santas in store windows- Rome is utterly freezing- but like .01 degrees too warm to snow- which is the worst. This weather means, to me; blue lips, walking around in my ski clothes, three horrible days of the flu and the interminable waiting for snow like Waiting for Godot. I am so pumped full of medicine it’s hard to really bask in the Christmas joy of hanging lanterns and glittering palazzi. I did feel good enough today to go to the dog park in Villa Borghese, where a baby Dalmatian maimed Dudy’s perfect little nose so badly I think he’s going to be disfigured for life. But as my friend Stephan says, I’m building up my sh*t capital so that the India trip will go off without a hitch. (here’s hoping…)

Oh, and I spent last weekend in Naples for the Baptism of my Boyfriend’s niece. We went to the family church in the tiny city outside of Pompeii where Antonio grew up. That was interesting as well. Here’s how it went (I’m going to do this in English):

Antonio: “Morgan I want to introduce you to the priest. He basically raised me” (at this point- I should have known to run)

Morgan: “OK”

Priest: “Hi Antonio. How’r’ya? This the girlfriend? Ah well, Antonio- I was watching you, you didn't cross yourself in the manner you were raised. (looks at me all knowingly) You should teach him.”

Morgan: “I’m Jewish”

Priest: (looks at me with an expression between shock and disappointment) “hmmmm ….well….(looks at Antonio) Are you going to convert?(Looks at me) I guess….you are still waiting for your God.

Whatever that means…

Morgan: (speechless)

Aunt of Antonio: (Interjects) “No she has Allah.”

Morgan: (still speechless)

Antonio: (babbles something inaudible)

Really? That was news to me…

So that was fun.

Now...I’m going to go out, eat pizza, and snap a few shots of some dangling lights before I leave for the third world. 

A dopo….

Giorno del Ringraziamento

Another Thanksgiving sans family and sans turkey…(not that I eat it anyway…)

While as I woke up this morning with a twinge of longing for my family and the beautiful November Miami weather, I can’t say that I’m not contented here. 

In the last few days I have taken long walks with the pup- one beginning from Piazza Navona to Piazza di Spagna, ending in a fountain on Via Margutta- which was fun, but the clean-up wasn't. I attended a Unicef gala with a Ballet by Bolle and his troop that was so poignant it made me want to take dance classes again. One evening, I cooked Zucchini Flowers I found in the market and Eggplant Parmigiana for friends who came over to dinner. I’m writing a business plan with a friend, eating tons of pizza, watching the puppy lose his teeth, eat them and grow them back (not due to the ingestion of course).

And in between all the action- I have read three books:

Loving Frank, by Nancy Horan

Love The One You’re With By Emily Griffin

And

One Day by David Nicholls

All great stories. All worth reading- all taking time away from my writing.

Dudy is growing at an impressionable rate and is the best puppy ever- except, of course, for the weekend spent in the hospital hooked up to tubes due to the packet of ibuprofin he ate while I was sleeping. Fortunately, he survived…and is thriving.

It’s truffle season in Italy and I am certainly eating my fair share- particularly the white variety, straight from Alba- requesting shavings on everything- pasta, cheese, asparagus…etc. I would put them in my coffee if I could.

Life is good- Rome somehow seems to get more beautiful by the day and as winter approaches, the lush fur coats in all shades from ivory to rich browns and blacks pass under my windows in droves screaming- “whats PETA?”

So this thanksgiving I wont be standing on any chairs singing the American national anthem- but you may find me in Villa Borghese- with Dudy- humming Va Pensiero to myself…

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

Trash Clash

Trash, evidently, is a political issue with a long history in Southern Italy. Whether or not the current crisis has reached the media on an international level, I am not sure- but what I do know is that it’s occupying headlines throughout this nation. At present, it is impossible to open a newspaper or turn on the television without seeing images of burning garbage trucks, teeming dump-sites and livid locals yelling angrily into the microphones of the few news agents that managed to pass through the barricades.  

Garbage in Naples is anything but a new concern. Unfortunately, the city itself is well known for its trash crises- in particular, the major eruption in 2007, which consequently became one of the top priorities for the incoming political party- Berlusconi’s PDL. The truth is, before I got to know Naples, I associated it with its garbage issues. Later, once I spent some quality time in the city, I realized that it is so much more…Napoli is this gritty, soulful, stunning, and incredibly alive city. It’s got this pulse you can feel running through your veins as you walk through the streets. 

Since the Italian government cleaned up the trash, Napoli and its outlying towns once again became tourist destinations. Regrettably, and somewhat in-tune with Napoli’s ill-fated issues, a new garbage battle has ensued. Due to an existing, overflowing landfill and the planning and creation of a considerably larger, more intrusive landfill at the base of Vesuvius- the outlying towns of Naples currently appear to be more like Bagdad then they do the Mediterranean. I have watched on the news, for over a week now, protesters road blocking garbage trucks on the route to the existing landfills- flying rocks, explosions, police blockades and numerous burning vehicles.

In the past, I have tried to stay away from political issues- and from the ugly parts of the country that I find so beautiful. To me, Italy is the most special place in the world – and I try to portray that. Unfortunately however, the “discarica di Terzigno” hits closer to home than other political concerns. Terzigno, just outside of Napoli, is the birthplace of my boyfriend- and I have spent many a weekend perusing the streets of the tiny town.

Furthermore- last night, I partook in an experience I never could have anticipated. I found myself in the middle of a rally on the streets of Terzigno, along with nearly 400 irate Italians, blocking the road to the dumpsite. There was yelling from the angry mobs, there were fires- but what struck me the most were the tears of anger and betrayal in the eyes of the local citizens. Signs were suspended all over the city walls with heated phrases, trash was piled everywhere- if not on fire, than creating roadblocks to the major throughways of the area.

 Now, I am not a fan of protests and I am not a fan of violence or unnecessary damage to property- private or public. But this time, I get it. These people are tax paying loyal citizens of a country that they love- that they are proud of....and at present, they can't walk out of their houses without smelling the mountains of trash left more or less at their doorsteps. (Not to mention the potential environmental implications.) 

Of course, looking at the situation from an objective perspective- the alternative choices are slim- and there are more parties involved than just the heads of government. Yet I believe, at the end of the day, that Berlusconi is a decent man and a good leader- and will do his best, along with his party, to clean up the literal mess and regain the confidence and fidelity of this large portion of the Southern population.

On another note; as I was walking away from the demonstration (realizing that these people were accomplishing nothing but freezing their toes off), I was reminded of which country I am in when I got a whiff of the strong aroma of garlic and olive oil- and heard a slightly muffled voice reverberating over the megaphone exclaiming: “Sono arrivati i fagioli!!!” In truth, I was expecting an angry proclamation, or a call to battle. In actuality, the woman was saying, “The pasta and beans have arrived!”  

Clearly, an Italian demonstration isn’t truly Italiano without the dinner.

Comparing and Contrasting

After 12 lengthy (but wonderful) days in the US- the longest period yet since 2005- I have a clear understanding of what it is I love…and hate….about being stateside. And after further comparisons, contrasts, and considerations- I have decided that I am happiest here, and not there- despite the absence of hydrogenated oils.

Below are my top 12 (for the 12 days I was in the states) things I missed the most when I was gone, and indulged in (multiple times) while I was home:

        1.    Cookies

        2.     Taco Bell – and Chipotle, but really- Taco Bell

        3.  Un-dubbed movies

        4.     Molly, my family’s GoldenDoodle (pic below)

        5.     Flip-flops and baseball caps (I would probably be shot dead if I walked down Babuino in Havaianas and a cubs cap)

        6.     Subway (the sandwiches, not the underground)

        7.     My mommy

       8 .   Pharmacies (CVS, Walgreens, Duane Reade, you name it, I went there…)

       9.   Dollars

       10.  Starbucks (at least 3 per city block)

       11.  Asphalt, pavement, cement, and the like.

        12.  Outlet stores

And here are the top 12 things I missed about daily life in Rome:

        1.     Bidets. Seriously.

        2.     Espresso (despite my love for- and wavering loyalty to Starbucks)

        3.     Extra virgin olive oil. On everything.

        4.     Passeggiate for no good reason other than to walk

        5.     Italian (excuse me, Italiano)

        6.     Aperitivi

         7.  Pasta al dente (as opposed to the mush they serve in America. Yes, I too am becoming a pasta snob)

        8.     Late dining (“late,” being anytime past 8 pm)

     9.     Cooking- in my kitchen, after going to my mercato, and serving hungry people on my piatti at my tavola. Americans don't really eat anymore.

        10.  Cafés

       11.  Pizza

        12.  Italy. In general.

Then, of course, there are the things that I adore and abhor- that don't really fit into either list- like central air. I love central air conditioning- but I froze my ass off in every store, house and restaurant. And now I’m sick.

I can't spend enough time in English bookstores, but it's rather annoying paying the airlines for extra weight- due to books than can easily, and more cost-effectively, be bought online.

I adore American baked goods- and ice cream: mushy centered cookies, brownies, caramel covered apples, grocery store cakes with buttermilk frosting, sundaes, fresh doughnuts, etc…but I’m less than pleased about the 2.3 kilos I gained. (that’s 5 pounds…but it sounds better in kilos).

So, with that…I’m off to the gym.

xx

(Above is Molly the wonder dog, complete with her swimming device especially designed for the treacherous waters of Lake Michigan)

Spaghetti Number 9

I could talk about Italy forever- the indignities, the laughable moments- and the things that leave me incredulous- asking, yet again, is this really my life?

I was talking to someone about television in my teens. Mid-way through the conversation, she turned to me and asked if I was a fan of “nove-zero-due-uno-zero.” Initially, I had NO idea what she was talking about. Really. I didn't. I told her, without a doubt, that “we didn't have that show in America.” And she said it was filmed in America- California to be exact; “Don't you remember? ‘Bevedlee Heels nove-zero-due-uno-zero!’” Ha!

Hearing “90210” in another language not only transformed my association with the show, but it slaughtered everything that those simple numbers ever meant to me. It was like seeing my formative years through the Italian language. Or something like that.

As far as the rest of the entertainment industry goes- I’m still astounded by the vast differences between American and Italian entertainment.

I have a love-hate relationship with Italian Cinema. There is no American Federico Fellini- not even close. And for his existence- I am grateful. But, seriously, what’s with all the voice-overs? I cannot bear to watch one more American movie dubbed in Italian. Imagine watching The Godfather where Marlon Brando’s voice is not Marlon Brando’s voice. Or Scent of a Woman, where Al Pacino’s “hoohaw” is more of a “ooohhhahhhh.” Not to mention the fact that there seems to be only a small cluster of big-time “voice-over” actors. Consequently, let’s say for example that one day- you’re watching a Brad Pitt tear-jerker, the next day- the same voice is Batman’s Joker. Then, that evening- you go to watch Sex and the City and Big has the same voice as Batman/Brad Pitt and later, Wall-E. But then- there are the Fellini’s and Benigni’s of the world- and I admit that I can’t totally discard Italians of murderers of the cinematic art.

Of course, beyond the movies, there are plenty of minor differences I unearth on an hourly basis. Lately, I’m finding that certain elements or incidents that used to bother me are transforming into the beloved details of my daily life. Now, having integrated myself into this entirely backwards and loveable nation- I’m starting to appreciate the “stupidagini.” They make me smile- and laugh- not only at the folly, but at the fact that I’m totally starting to buy into it- all of it.

I used to hold the Italian way of doing business in contempt. As an American- no less an American with an MBA, fully aware of ethical methods and “good business practices,” I used to wonder how anyone ever did business in Italy. Now, although I don't totally accept it- I’m beginning to welcome it.

In Italy, everything is negotiable. In Italian business, nothing is concrete. You can only believe a small part of what anyone says- even the most respectable of individuals lie through their teeth. Every number, detail and word is inflated. Whatever is being offered, and whoever is offering it- is exaggerated. The beauty in it is that- once the frustration subsides; one realizes that in Italy, you can be whoever you want to be. “Basta che lo dici”- meaning “its enough just to say it.” Because everyone believes you. You even begin to believe your own fabrications. For the most part.

I know this seems rather extreme but I cannot stress how true it is. I mean, if you go to have a drink at a hotel and a man walks up to you and begins flirting, before long, he will undoubtedly tell you that he owns the hotel. Case in point. When I tell someone that I am from Miami, there’s a great chance that before long- they will present me a laundry list of the best hotels in South Beach- that they apparently own. “Oh this belt? It’s Versace. I’m Versace’s son. Doesn't matter that he was gay. Nice to meet you. And by the way, Donatella’s waiting for me on my yacht with a suitcase full of millions for my summer vacation. Want to come back to my place for a drink?”

And so on and so forth…

Its fun though. In the past, I got frustrated. It made me angry. I was both distrustful and cynical of everyone I met- simply knowing that if they weren’t already lying to me, they would be soon. Now however- I play into it. It’s like a game. Italy is a world where whoever you want to be- you can be. And no one asks any questions.

Another interesting tidbit about Italians and the importance of food in Italy:

Did you know that Barilla pasta is identified not only by type, but by number?

I didn't.

And I got in trouble for getting a number 3 spaghetti as opposed to a number 9.

Apparently, each number denotes the thickness of that particular pasta.

So not only must I remember the type of pasta I have been sent out to buy. i.e.: spaghetti, fussili, linguine, fettuccine, bucatini, papparadelle, tagliatelle, penne, pennette, maltagliati, maccheroni, paccheri, rigatoni, cavatelli, orecchiette (my personal favorite), trofie, strozzapreti, etc… the list is endless, but I now know that I must be aware of the exact thickness of whichever pasta goes best with the sauce I happen to be making.

Word to the wise; never buy spaghetti for an Italian without first consulting a specialist.

Despite conflicts over the width of pasta and a daily dialogue filled with embroidered fabrications, for the first time in a very long time- I can admit, and truly mean, that I am happy. Like…really happy.

I’m actually surprised about how contented I am. Happy to the point that I’m waiting for some tragedy to jump out from behind me and piss all over everything. But in the meantime- before it all comes crashing down, I’m going to bask in my happiness…because as I have learned in my 29 years, it’s not that easy to find.

My life in Rome hasn't changed much, so I cannot attribute this sudden elation to anything specific. Summer has quickly descended upon us with suffocating heat and hordes of tourists- but I can’t help but smile as I walk down the street- dripping with sweat and veering off the road in order to avoid vacationers staring down at their maps- as opposed to who they may be walking straight into. (me).

I spent a few days in Milan. The short vacation kicked off with an evening of Faust at the Scala opera house. I then spent the fourth of July at lake Como- attending a gala dinner at Villa d’Este, followed with a spectacular display of fireworks over the lake- accompanied by an orchestra playing the American national anthem. And as I heard my anthem and my chest filled with pride, I thought to myself, “It’s ok if I never make it back stateside.”

Career-wise, things are finally starting to come together. I’m working on a number of projects- trying to get them off the ground. I’d rather keep my cards closer to my chest right now- superstitiously speaking. But what I can say is that if I am able to fully execute any of these ventures, I’ll be spending my time doing exactly what I've always wanted to do- embarking on a new(ish) career combining writing, business, travel, PR and marketing. So- fingers crossed. More on that later…

However, with regards to all the above- I feel lucky. Lucky to have people in my life to give me the opportunities to do what I have always wanted to do. And lucky to have done everything I have done up until now- in order to arrive at this point.

And if what they say is true, that life is a journey- my journey hasn't been half bad, and the next part is shaping up to be quite a ride. How could I not wake up with a smile on my face? Not to mention the fact that as I roll out of bed for a cup of coffee- all I have to do is look out the window and see views that really, I think one would be lucky to witness in a lifetime. Beyond that, I’m surrounded by amazing people who make everyday an adventure.

I thought, at this point, that I would be bored. I’m not travelling the way I used to- not right now at least. And although I eat at the best restaurants, drink the best wines and am living a life in Italy the best way possible- my social life is considerably calmer than it has been in the past. But as the Italians say- “non manca niente”- nothing’s missing. At least, nothing I’ve noticed yet.

Rain and Reading...and some other news

My days knocking around Rome have more or less all blurred into one long interlude. The hours pass rather slowly but the weeks are pretty speedy- as if a gust of wind blew through the pages of the calendar and left me with only the spine. I graduated from the MBA three months ago and although I have learned more about life in Italy than I care to admit, news on the job-front is slim.

I was speaking to a friend of mine from ESADE and she as good as summed it up in noting that, “In this economy- the MBA is a curse. We’re overqualified and too expensive to hire.” Not to mention the fact that none of us have any savings left- due to the drainage of our accounts during the pricey MBA.

Now, I’m not speaking about everyone. Some of the fortunate (and perhaps previously a bit more ambitious and focused) ex-classmates of mine have found great jobs. Positions including: Product Manager at J&J in Sao Paolo Brazil, Senior Analyst for Yahoo! in Geneva Switzerland, Airbus engineer in France, a one-year rotational program at Whirlpool in Monterrey Mexico, Operations Manager at Amazon in Glasgow Scotland, consulting for Deloitte in Johannesburg South Africa, business development and finance at a television station in the Philippines, Consulting in London, Finance in New York, rotational program for GSK beginning in Philadelphia,  etc…

I must acknowledge that I’m delighted for my friends- I not only love them all dearly, but I have an immense amount of respect for them as individuals, their capabilities and their talents. I know that wherever they are and whatever they are occupying themselves with- they are making the ESADE name, and all their former classmates, very proud.

Then, there are those of us not as lucky: a few ex-students winding away their days on the beaches of Barcelona between job searches and networking events, while some alumnus returned to their homes- or their wives- waiting for news of that scintillating “post-MBA job.” And others, like myself, are taking each day at a time- while nevertheless enjoying the much needed “down time” that the post-MBA unemployment vacuum provides.

The MBA flew by. Just yesterday- I was 27, flying into Barcelona’s El Prat airport and reading a bus map trying to find ESADE. I blinked and then it was over.

On the other hand- these hours, days, and weeks here in Rome- teetering on the edge between “my big break” and “eternal joblessness” has seemed like a lifetime.

There was a period where it rained for almost a month straight. Therefore, the sparkle of my supposed “Roman Holiday” had faded to grey. Have you noticed that when the weather is dreary, everything seems bleak? Job opportunities morphed into empty promises. My beloved walks to the gym became tedious trudges through unceasing drizzle and darkness. Going anywhere- whether to a store, restaurant or café- rendered me a drowned rat- as opposed to chic Italiana.

Then, one day, the rain stopped. The sun came out, Rome twinkled yet again and “La Dolce Vita” recommenced. This time however, a new desire and motivation was born within me- and I got moving in attempts of putting my education to work. ESADE has been, in part, characterized by its “entrepreneurial spirit.” For that reason, I’ve come to the conclusion that instead of sluggishly waiting to be discovered as a brilliant, capable and interesting MBA graduate by some successful company with multiple future opportunities and a huge salary- it is in my best interest to invent something on my own. That is, of course, if I plan to remain in Italy.

So I’ve been networking, devising, creating, brainstorming, establishing, generating, and fashioning an ideal job for myself. And in my downtime…I’ve been discovering more about the Italian mentality, about Italy and about Italians. I am confident in announcing that in my findings, my original assumptions have been confirmed- Italy is one of the most backwards countries in the world- Italians are some of the most indolent and oftentimes insincere individuals I have ever met…but they sure know how to have a good time! And amongst the masses, there are of course- the gems. A good Italian is a rare find- but if you happen to encounter one- it’s worth its weight in Bvlgari Diamonds.

I’ve also been reading. (thank you amazon.co.uk)

I read the Stieg Larsson Series: The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, The Girl Who Played With Fire, and The Girl Who Kicked the Hornets Nest.  Entertaining but maybe a bit disappointing considering the hype. I prefer surprises.

I also read a Marion Keyes series- three books centered around three sisters and their early adulthood experiences: Angels, Rachel’s Holiday and Watermelon. The first two were great. Quintessential chick-lit but a good escape. Beach reading. The last book, Watermelon, is a waste of space on my expanding bookshelf.

And then I read a book on Kabbalah and was all in-tune with my spiritual self for a few days. I, at that point, believed that I had found the link between myself and my religion- Mysticism. But then, a few days later when I began reading another work of chick-lit fiction I thought suited me, Shoe Addicts Anonymous, I forgot most of what I read and Kabbalah became a distant memory.  Besides, it was a book entitled God Wears Lipstick, so how much was I supposed to remember anyway?

And finally, I read Shantaram by Gregory David Roberts. I have to say that this book is without a doubt, one of the most incredible, engaging and inspiring novels I have read in my entire life. It reminded me what I love about literature. It reminded me of the type of writer I have always aspired to become. And most importantly, it transported me to another place in another time but by the last page- the characters were as close to my heart as my best friends and Bombay could have been “my city.” It was one of those books that for a week straight, I stayed at home reading on the couch instead of going out. It was one of those books that made me laugh so hard that my stomach hurt and at points, made me wail with tears- I couldn't wait to get back to the book during the days and at night, it invaded my dreams. It was one of those books that inexplicably connects me to everyone else in the world who has ever read it.

Shantaram warmed my soul and filled me- as a traveler, explorer and writer- a powerful desire to “do more.”

Moral of the story: read Shantaram.

Until next time….

Xx

Morgan