Posted by admin on Feb 07, 2016
“Are you Sonia?” A man with an American accent asked me as we met half way down Via Della Stazione. I had finally met my American landlord, Peter. He was a tall, skinny man. At least 6 feet tall, sporting blue jeans and a black jacket. He seemed tired of waiting for me. I’d had trouble with my phone when I disembarked from the train at Terni and couldn’t get in contact with him. It took an hour for me to figure out that all I had to do was switch my phone off and on again and the problem would be solved. I cursed myself for not figuring it out earlier and started questioning how I ever thought I was going to survive this trip, when I couldn’t figure out a simple solution to a simple problem.
But finally I was on my way and my patient land lord was taking me to my new home for the next two months. He had lived in Italy for a long time but still had his American accent. He told me about his Italian wife and adult children.
“My children went to America for work. There isn’t much here at the moment with the financial crisis,” he told me. “So they went to America and seem to be happy there. My son went first and then my daughter. I told them not to come back to Italy and neither seem keen to come back at this stage.”
I nodded as he spoke at the same time manoeuvring my lugging around the rocky footpath.
“How was your flight?” he asked after he finished his life story.
“Long and exhausting, I am so happy to finally have arrived,” I replied
“How long does it take to get here from Australia?
“A day and a half with all the stop overs along the way,” I replied knowing full well this question was going to be asked numerous times during my trip.
“That long? Gee you must be exhausted. You must be keen for a rest and early night sleep,” Peter said sympathetically.
[caption id="attachment_145" align="alignnone" width="300"]
My beautiful home for two months. Terni Umbria Italy[/caption]