A Very Hard Week

As the title suggests...it's been a hard week. A very hard week.

After my first night in Florence, it became clear that a solid majority of the students were there to drink and overindulge. I wanted to force myself to be more social and introduce myself, but after a majority of the conversations with others began with: "Oh, hi! Did you go out last night/are you going out tonight?", I realized that maybe Italy would be a good time for me to focus on myself. And, when a friend I had made on the plane (ironically originally from Walnut Creek) stopped texting me when I mentioned I really wasn't about the party life, I could see that this was going to be like Freshman year all over again.

Granted, I will enjoy a glass of wine here and there. Or even two glasses. And maybe an occasional fruity concoction. But I don't think getting 'smashed' and losing your senses in the streets of any city, let alone a foreign one where Americans already stick out as obnoxious sore thumbs, is a safe decision. Or a classy one. I strongly believe in decency, and if that makes me isolated, then so be it.

Nevertheless, I remembered the struggles I had the first year of college when I would refuse to go out, and I thought that perhaps exploring the night life wouldn't be so bad as long as I was sober and kept my wits about me.

So, I begrudgingly joined my roommate and some of her new friends on our second night in Florence. They had researched some classy lounge on the south side of Florence, and I was excited to go. Instead, we ran into some other girls in the hotel hallway, who were heading to a bar, and the other girls exclaimed, "Oh, great! We can go there instead!"

These girls were already drunk. I could smell the alcohol on their breath, and as we made our way to the bar, it became alarmingly clear that they had no idea where it was. So, one of the sloppiest ones had the idea to approach a man in a dark alleyway and ask for directions. I was shocked.

We found the bar-a little hole in the wall overrun by Americans. A male student immediately offered to buy me a drink, and made fun of me when I declined. I hated this bar. Flashing lights, girls in crop tops, American songs about shots and sex blaring through the speakers. It was without a doubt the lamest thing I had ever seen. And the fact that these students, fortunate enough to be studying in the most beautiful and culturally rich city in the world, were in this dump and thought it was amazing, made it even lamer.

I left. I made my roommate walk me back. And I finished the last of my Reese's cups and went to bed.

I lived off of gelato and Reese's cups the first three days. There wasn't much else for me to eat. Even the gelato was difficult to find. I was turned away by some 10 gelato shops due to my Celiac on the first night. We finally found a place, Grom, that had gluten free facilities (no cones). It was a little expensive and not the best gelato, but it did the job. And, frankly, I was so excited to find somewhere that didn't make me leave. Ellanora, the server, spoke to us while my friends and I ate, asked about our studies, and told us about her life in Italy.

The number of times I was dismissed from food establishments rapidly increased from there. As I walked down the streets lined with pizza shops, cafes, creperies, and panini shops, my heart felt heavier and heavier. Powdered sugar-covered canolis dipped in chocolate and filled with fresh ricotta cream and fruits, crepes topped with nutella and filled with vanilla cream and strawberries, waffles baked fresh with gelatto on top. Pizza you could order by the slice. A cappuccino and chocolate filled croissant for 1 euro. None of which I could have. Girls walked down the street sipping their coffees and munching on a fresh pastry, and I stuck my hand in my purse for another handful of stale pistachios I had brought for the plane ride.

Cannellini beans at a pizza restaurant

Grom's tiramasu and chocolate chip gelato

I still pushed myself. I wanted to meet people, so I went on a free food tour. A panini shop, where everyone got wine and a free panini (I got mozzarella covered tomatoes, which were okay but were contaminated and made me ill the next day; not to mention they let the wine go straight to my head), a pizza shop where everyone got a free slice of pizza and limoncello (the waitress felt bad for me and gave me a double shot of limoncello since I could have nothing else; I didn't finish it as I was still feeling a little tipsy from the wine and had nothing of substance to absorb it), and gelato (I was able to take part in this one, as it was one of the few places I had found that would serve me with special red utensils). 

Prepackaged gluten free sticks
and rice cakes from a sympathetic waiter
at the food tour's fancy Apertivo

This night was when I realized my biggest mistake: in researching being a Celiac in Italy, I had found amazing reviews of the abundance of restaurants and food joints to order gluten free. However, these reviews and journals were written by tourists, who could afford to sit at fancy restaurants every night and order gluten free. Which, yes, most restaurants are wonderful for Celiacs. But it comes at a hefty price. On the food tour, however, when I wanted to step away for a moment and find something to-go at a corner cafe and then meet up with the group again, I realized that I couldn't. And it hurt. A lot. Because these other students are like "Ohmigod, I'm vegetarian." "Ohmigod, my friend doesn't like gluten, either!" "Ohmigod, I can't have avocados and it makes me want to kill myself!"

Mozzarella and tomatoes...
compliments of the panini man 

I was turned away from about 15 restaurants that night.

The next day was our "Survival Tour" given by our study abroad program. Our tour guide began the tour with the following: "I don't really want to give a tour today, so we will just make it quick and go to a cafe, okay?"

All the hungover girls were overjoyed with the news. I was not. I wanted to know how to survive in Florence. Do you barter at the market? Where do you buy stamps? Is it legal to buy from the men who sell purses on the street? All this pasta in the windows looks great, but where can I buy pasta I can eat?

No. We went to a cafe. Everyone got their cute croissants and their coffee. I couldn't--they served one of Italy's specialties: a coffee infused with barley. So all the machines were contaminated. My roommate didn't like her croissant--it had too much cream in it. Please. There's no such thing as too much cream in your croissant. Just eat the damn croissant.

My program has tried to be helpful. They provided me with a list of some of the best gluten free places in Florence, but again: these are sit-down restaurants with a cover-charge/sit-in charge, no to-go options, and a hefty price. Or they're tree-hugging vegetarian/vegan/bio-friendly places where I can't get meat. I don't want a ball of rice on a bed of bland lettuce. I want meat. And bread. And pastries. And I want it in a convenient spot that's not on the outskirts of town and that comes at an affordable price.

But, there was a place I heard of...on the outskirts of town. So, I got off my pity pot and headed across town to find Deanna Cafe. That's when the heavens decided to open up on me, and I was stuck in the middle of this piazza without an umbrella and with no sight of this cafe I had read so much about. I stopped in about 3 shops and inquired about its location. None of them knew. Finally, I slopped my way into the information center, dripping all over the floor. I asked the workers, and they informed me that Deanna is closed indefinitely for restoration.

The remains of Deanna Cafe

So, I've spent the week bent over maps, placing little "X"'s on the certified restaurants that offer gluten free selections. I've asked locals where to go, travelled to every corner of the town, and have had some interesting experiences along the way.

My North Canton friend

I met a woman in the grocery store who was staring unhappily up at the same gluten-free shelf I was looking at. Stale bread and rock hard pasta for twice as much as the delicious regular stuff. She didn't speak English, but I told her I was Celiac. I don't know what she said, but I know from her eyes and tone of voice that she said, "I am too. I know it's hard, but it will be okay." She walked away after we shared an understanding look and I nodded.

Me, Franco, and Sem at our new favorite
 cafe in Piazza San Lorenzo

I met Franco and Sem, two Celiacs at our new favorite cafe. Franco provided me with a list of his favorite places, but he sympathized that it is more expensive. I met the baker at the gluten free bakery just outside of Florence. She didn't speak English, but was patient as I decided which overpriced pastry to select.
I met a group of actors from England who were sitting beside us at Ciro & Sons, the #1 rated gluten-free pizza restaurant in the world. One of the girls was gluten free, and we had ordered the same thing. In overhearing my conversation with them, a woman a few tables back told me she was also from North Canton.

Ciro & Son "Before"

Ciro & Son "After"

I met the head chef of a local vegan and gluten free restaurant on the other side of the river after I was turned away from a chocolate shop he was sipping coffee in.

So, it's been hard. And frustrating. But I've had some good experiences, and I hope to focus more on those. A quotation I saw the other day that really helped was: "Don't let what you can't do get in the way of what you can." I can't eat gluten, the foundation of all food in Italy. But I can travel, explore, worship the Lord, meet wonderful people, learn, study, and find adorable cafes with non-caffeinated hot chocolates.

Ciro & Son gluten free garlic bread and creme brûlée--I broke the bank that night

And none of those barley drinks. Seriously, people, come on. It's coffee.