[Life in Italy]

The first time I saw Florence, I was fresh and dewy-eyed from the States, had never been abroad, and had a vocabulary in Italian of si and grazie. While descending from my pensione in a rickety old elevator, I spoke to its only other occupant, a very unItalian-looking young man and was rewarded with a charming smile and a string of English in what I thought was a British accent. Edward was a law graduate from Johannesburg who had just finished a year interning at a law office in Rome. His family had gifted him with a trip around Italy, and Florence was the last leg before he was to return to South Africa and settle down.

Though I was a few years his senior, Edward took me in hand as a teacher would a student and began showing me around Florence. His Italian was fluent and he was a fountain of "insider" information, showing me places tourists seldom see.

He had an endearing mischievous little boy side to him and we did many crazy silly things together, just like two kids playing hookey from school. The slightest thing would set us off laughing and giggling madly; a serious lecture on Michelangelo or Bernini could turn into hysterics in a moment, brought on by the honk of a car horn or the wink of an eye.

Each day he took me somewhere new and turned it into an adventure. Like the day we went to visit the Pitti Palace and were very disappointed to find half the palazzo closed to the public; the second floor was completely off limits because a "very important" fashion show was taking place. We craned to peek up the marble stairway to the landing above. It was chaos...cameras and strobe lights and people milling around. "Oh, how I'd love to see it," I sighed with longing. One look at my face and Edward went over to ask in Italian if we couldn't go up for just a minute. But they told him in no uncertain terms that it was "invitation only"--all the big fashion designers were showing their spring collection and it was private. I was quite disappointed when Edward returned shaking his head ruefully.

Suddenly, a stunning model hurried by us and floated up the steps, a floor-length silk coat over her wonderful gown and billowing out behind. "Come on then, let's go," Edward whispered and hurried up the stairway behind her. He reached out, grabbed the hem of her coat and nodded for me to do the same. As if hypnotized, I obeyed, grabbed the other side of her coat and, with the model completely unaware of her train-bearers, we sailed up the steps behind her. At the top, we let the ends drop and quickly melted into the crowds milling about. Peeking into the showroom, I could see models strutting down the runway in that incredible way they have, in outfits so drop-dead gorgeous they made me gasp.

Edward struck up a conversation with a friendly TV cameraman who told us to just go in and sit down, no one would even notice. I hesitated. The people inside seemed so terribly elegant. Surely, we'd stick out like sore thumbs.

But the desire to be part of it was stronger than my fear of getting thrown out. We went in and sat in these really posh, silk-cushioned chairs, removing first the small, beautifully wrapped box on our seats. I looked around and saw that everyone had a like gift package and though I wanted desperately to open mine, I managed to control myself. (It later turned out to be a gorgeous silk designer scarf, which I have to this day!)

The fashion show was simply wonderful, but after about an hour I saw that Edward was bored. As for myself, I could have stayed forever watching that endless line of gorgeous models in their fabulous outfits. We made our way out of the showroom and Edward spoke to the nice cameraman again. They laughed together and Edward turned and said, "Come with me." He led me into a side room where a luscious buffet lunch was spread out. We filled plates with a little of everything and were handed crystal flutes of frosty champagne.

"Oh, Edward," I sighed as I bit into black bread and butter spread generously with caviar, "you are simply the best!"

It was very cold in Florence, so we decided to move on to Rome in search of warmth and sunshine. Armed with bread and cheese, we jumped on a train early one morning and headed south. Our entire car was empty. It was eerie...like we were in an Agatha Christie mystery or something. The conductor didn't even come through to collect our tickets. I guess it wasn't worth his while--they'd only cost about a dollar.

Soon the train pulled into a small town and a quick decision was made. We hopped off and walked up a long hill into a delightful little walled town where we wandered around for a few hours--after which we boarded another southbound train and went on to Rome.

Once there, it was sunshine, sunshine, sunshine. I got a room at the little pensione where Edward had stayed for the past year--right next to Piazza San Eustachio where they make the best coffee in Rome. Day and night, the Cafe St. Eustachio teems with people, especially from about ten on, after dinner, after the movies, after the theater, whatever--their espresso and cappuccino are to die for.

I loved Rome at once and felt very much at home there. Edward took me to all his special little places in the few days he had left. How sorry I was to see him go--I even went out to the airport to see him off, on his way home to Johannesburg.

He married a lovely girl, settled in London and, a few years later, returned to Rome with his wife and baby. I was terribly pleased to see that he hadn't changed much--and that he still had that mischievous little boy way about him.

We've lost contact now, each having gone our separate way. But that's all right...we'll always have Florence. Here's looking at you, kid.