We pulled up to a little building and went inside. There weren't many people, but they all came over to meet us. Everyone was friendly and Marco seemed to know most of them. There was a lot of bocci-ing going on and I was still confused with which cheek to kiss first (note: I'd never get it!).
Sacrament meeting started and Liz and I sat next to each other with Marco next to me and Toby next to Liz. The plan was for each guy to interpret for each girl. Privately, I was excited to have Marco as my interpreter. Church would be fun with a cute boy constantly whispering in my ear.
After the opening hymns and prayer, announcements began. Marco even interpreted those. He told me a young adult conference was going on during the next day or two and everyone was excited about it. Then it was time for the sacrament and the talks. After the first talk, I noticed something; Marco was doing a lot more whispering than Toby was. I couldn't figure out why. Maybe Toby was a more concise interpreter?
After a while, I concentrated on Marco's interpreting. He never seemed to tire and, from what I could tell, he was a good interpreter. But then, I didn't now Italian, so he could have made up anything and I would have believed whatever he said.
When sacrament meeting ended, the four of us went to Sunday School. Again, Marco interpreted for me and Toby interpreted for Liz. And still, Marco seemed have have much more to say than Toby. In fact, several times, when I glanced over at Liz and Toby, I wondered why Toby wasn't interpreting more.
After Sunday School, Liz and I went to Relief Society where she and I were two of three sisters, the other one being the instructor. All the other Relief Society women were serving in Young Women or Primary. And, to make things even more interesting, our Relief Society teacher wasn't Italian. She was from a totally different country and spoke only her language and a little Italian.
She tried to explain something to Liz (her one semester of Italian was more than I knew) who would then explain it to me. But first, the two of them had to figure out what that non-Italian sister was saying. I think in the entire time we were there, we were only able to figure out the very basics of what the lesson was about. We laughed a lot because it was so funny trying to communicate with each other. By the end of the lesson we hadn't learned much, but we were all friends.
After church was much different from what I was used to. In Utah, we'd gather everyone up and rush home. But here, people lingered, relishing being in each others' company. One family from Africa was particularly friendly and invited all four of us over for an authentic African dinner.
I was giddy with excitement. Africans making me African food? Yes, please! But first, Marco and Toby went off to the side and had a little conference together.
When they came back, they told us Toby wanted to take a trip to Mantova. He had served part of his mission there and Parma was as close as we'd get to it. He wanted to know if one of us would to go with him; Marco hadn't served in Mantova and wanted to stay to eat African food.
Now I had a decision to make. Hmmm, going to visit people I had never met, and reminiscing over long lost missionary days or eating authentic African food with these super friendly people? I was staying in Parma, for sure.
But Liz felt differently. She wanted to see more of Italy, so she wanted to go to Mantova with Toby. I was shocked, "Don't you want to eat all that food?"
"Not really, I want to see Mantova. Don't you want to come too? Mantova sounds a lot more exciting than sitting around, talking to random people. Toby said it's really pretty there."
"But those people just moved here from Africa! I want to hear about Africa so bad." Obviously Liz and I had different opinions of the best way to spend our Sunday evening. I hadn't realized she and I would be parted so much. But, since a trip to Mantova was what she wanted to do, then I wanted it for her. So we decided to spend the rest of the day apart.
Noemi took Liz and Toby took to the train station and Marco and I followed the African family out to the parking lot.
As we walked out the church doors, I scanned the cars parked on the asphalt. Then I looked at the large family ahead of us.
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| LDS church in Parma, Italy. Thanks, google! |
He nodded, "They said they did."
I gestured to all the compact cars, "None of these will fit all of us. Are you sure you understood them right?"
"Maybe they brought two cars to church?"
I looked at the five Africans in front of us. Would they really have brought two cars to church when they could cram into one? They stopped in front of a station wagon and looked back expectantly.
That's what I thought.
Let's talk a little bit about Italians and cars. Seat belts are nice, but optional. And having your own spot in the car is also very optional. But always being buckled was one of the few things my mom had asked me to promise to do at all times. And it looked like these kind people, who were having us over for Sunday dinner last minute, thought we'd be fine with squishing all seven of us in their five-person car.
Fortunately, another member came out at the same time and, hearing our quandary, offered to help transport us to the African's home. Phew, crisis adverted.
It was a long way to their apartment. Which was another cultural lesson learned: many non-Utahns drive long distances to attend church. I've never lived anywhere where the church building was at an un-walkable distance (Even so, I usually I drive. That's right S.P.O.I.L.E.D. over here).
Once we got to their apartment, I enjoyed talking with everyone. They told us why they had left their country and how they hoped for a better life in Italy (many Africans travel to Italy to live; kinda like Mexicans coming to the U.S.) They were loud, colorful, and full of love. I could hardly believe they had invited us, two strangers they had only just met at church, into their home and were going to feed us dinner. But that's how the gospel quickens friendships.
The living room was crammed, but no one seemed to mind. Marco and I were squished together on the couch. We talked together, with different people, and never once did I feel out of place. People bustled in and out of the kitchen. We were told to relax, and soon delicious smells filled the room. Finally, after several hours, dinner was ready and we joined our new friends with stuffing our faces full of food.
And I became a convert of African cuisine. Dear Africa, I need to visit you a.s.a.p.
Finally, after our meal was over, African dad took us back to Noemi's. We thanked him profusely for dinner and he thanked us for joining them.
It was evening and Liz and Toby were supposed to be back before us, but they weren't. We hung out with Noemi and talked about life in Italy. She told us about her calling in church, how difficult things were, and how sometimes it was discouraging to find someone to date.
Marco told her how wonderful she was. I agreed. Then he said, "If I lived here, I'd totally date you!" Noemi looked at him gratefully and I wondered why I felt jealous.
An hour passed, then another. Toby and Liz still hadn't come back. Noemi's parents said they were ready for bed and wanted to lock their front door. They asked when would Toby return? We didn't know. Marco volunteered to stay up for them and lock the door once he came back. I tried to stay up too. But soon sleep became more important and I went to bed. But not before worrying about what had happened to my best friend.
The next morning, I popped out of bed and rushed to get ready. The three of us grabbed some pastries for breakfast (for a culture that doesn't eat much dessert, Italians sure sugar-up the first meal of their day) and went to Perla's to get Liz.
Liz and Toby finally told us what had happened the evening before.
At Mantova, they had visited an old lady Toby used to know. Toby and the woman had talked for a long time. Liz was starving and the woman offered her a tin of cookies. Liz munched those things down all evening, while Toby just talked.
Liz looked over at Toby and said, "Those cookies were good! Toby, why didn't you have any? You'd been complaining during the whole train ride how hungry you were and then you didn't eat anything."
Toby laughed, "I can't believe you ate those things. Those same cookies have been in that container since I was a missionary. I'm wasn't eating stale cookies for dinner."
"Are you serious? You let me eat them? Why didn't you say anything? Gross!" Liz slugged him on the shoulder.
"You seemed so happy eating them, I didn't want to ruin it for you."
Liz rolled her eyes, "Whatever."
A lot had changed in the last 24 hours between Liz and Toby. It was like they were actual friends, with no more we-just-met-but-are-on-vacation-together reserve between them.
Liz finished the story, "Finally, we went back to the train station. We'd spent too long at that lady's house and I was starving." She glared at Toby, "We were running to the train station and Toby kept telling me to run faster or we'd miss our train. We were almost there when the strap of my sandal broke."
Toby started laughing while I looked, horrified, at Liz. She had been wearing flip flops yesterday. A broken flip flop strap makes the shoe impossible to wear.
"I almost broke my foot! But I limped along, trying to keep up with Toby, and he kept hurrying me because our train was about to leave. But then, his sandal strap broke too."
Toby threw his head back and laughed while Marco and I looked at each other in disbelief.
Liz continued, "It was so awful. We finally made it to the station and everyone kept looking at us; two Americans limping along with broken shoes. We'd missed our train and decided to shop for new shoes while waiting for the next train to come. I wasn't going to walk around Italy in bare feet; the streets and sidewalks here are disgusting!"
Toby kept laughing. But Liz didn't think yesterday had been funny at all. She was mad. "Want to know how impossible it is to find an open shoe store in Italy on a Sunday?!"
Marco interrupted, "You mean you found one? I thought every store was closed on Sundays."
"Yeah, most are. We walked passed three closed ones until we finally found an open one. We walked forever. And in broken shoes too! The shoe guy didn't know what to think, with two crazy Americans coming in with broken shoes. But his selection was terrible and they didn't have anything in my size! But we finally found some. Look." She showed us her new sandals. They were black and looked like a cross between hiking and beach sandals; not anything like she'd normally wear. "I had to pay a huge amount for these crappy ones. I hate them; they're so ugly! I planned on buying some cute Italian shoes while we were here, but now I'll go home in these ones. Ugh."
I tried to not laugh. But the idea of Liz and Toby, running around a strange Italian city, in broken shoes, and Liz finally buying those ugly ones, was too funny not to laugh. Marco, Toby, and I busted out laughing. Liz just glared at us.
"But I'm determined to wear them. I've gotta get my money's worth out of these Italian shoes."
And she would. But first, she and I would get separated that day on another adventure.
Part 12
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