Our love story: Part 10

I had heard about some kind of young single adult extravaganza going on from Noemi and Perla. But I hadn't given much attention to it. Although my traveling buddies and I were young single adults, we obviously weren't Italians. So I didn't think any of the activities applied to us.

I was wrong.

Front of a postcard I sent to my family. See the drawn arrow? That's the street we walked down.

This young single adult thing was a big, I mean huge, deal.

In Utah, there are young single adult wards everywhere. That's not too surprising considering the plethora of LDS people here and also all the college campuses. But Italy was a totally different story.

The Italian young single adults were super tight and connected--and this was before Facebook. They looked forward to and planned their lives around these activities. They'd come from long distances to hang out with one another. So, when the young single adult weekend was announced, it was a big deal.

One of the activities was going caving. That day. And Liz wanted to go. And, surprise, I didn't.

It's not that I'm anti-cave. I don't have claustrophobia or caveaphobia (okay, so that's technically not a word, but you get what I mean) or anything like that. I'd been through caves and they kind of all seemed alike to me (no offense to all you caving enthusiasts). Seeing inside a dark cave wasn't appealing to me. I wanted to see countrysides, cobblestone streets, and famous landmarks. Not a cave.

But Liz and Toby thought a cave would be cool.

Marco didn't really seem to care (or maybe he just wanted to be wherever I was?). So he figured out a way to keep everyone happy. It turned out that the road to the cave went through Verona, Italy. So Marco decided he and I would stop off in Verona, and Liz and Toby could continue on to caving adventures.

The back of the postcard I sent my family, complete with many exclamation points.

Okay, does anyone know what Verona is famous for? Hmmm?

That's right; Romeo and Juliet. Juliet's house is in Verona. Or, the Italians told everyone that's where Juliet's house was. But anyway, it's there, complete with her balcony and a statue of her in the courtyard.

I was excited to see it.

But first we had to get there.

We went with Noemi and Perla to rendezvous with all the other YSAs and wow, there were a lot of them. People were kissing cheeks left and right. Once they found out who we were, they virtually ignored us. They hadn't gathered to see Americans who were only in town for the weekend; they wanted to see their friends in the gospel. For many of them, this would be the only time they'd be together. It was pretty incredible to watch.

For all you non-LDS people reading this story, let me explain why the YSA gathering was so huge.

LDS people want to get married in the temple (marriage in temple = still married after death). But, in order to get married in the temple, both parties need to be LDS. And how do you marry someone who is LDS (sorry, no arranged marriages in this religion)? You have to meet them. So, bingo, YSA gatherings are not just great for friendships, they are also great places to hopefully meet future eternal companions. Which is probably one of the reasons we were ignored. :) But I was totally cool with that. After all, I was already traveling with that cute Marco guy.

Ahem, anyway.

We all squished into cars. And yes, those Italians did it again; seat belts were optional for most people. Except me. I was still the overly cautious American who wanted to be in a seat belt. Remember, I had made a promise to my mom. Not only that, but Marco had made our group rather seat belt paranoid.

It turns out that when Marco was in high school, he hung out for the summer with his Italian grandparents in Italy. His grandfather was a tow truck driver who specialized in towing away wrecked vehicles. Marco went on many rides with him. Not only did he see first-hand just how crazy Italian car accidents could get, but there were a few times when they arrived at the scene before the police or ambulances did. As in, they were there with the dead bodies.

Sad, yuck, and gross. I was determined to my seat belt.

Marco and I ended up in one car with a bunch of Italians talking so fast that I wondered if they'd pass out from lack of air. Liz and Toby ended up in another car. However, both cars went on the same winding, narrow mountain road. And it was scary. All those accident Marco had told me played over and over again in my mind. I was positive my mom would receive to get an emergency phone call, explaining that her American daughter was dead (but still in her seat belt!) at the bottom of some canyon.

You know how, when you're traveling on a one lane in each direction road and the dividing line is solid? Yeah, that means don't pass the slow car in front of you. Right? Well in Italy all the drivers ignore those driving rules. They think the lines are painted there by the overly cautious.

I cannot even remember how many times our driver passed cars on windy roads, with sheer cliffs on the sides of us, while careening around corners. As in, there was no way that driver could have known if an oncoming car was coming the other way. I was sure we were destined for a head-on collision.

During the ride, Marco asked why I was so quiet. At first I told him it was because I was the only non-Italian speaker in the car. He reminded me that most of the others spoke English. Then I admitted that I was too scared to string together a coherent thought.

He laughed, "So you think we're going to run into someone or fall off the cliff?"

"Basically."

He took one look at my face and realized I wasn't joking. Then he turned to the driver and said something in Italian. For the next several minutes, we went slower. But then the driver forgot and went back to his normal Italian driving style. So I just closed my eyes for the rest of the trip. I preferred to not view my imminent death.

Miraculously, all the cars made it off the mountain and into Verona. As they went to drop the two of us off, everyone in the car begged us to stay. Didn't we want to continue hanging out with them and see the magnificent cave?

Um, no. I needed out of that car.

Fortunately, Marco took pity on me and said I was dying to see Verona. Perla's brother, Giglio, also got out with us; he had volunteered to be our tour guide.

Best way to see a country/city = go with a native.

We walked around Verona for a while and made our way to Juliet's house. I was surprised when I saw it. One minute we were walking through a narrow alley, then we entered a door into a courtyard. And suddenly, there it was, Juliet's house. Her balcony and a life-sized statue of her.

Front of postcard I sent to my seven and five-year-old sisters.

The courtyard was tiny and packed full of tourists. Everyone was crowded around the Juliet statue. They all wanted to do the same thing: place their hand on Juliet's breast. And it was clear this group wasn't the first ones to take advantage of Juliet. One breast was several shades lighter than the other.

I looked aghast at everyone. Marco and Giulio saw my face and busted out laughing.

"It's considered good luck," Marco explained.

"Good luck? To practically fondle a statue? That's weird."

Marco and Giglio agreed that it was rather strange but, nevertheless, that was the tradition.

Sister postcard from Verona. With a redacted address. :)

Marco smiled and said, "You should go do it too."

"Me? No way! If you want to see someone do it, do it yourself."

"Nah, I've been to Verona plenty of times. But this is your first time. Do it. C'mon."

"In front of all those people?" That would be so embarrassing.

Marco gestured to the hundred people surrounding us, "Everyone else is. I know you want to. Just do it. It's good luck."

And whether I did or not will remain a mystery. Until next week.

Part 11