essay 3 workshop

You don’t appreciate your home until you go somewhere completely foreign. Literally, foreign. Italy was one of the best trips of my life; I’d go back in a heartbeat, but a difficult language, a different culture, can be extremely overwhelming. Staying with my aunt in the northern town known as Trieste, was a great experience. I got to learn what it’s like living in an Italian household and learned about where my family came from. Of course the food was one for the books.

Everyday we did something different, whether we went to the beach, which was man made and concrete, or a castle of park.I surprisingly fit right in with my blonde hair and green eyes. Since my family lives so up north, the fairer complexion and light hair was common. Until I spoke, I was just another person. Once I spoke though, I was treated completely different. They either tried to scam me because I was American or they were rude. When shopping one day I actually had a sales lady roll her eyes at me trying to speak italian. I understand it was more difficult for me to fit in because we weren't in a tourist area. But with a grandmother who spoke both English and Italian at the same time and an aunt who didn't speak English at all, it was lonely at some points.

One a beautiful day we went to go visit the local castle, Castello Miramare.Yeah, you heard me right, the local castle. I’ve always seen pictures growing up and now i was actually going. I couldn't contain my excitement and next to the castle was an old and beautiful church where the pictures do not do it justice. As we dressed for the hot summer day, I didn’t think twice that wearing shorts would be an issue. I wanted to be comfortable in the 85 degree weather.

The castle was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. It was pearl white and had the old rustic look and feel. The gardens were my favorite. I've never seen such vibrant colors, even the trees and grass were the most perfect colors. The castle was also along the crystal blue ocean. It started out a great day. The communication barriers did not matter between me and my aunt and no one cared that I was American. The church was our next stop and I was even more excited.

The church was done past the castle, still along the ocean. The Trieste Cathedral was something I grew dreaming about going too. This was my grandparent’s church, and despite being built in the 6th century, it was still breathtaking. It had high ceils covered in paintings and large ancient chandeliers. large pillars lined the aisles and you could just stare for hours looking at each tiny detail it took to make this church as beautiful as it was.