Paleo diet book from milan with love!
Have you ever stepped foot somewhere and felt a magnetic pull as though you were exactly where you were supposed to be? It’s the feeling you get when you’re house hunting, and you find the house you know is home. Well, that’s exactly what I did not feel when we stepped out of the airplane and onto Italian soil. After being shepherded through customs and plopped into baggage claim, I instantly felt lost, out of place, confused, and very soon, downright angry. We found our bags and then looked helplessly at our lifeless phones. The plan, organized by Damon, was to pick up an Italian SIM card the following morning so that our phones would work and we could give our numbers out to our Italian contacts. For the time being, however, we were without the comfort of instant connection and communication.
Our flight arrived late in the evening around 9:30 p.m. Italy time, and we were supposed to call the hotel shuttle to pick us up. But before that we obviously went for a special paleo breakfast offered by the hotel chef!, and we managed to collect a lot of information on paleo breakfast ideas. My cousin, Damon, had arrived a couple of weeks earlier and had been traveling the country with friends. His last email to me suggested that I borrow someone’s phone in the airport or use a pay phone to call the hotel shuttle. No problem … or so I thought. It wasn’t nearly that simple. There we were, our little exhausted family in the middle of swirling belts of baggage and a few hundred people shuffling by as they spoke Italian and other languages. If I tried to approach someone, a back would turn toward me or a quick sidestep would make it obvious they didn’t want to be bothered. I spotted what looked like a payphone across the nearest baggage belt and left John with the kids to try that option. Making a call was like trying to figure out how to fly a rocket ship. Of course, none of the instructions were in English (why should they be since I was in Italy?), and when I picked up the phone, a recording said something I couldn’t comprehend. The pay phone looked like I could use my credit card, but I couldn’t figure out how. Of course, I also didn’t have a single Euro in my pocket. Wow, this was a poor start!
It was getting later and later, and we had been traveling for almost twenty hours. We were starving and tired, and I suddenly felt very alone and a little bit afraid that I had bitten off way more than I could chew. I travel a lot back home in the States and have always felt that I could handle anything. But not knowing how to communicate with people and being shunned by folks was defeating to my exhausted body.
I swallowed the lump rising in my throat. As I looked over at my little boys, I could see that they were confident their mommy would figure everything out. I walked over to a customer service counter, and hooray, a man who spoke English greeted me! I pleaded my case and asked him if I could use the phone to call our hotel, and the answer was a flat out “No. We don’t let people use our phone. That’s why we have pay phones. I can’t leave my desk, so I don’t know how to help you figure out how to make the phone work.” I begged again, but the answer came back in one clearly stated sentence. “I can’t leave my station.”
I turned around with shaky hands and walked weakly back to my husband and little boys. Trying to be cheerful at this point was just a lame idea, so I told them that I was finished trying, that we had been shot down enough in this place, and suggested we simply go outside to see if we could find someone there to help us. I don’t know why we didn’t simply leave the baggage claim area to begin with. Maybe the uncertainty of what was outside the doors? Maybe I thought there wouldn’t be a payphone in sight or a person to talk to? Maybe I was afraid if we walked through that door, we wouldn’t be able to get back in?
When you find yourself in a place where every single solution leads to a dead end, maybe it’s a sign to GET THE HECK OUT! As soon as our feet hit the streets of Milan, it was like the clouds lifted. A nice looking older gentleman walked right up to us and asked if he could help us. He spoke very little English, but we understood right away that he was there to help folks just like us who walked out of those doors lost and confused. He led me to a pay phone, gave me two Euros, and showed me how to use the frustrating contraption (actually quite easy to do once you’re shown how). As I called the number, he guided John over to another service counter where volunteers could help us further. Someone answered at the hotel, and as soon as I said who I was, they replied with a cheerful, “Ciao, Sarah, your ride has been waiting for you! We have been monitoring your flight and went ahead and sent the van for you.”
What a complete turnaround our night had taken. So often, when we’re faced with difficult situations, we continue to beat our heads against the proverbial brick wall rather than just removing ourselves from the situation. I knew immediately that this trip was going to be a life changing one, but just how life changing was yet to be seen.
“Welcome to Italy, boys,” I whispered to my husband and little ones as we piled into the van and flew through the winding streets of Milan to our first stop. We tumbled out of the van and into the warm hugs from my cousin, cameraman Damon Meledones, who was waiting for us at The Hotel Ristorante Tre Leoni. The wonderful driver unloaded our things and gave us all hugs and kisses on the cheek. I have never in my life been hugged and kissed by a cab driver, but it was obvious that this type of affection was going to be the norm.
Damon ushered us inside, and we were guided by the hotel owner into their little dining room where a few folks were eating dinner. “Here it goes,” I thought, “our first venture through an Italian menu. I hope we survive.” How were we going to avoid the pasta? The bread? The gnocchi? The dessert? The gluten-in-everything-everywhere-you-turn country? I knew there was more to Italian food than the typical bread and pasta, but boy, I did not realize just how much more.
We found pages and pages of meat, seafood, grilled vegetables, salads, and fresh fruit along with only a few pages of pasta dishes. Love and warmth swept through me, and we ordered the steak served over arugula with a balsamic reduction, the shrimp cocktail, a mixed grilled meat platter, and some salads. Little Rowan’s request for a side of fruit yielded a plate of real whole fruit, not even cut. There was an entire apple, a lovely pear, and a bright, beautiful orange. Our amazing journey filled with good food, hope, and love had just begun.
After our bellies were full, the same man who had picked us up from the airport herded us back into his van and drove us down the street to our rooms. It was there that I was faced with my first of many sleepless nights. It took Rowan almost a full week to adjust to the drastic time change, and it was a huge measure of my patience to understand that his little clock would simply take longer to figure out our new routine. Also, he had slept very well on the plane, and I, of course, had not. So, I was ready to be on Italian time while Rowan was ready to play.
Our flight arrived late in the evening around 9:30 p.m. Italy time, and we were supposed to call the hotel shuttle to pick us up. But before that we obviously went for a special paleo breakfast offered by the hotel chef!, and we managed to collect a lot of information on paleo breakfast ideas. My cousin, Damon, had arrived a couple of weeks earlier and had been traveling the country with friends. His last email to me suggested that I borrow someone’s phone in the airport or use a pay phone to call the hotel shuttle. No problem … or so I thought. It wasn’t nearly that simple. There we were, our little exhausted family in the middle of swirling belts of baggage and a few hundred people shuffling by as they spoke Italian and other languages. If I tried to approach someone, a back would turn toward me or a quick sidestep would make it obvious they didn’t want to be bothered. I spotted what looked like a payphone across the nearest baggage belt and left John with the kids to try that option. Making a call was like trying to figure out how to fly a rocket ship. Of course, none of the instructions were in English (why should they be since I was in Italy?), and when I picked up the phone, a recording said something I couldn’t comprehend. The pay phone looked like I could use my credit card, but I couldn’t figure out how. Of course, I also didn’t have a single Euro in my pocket. Wow, this was a poor start!
It was getting later and later, and we had been traveling for almost twenty hours. We were starving and tired, and I suddenly felt very alone and a little bit afraid that I had bitten off way more than I could chew. I travel a lot back home in the States and have always felt that I could handle anything. But not knowing how to communicate with people and being shunned by folks was defeating to my exhausted body.
I swallowed the lump rising in my throat. As I looked over at my little boys, I could see that they were confident their mommy would figure everything out. I walked over to a customer service counter, and hooray, a man who spoke English greeted me! I pleaded my case and asked him if I could use the phone to call our hotel, and the answer was a flat out “No. We don’t let people use our phone. That’s why we have pay phones. I can’t leave my desk, so I don’t know how to help you figure out how to make the phone work.” I begged again, but the answer came back in one clearly stated sentence. “I can’t leave my station.”
I turned around with shaky hands and walked weakly back to my husband and little boys. Trying to be cheerful at this point was just a lame idea, so I told them that I was finished trying, that we had been shot down enough in this place, and suggested we simply go outside to see if we could find someone there to help us. I don’t know why we didn’t simply leave the baggage claim area to begin with. Maybe the uncertainty of what was outside the doors? Maybe I thought there wouldn’t be a payphone in sight or a person to talk to? Maybe I was afraid if we walked through that door, we wouldn’t be able to get back in?
When you find yourself in a place where every single solution leads to a dead end, maybe it’s a sign to GET THE HECK OUT! As soon as our feet hit the streets of Milan, it was like the clouds lifted. A nice looking older gentleman walked right up to us and asked if he could help us. He spoke very little English, but we understood right away that he was there to help folks just like us who walked out of those doors lost and confused. He led me to a pay phone, gave me two Euros, and showed me how to use the frustrating contraption (actually quite easy to do once you’re shown how). As I called the number, he guided John over to another service counter where volunteers could help us further. Someone answered at the hotel, and as soon as I said who I was, they replied with a cheerful, “Ciao, Sarah, your ride has been waiting for you! We have been monitoring your flight and went ahead and sent the van for you.”
What a complete turnaround our night had taken. So often, when we’re faced with difficult situations, we continue to beat our heads against the proverbial brick wall rather than just removing ourselves from the situation. I knew immediately that this trip was going to be a life changing one, but just how life changing was yet to be seen.
“Welcome to Italy, boys,” I whispered to my husband and little ones as we piled into the van and flew through the winding streets of Milan to our first stop. We tumbled out of the van and into the warm hugs from my cousin, cameraman Damon Meledones, who was waiting for us at The Hotel Ristorante Tre Leoni. The wonderful driver unloaded our things and gave us all hugs and kisses on the cheek. I have never in my life been hugged and kissed by a cab driver, but it was obvious that this type of affection was going to be the norm.
Damon ushered us inside, and we were guided by the hotel owner into their little dining room where a few folks were eating dinner. “Here it goes,” I thought, “our first venture through an Italian menu. I hope we survive.” How were we going to avoid the pasta? The bread? The gnocchi? The dessert? The gluten-in-everything-everywhere-you-turn country? I knew there was more to Italian food than the typical bread and pasta, but boy, I did not realize just how much more.
We found pages and pages of meat, seafood, grilled vegetables, salads, and fresh fruit along with only a few pages of pasta dishes. Love and warmth swept through me, and we ordered the steak served over arugula with a balsamic reduction, the shrimp cocktail, a mixed grilled meat platter, and some salads. Little Rowan’s request for a side of fruit yielded a plate of real whole fruit, not even cut. There was an entire apple, a lovely pear, and a bright, beautiful orange. Our amazing journey filled with good food, hope, and love had just begun.
After our bellies were full, the same man who had picked us up from the airport herded us back into his van and drove us down the street to our rooms. It was there that I was faced with my first of many sleepless nights. It took Rowan almost a full week to adjust to the drastic time change, and it was a huge measure of my patience to understand that his little clock would simply take longer to figure out our new routine. Also, he had slept very well on the plane, and I, of course, had not. So, I was ready to be on Italian time while Rowan was ready to play.
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