The au pair diaries - part 1

I needed a change and all roads lead to Rome, right?

My haphazard move to Rome came at a time in my life some would call the quarter-life crisis. I was 26, working at a restaurant in Napa Valley. I felt like a shell of myself, there was no joy or pleasure, just a rigorous schedule of work and grocery shopping. During the rainy month of November, I felt inspired to rewrite the narrative. It was a mix of emotions possibly fueled by the horrors of working Sunday brunch or the fact that the French guy I was dating told me he was moving away. Either way, I needed a change, and all roads lead to Rome, right?

I prepared for my move like any responsible adult would do. I watched Under the Tuscan Sun, and called a Junk-removal company to pick up my belongings that would not fit in my car. My mattress, my desk, dresser and most of my clothes. I figured my American fashion choices, even at their best, would be no match for the elite style sense of Italians. I bought one large winter coat and a new pair of white sneakers which I hoped would help me blend in with the locals for the first few weeks, while I figured it all out.

I don’t know if I would recommend the au pair route to young women looking for a chance to to live and work abroad. It takes a certain type of person to volunteer for something so unofficial. When the pandemic began to unfold in Italy, two months into my stay, there was no warning or advice about what to do or where to go from some governing entity. I had met a group of study abroad students at the coffee shop near my language school one day, and we had added each other of Instagram with the the hopes of grabbing a drink together in the future. It was through their stories and posts about their study abroad programs being canceled, that I found out that Americans living/working/volunteering abroad were being advised to return home. It wasn’t until my Dad called me on March 1st, and suggested I consider coming home myself. I had a flight booked for April 9th, any time after that I would be overstaying my tourist visa. My options were limited. I could stay and endure whatever was coming, at this point there was talk of the kid’s school being cancelled until further notice. I thought about asking The Boyfriend if I could stay with him if things got worse, but he lived in a tiny flat with two other roomates. My staying was not exactly fair to anyone at that point. Not to mention we all had NO idea what the pandemic meant for the world. I decided to book a last minute flight home to California while standing in the alley in Trastevere. The guy who often walked around selling bracelets came up to me as I was about to click purhcase, and nudged his bracelet ridden arm into my space. Filled with emotions and fear I looked at him and in loud English firmly said “Not today, man, not today!” as if he could comprehend my hystarics. It was awful. When I look back on it all, being forced to leave Rome at the height of happiness, is still one the most traumatic experiences I have ever endured. One I have not quite healed from.

I have written on many different occasions about my struggle with expat-content, specifically the Americans in Italy influencer culture that has grown overwhelmingly popular over the past three years. I think back to the weird space in time before Instagram and Tik-tok became the advertisement heavy media channels they are today. Four years ago, sharing photos on my Instagram stories was my way of telling my mom and my best friends what I was up to, as many of them did not download WhatsApp. The content I see now, and the content that has awarded people with book deals, job offers and brand partnerships is the content I lived and breathed before the pandemic turned the world upside down, and then again after the pandemic subsided (stay tuned for Part 2 of the Au Pair Diaries). Again, I recognize my jealousy. My life would look a lot different now if I had started posting for the public about my daily trips to the grocery store, my walks through Piazza del Popolo, my beers and wines tasted at various bars around the city, and my adventures with friends I met at language school. For the privacy of my host family, the kids and their home, I did not post photos of us playing Jenga, and calcio in the living room, or watching Harry Potter together. The digital evidence of The Boyfriend and our experiences together in Rome are long deleted, unfortunately. It’s a shame because our time together sparked an passion for the wine and craft beer scene in Rome that has effectively changed my life.

I scanned through my archives of stories on my Instagram and photos in my camera roll from 2020 just for this newsletter. Eccoci qua - here is Part 1 of The Au Pair Diaries…

From the Journal

I woke up at 6:45 am to a pitch black room. These blackout shades were no joke. The bright white light of my phone stings my eyes while my alarm gently hummed. A few days ago, my host parents suggested that I wake up a bit earlier than the children and get the kitchen ready for breakfast. I had almost forgot I was there to work. That meant slipping on some appropriate-to-wear-in-the-common-area pajamas over my actual pajamas. This gesture did not stop the host dad from wearing nothing but his underwear out in the kitchen. I opened all the blinds in the kitchen, filled the espresso machine with water for Mom, Dad and pulled the glass containers filled with various biscotti out of the pantry for the kids to choose from. European breakfast has always confused me, and at the risk of sounding like a glutinous American, frustrated me. A big breakfast was always a staple in my household, and still is, once a week we would even make breakfast for dinner due to the surplus of breakfast food in the fridge. I have learned the hard way that breakfast in Europe usually consists of some sort of light pastry, biscotti or even a slice of dessert from the night before. Watching the kids eat an Italian-version of a twinkie every morning for the first couple days was pretty shocking. But when I went to the grocery store for the first time, it all made sense. Entire aisles were dedicated to biscotti which I have learned is a staple pairing to espresso at any time of day. Nevertheless, I set the jars full of assorted cookies on the table, with a half liter of milk, three plastic glasses and three personalized placemats. I took the Michelin-star restaurant service approach to this nanny gig. Set up your station, give your guests everything they could possibly want; anticipate their needs. After my mise were en place, I would start my own breakfast. While the automatic espresso machine is amazingly convenient, there was something comforting and familiar about making my own coffee in the morning. While I am all for respecting other cultures, cookies were not enough to sustain me throughout the duration of the morning. I bought myself some yogurt, fruit and granola and prepared a more substantial meal for myself while I waited for the kids to wake up. It’s true what they say, you hear kids before you see them and like clockwork every morning at 7:10am the kids footsteps running down the hall would announce their arrival. 

From the Camera Roll

Between home, language school, and The Boyfriend’s apartment, I often biked 8-10 miles per day. And I did it all with a beach cruiser with no gears. As an experienced bike rider, this was not ideal, but it was prefered to walking. Which I also did, from time to time. It took me a few weeks to figure out the bus system and how to use it, not to mention the places I frequented were easier to reach a piedi, so it was just me and this beach cruiser against the world for a while. Unfortunately, Rome is a big city and the chances of getting a bike stolen is very high. So here’s me packing the bike in the tiny elevator, to store it in the apartment, 5 stories up. What happened if the elevator was broken? You guessed, it I would have to carry it up those 5 flights. I ran track in college, but I will admit there is no better workout than owning a bike in Rome. My glutes had never looked better.

Thursday’s were my one night “off” during the week, as the kids spent the night at their grandparent’s house. I took it as a opportunity to explore the city at night, hopefully when the other young people were out. During the day, I would take long walks through the center, and go out to lunch with my language school friends, but I was desperate for little nightlife. However, I was nervous about everything I didn’t know-which was everything. I figured I would start small, one neighborhood at time. Monti was my first destination. I have no idea what the bartender poured me, but of course, it didn’t matter, it was delicious. I have learned through years of solo travel, that you never reveal any details about yourself, where you are staying, why you are there, etc. So when an older Austrian man sparked a conversation with me (do men think a woman sitting alone needs company?) I made up an entirely new identity for myself. I think I told him I was a track and field athlete for an international team traveling around Europe.

My time in Rome would not have been as magical as it was if it weren’t for Hana. I met her on the first day of attending language class and we hit it off immediately. As all good friendships start with coffee, our daily routine after class often included coffee, lunch, pizza and gelato, and she reminded me that it was okay to indulge in the simple pleasures that Rome had to offer. We swapped dating/life stories while drinking spritz in the alley of Trastevere, ate gelato on the steps in the Piazza di Santa Maria, and took silly photos together at the Trevi, the Colosseo.

Another Thursday night off. The Boyfriend offered to make me dinner at his apartment. While the bolognese was stewing, we stopped in to the pub across the street. A pub that years later I still frequent because it’s a solid dive bar with craft beer on draft, and right next to my favorite pizzeria in Rome.

I was shocked at how similar the family dynamics and routine of my kids were to my own growing up. Kids argued with me and their parents about finishing their homework and brushing their teeth before bed. “Maaaa daaaaiii” they would exclaim. We read Harry Potter together, and watched the same Disney movies as I did growing up. At this time, they were going through their own Harry Potter journey. After dinner, we would watch Harry Potter in Italian (with English subtitles for my benefit) even though I knew those movies all too well. I wondered about the actors that voiced over the original characters? Were the Italian actors cast when they were 9 and 10 years old and continue as the voices of the characters until the very end? Did their voices mature authentically as the original characters did? I asked The Boyfriend, he told that yes, usually Italian actors were cast as the same voice as the original actor for all of their movies. He said the actor who was the official Italian voice of Jim Carrey was very good.

If you are new here, welcome! I usually write about sustainabilty in the wine, beer and food space, but after writing Going through my Rolodex of life in Rome, a few weeks ago, I got inspired to continue to write about life in Rome, from a non-influencing point of view.

More stories to come, writing about the past is exhausting, but I hope eventually all of this work can be compiled in a book one day so I guess it’s not all for nothing?