Hofeldt - I Remember Franca

This photo depicts one of my favorite and most meaningful adventures of the trip. While exploring the Accademia in Florence, I lost track of the rest of the Bethel group, and when I left the museum I enjoyed some time simply wandering around by myself in that vibrant city. Without any particular goal in mind, I turned down a series of sidestreets - and happened by chance to stumble across the best cross-cultural experience I could have asked for. I found a tiny shop which was sunk down by half a staircase from street level, and which was miraculously still open at dinner time. From outside, I could see a tiny woman with grey curls, bent over a worktable and absorbed in refurbishing an antique lamp. My curiosity prompted me, and I went in.

 

 

There were wooden shelves lining the walls, filled with restored antiques and handmade bead jewelry; it was a beautiful little shop, and full of treasures. In such a small, intimate space, it was impossible not to strike up some sort of conversation with the tiny Italian woman, as I was barely standing five feet away from her the whole time I was there. I asked, from my limited repertoire of phrases, whether she spoke any English; she laughed good-naturedly and told me that she spoke none at all! But in spite of this, we cobbled together a language of nods, gestures, pantomimes, and smiles between the two of us. She seemed to really enjoy hearing about the trip, and the places our class had visited so far; cities and places have universal names. She managed to convey that she could tell I was excited about the trip, and having the time of my life. I must have stayed in the shop talking to hear for nearly a half an hour, and would have loved to stay longer. I asked her if I could take this photograph of us before I left, because I wanted to remember meeting her.

 

 

I had to leave in order to meet up with my group from Bethel again, and I was already half a block away before I realized that I had never asked for her name, and had never given her mine; we had simply become those instant friends that are made from the best of happenstance. I ran back into the shop and surprised a laugh out of her in my efforts to introduce myself. Her name was Franca; she pointed it out to me on the business card she had given me. And I told her that my name was Michelle - just like the Beatles' song. When I sang a few bars, she recognized it and understood what I had been trying to say, and it made her laugh again. She said to me, in English, "Michelle! Now, I will remember!"

 

Done