Foggy

When I moved to Italy, I traveled with one suitcase. Since I would be living in one of the world's fashion capitals, there was no point in carrying dated American clothing. I also assumed that the weather would be moderate, and therefore, my trusty London Fog raincoat would be the only outerwear I needed.

I did not realize that I had arrived in a city, Venice, in which woman pull out fur coats when the temperature dips below fifty degrees Fahrenheit. It's always freddo in Venice (and all maladies arise from the fegato). The landlady from whom I rented a room—my padrona—was shocked when I suggested a raincoat would get me through the drizzly winter. She therefore arranged for the two of us to travel to Milan so that I could buy a modest Italian wardrobe, including a proper winter coat.

The padrona gave good advice. Although the winter temperatures remained moderate, the dank chill was miserable. It also didn't hurt that the new clothing helped me blend in more easily.

(Sometimes I even blended in when I spoke: because Lithuanian is my first language, I don't have an American accent when I converse in Italian. Most Venetians couldn't place my accent, and they assumed I was ... Finnish.)

Milan, Italy, October 1983. My padrona and I seek out those neighborhoods where the locals shop.