J
Jennifer Stevens
Guest
Snowflakes the size of golf balls are falling outside the windows, and Luke, Charlie and I are huddled on the couch in front of the electric radiator. It’s been a month since we moved into our Abruzzo apartment, and the best decision I’ve made is buying this portable radiator. That, and the dehumidifier.
It was September when we made an offer on this place: a two-bedroom, two-bath apartment in the hill town of Citta Sant’Angelo, overlooking vineyards and the Adriatic Sea. It was our second viewing and the windows and patio doors were open—a warm breeze encircling us as we imagined what it would be like to live here.
Things are a bit different now, in early February—the mountains outside our windows white instead of green. The tiles beneath my feet have turned cold, and the sun stays hidden for much of the day. But the town remains largely the same.
Most mornings, the three of us walk up the hill for cappuccini and cornetti, then shop for lunch and dinner. A few doors down is a fruit and vegetable market where the owner carefully selects our produce (you can’t touch it yourself!) and helps us with our Italian pronunciation. Next, the bakery for some freshly made focaccia, then the pasta shop where nonnas roll and cut gnocchi to order. Our last stop is always at the alimentari to pick up amaretti cookies and a bottle of wine. A young man named Fabio works behind the counter and feeds Charlie leftover scraps of mortadella and pecorino cheese.
In some ways, it’s like a dream; but others, it’s a heavy dose of reality. We are no longer tourists. We don’t speak much Italian. We’ve found mold in the corners of the bathrooms and have spent days emptying the dehumidifier trying to remove the “damp” from the walls. The boiler catches when it overheats, and we’re petrified to leave the gas radiators on due to the high cost of utilities.
But these things can be fixed (minus the high utilities, but we have plans for solar panels down the line). What can’t, unfortunately, is the fact that we can only stay here for 90 days at a time.
Luke enjoying one of the many gadgets left behind by the previous owner.
I’ve lived in a lot of places over the last 13 years, but rarely felt as homesick as I have the past seven months. This is mostly because as an international teacher, I was not only provided with a steady job and apartment, but also a community of expats who instantly became friends and extended family members (Related Post: Insights on Living Abroad).
Since Luke and I left Bucharest in July, it’s been pretty much just the two of us and Charlie—navigating new countries, new languages, new job opportunities, and all the complexities that come with hosting all your worldly possessions in a 2010 Dacia Logan. We’ve felt incredibly privileged to be able to live so freely and hit the “reset” button after two long years of pandemic teaching, but it hasn’t been easy.
For those who don’t know, Luke is from Australia and I’m from Florida (pretty much as far apart from one another as you can get). We met in China and have been living in Romania for the last five years. The concept of “home” is blurry and complicated—made even more complicated by rising housing prices and inflation in our home countries.
Longing for some sense of permanence (and a place to store our belongings), Italy seemed like the best choice: halfway between the U.S. and Oz with affordable homes and a relatively low cost of living…plus all the pasta, pizza, and wine we could ever want.
The only problem: we can’t get visas. So Italy can only be “home” for less than 180 days a year.
Our village: Citta Sant’Angelo on Market Day.
In March of 2022, a “digital nomad visa” was approved in Italy—expected to become available by years-end. Unfortunately, this didn’t happen; and due to a change in government, it likely won’t until at least 2024.
For those who haven’t heard the term, a “digital nomad” is a person who works remotely while traveling the world—making their “home” anywhere that accepts their passport for weeks or months at a time and guarantees a strong WiFi signal. This lifestyle has become increasingly popular since the pandemic started, with more than 50 countries currently offering some sort of visa scheme for foreigners earning foreign income.
While Luke and I are actually trying to end our nomadic lives, this type of visa is our best bet for living in Italy long-term. So until it’s available, we’ll just focus on building our businesses (Luke as a YouTuber/online instructor and me as a writer) and taking things one day at a time—making sure to stop and enjoy all the frustrations and pleasures along the way.
The post A Letter From Abruzzo appeared first on Adventurous Appetite.
<p>Snowflakes the size of golf balls are falling outside the windows, and Luke, Charlie and I are huddled on the couch in front of the electric radiator. It’s been a month since we moved into our Abruzzo apartment, and the best decision I’ve made is...</p>
<p>The post <a href="https://adventurousappetite.com/a-letter-from-abruzzo/">A Letter From Abruzzo</a> appeared first on <a href="https://adventurousappetite.com">Adventurous Appetite</a>.</p>
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It was September when we made an offer on this place: a two-bedroom, two-bath apartment in the hill town of Citta Sant’Angelo, overlooking vineyards and the Adriatic Sea. It was our second viewing and the windows and patio doors were open—a warm breeze encircling us as we imagined what it would be like to live here.
Things are a bit different now, in early February—the mountains outside our windows white instead of green. The tiles beneath my feet have turned cold, and the sun stays hidden for much of the day. But the town remains largely the same.
Most mornings, the three of us walk up the hill for cappuccini and cornetti, then shop for lunch and dinner. A few doors down is a fruit and vegetable market where the owner carefully selects our produce (you can’t touch it yourself!) and helps us with our Italian pronunciation. Next, the bakery for some freshly made focaccia, then the pasta shop where nonnas roll and cut gnocchi to order. Our last stop is always at the alimentari to pick up amaretti cookies and a bottle of wine. A young man named Fabio works behind the counter and feeds Charlie leftover scraps of mortadella and pecorino cheese.
In some ways, it’s like a dream; but others, it’s a heavy dose of reality. We are no longer tourists. We don’t speak much Italian. We’ve found mold in the corners of the bathrooms and have spent days emptying the dehumidifier trying to remove the “damp” from the walls. The boiler catches when it overheats, and we’re petrified to leave the gas radiators on due to the high cost of utilities.
But these things can be fixed (minus the high utilities, but we have plans for solar panels down the line). What can’t, unfortunately, is the fact that we can only stay here for 90 days at a time.
So, Where is Home?
Luke enjoying one of the many gadgets left behind by the previous owner.
I’ve lived in a lot of places over the last 13 years, but rarely felt as homesick as I have the past seven months. This is mostly because as an international teacher, I was not only provided with a steady job and apartment, but also a community of expats who instantly became friends and extended family members (Related Post: Insights on Living Abroad).
Since Luke and I left Bucharest in July, it’s been pretty much just the two of us and Charlie—navigating new countries, new languages, new job opportunities, and all the complexities that come with hosting all your worldly possessions in a 2010 Dacia Logan. We’ve felt incredibly privileged to be able to live so freely and hit the “reset” button after two long years of pandemic teaching, but it hasn’t been easy.
For those who don’t know, Luke is from Australia and I’m from Florida (pretty much as far apart from one another as you can get). We met in China and have been living in Romania for the last five years. The concept of “home” is blurry and complicated—made even more complicated by rising housing prices and inflation in our home countries.
Longing for some sense of permanence (and a place to store our belongings), Italy seemed like the best choice: halfway between the U.S. and Oz with affordable homes and a relatively low cost of living…plus all the pasta, pizza, and wine we could ever want.
The only problem: we can’t get visas. So Italy can only be “home” for less than 180 days a year.
In Limbo
Our village: Citta Sant’Angelo on Market Day.
In March of 2022, a “digital nomad visa” was approved in Italy—expected to become available by years-end. Unfortunately, this didn’t happen; and due to a change in government, it likely won’t until at least 2024.
For those who haven’t heard the term, a “digital nomad” is a person who works remotely while traveling the world—making their “home” anywhere that accepts their passport for weeks or months at a time and guarantees a strong WiFi signal. This lifestyle has become increasingly popular since the pandemic started, with more than 50 countries currently offering some sort of visa scheme for foreigners earning foreign income.
While Luke and I are actually trying to end our nomadic lives, this type of visa is our best bet for living in Italy long-term. So until it’s available, we’ll just focus on building our businesses (Luke as a YouTuber/online instructor and me as a writer) and taking things one day at a time—making sure to stop and enjoy all the frustrations and pleasures along the way.
The post A Letter From Abruzzo appeared first on Adventurous Appetite.
<p>Snowflakes the size of golf balls are falling outside the windows, and Luke, Charlie and I are huddled on the couch in front of the electric radiator. It’s been a month since we moved into our Abruzzo apartment, and the best decision I’ve made is...</p>
<p>The post <a href="https://adventurousappetite.com/a-letter-from-abruzzo/">A Letter From Abruzzo</a> appeared first on <a href="https://adventurousappetite.com">Adventurous Appetite</a>.</p>
Continue reading...