Easter in Helsinki

Aunt Päivi and me

I'm a little late getting these photos out, but better late than never!  This year when I woke up at 6am on Easter morning to warm rays from a sun already quite high in the sky, I stayed in bed for a few minutes, thinking about all my Easter memories from years past. It's been quite a while since I dyed eggs with my brothers and sisters, or unwrapped one of the giant Easter baskets my Grambo always makes for us.  Laden with creme-filled chocolate eggs and big chocolate bunnies, jelly beans, tangerines, and little toys, I remember rounding up all the colored eggs we could find and then munching on chocolate to my heart's content.  That was, of course, after eating chocolate-covered donuts for breakfast.  But my parents were great about it and let us take in all the sugar we wanted on Easter.

In 2007 I was living in Belgium and went on Easter vacation with my host family to Montpellier in southern France. My parents came and met us there, and then I left with them on what became an epic European road trip.  The three of us spent Easter Sunday in downtown Florence -- a day I'll never forget!  I wish I had the pictures with me now so I could give you a taste of the festive mayhem that unfolded in the Piazza del Duomo.   Think white bulls decked out in ribbons and flowery wreaths; a giant wooden hutch that spewed smoke, fireworks and white doves when the doors opened; every inch of the piazza covered with people and then even more hanging out of windows and off buildings surrounding the square; brightly colored medieval costumes on jolly, dancing, singing, Italian men; a midget with an accordion who kissed my mom and me when I put a coin in his cup; going back at night to my favorite gelato dealer for what would be my fifth and final serving for the day....now THAT was an Easter to behold.

I dream of Italy! (every night)

I've been dreaming of Italy all night long for over a week now. 


I see myself walking along a gravel path on the outskirts of Florence, passing low, dilapidating stone buildings whose roofs have been permeated, and completely replaced in some cases, by deep green vines.  

All the sudden I'm back in the little castle-town of San Gimignano, buying my favorite berry-flavored gelato from one of the innumerable caffes lining the narrow streets of the completely walled city. 

In my dreams I'm in the middle of Florence on Easter Sunday again, wrapped around some scaffolding several feet above the crowd, just taking it all in.  I catch just bits and pieces of passionately hurried conversations as more and more people crowd into the Piazzo del Duomo to see the fireworks and white doves released in front of the cathedral doors.  I am amazed at the size of the crowd, and the fact that most of them aren't tourists, but authentic Florentines who've come to join in one of the most celebrated traditions of the Catholic tradition.  

The sounds and smells are almost enough to fool me.  I wake up several times during the night, surprised and somewhat disappointed to find myself nine time zones away from Florence.  But it's only a matter of time before I'm whisked away once again into my Italian dreamland.  


This time I've landed in Pisa, and I'm lying in a large field looking up at that beautiful Leaning Tower, every so often closing my eyes as my entire body is cushioned by the softest green newly-sprouted grass I've ever felt.  A smile spreads slowly across my face when I imagine recreating the Leaning Tower of Pisa as my wedding cake someday.  

And then I'm back in Florence, window shopping with my mom as we amble over the old and famous Ponte Vecchio which connects the two ends of the downtown's main street. 

We're just a few blocks west of the Piazza del Duomo, which lies on the same street, just past the Piazza della Signoria where Michelangelo's David stands tall and proud.  This is just a replica, however; the original is preserved inside the Galleria dell'Accademia, also in Florence.

I persuade mom and dad that another scoop of gelato would really be in our best interest, making this the third consecutive day that I have consumed more than the recommended serving of the most delicious, creamy, flavored frozen substance that my taste buds have ever met.  

We're approached by many vendors, beggars, and others who'd like a taste of our wallets.  I giggle as I relive interacting with the very small accordion-playing Italian man who had a sense of humour (although he's obviously just trying to look macho in this snapshot).  

And OH!, the FOOD!  My dream takes a turn for the best as we sit down at our first meal in Tuscany...dinner :)  Platters of succulent meats, cheeses, fresh and cooked vegetables; large bowls of pasta; big prawns with a large eye to body ratio (the eyes and feet were served with the meal for our enjoyment); a giant plate of homemade lasagna with fresh parmigiano and crispy, buttery garlic bread.  Not to mention the wine. 

I must stop now.  It is 1:37am.  All this blogging is seriously cutting into my Italian dream time.  Are any of my readers qualified dream interpreters?  I'd love to know why I'm dreaming of Italy.  It is rather pleasant dreaming; definitely more enjoyable than the recurring dream where I'm sitting on the ground in a forest, watching ants crawl in a single file line from one end of a hollow log to the other.  The worst part is that when this dream shows up, I dream it for hours.  It just loops over and over.  There are never any new ants, they never carry any different-sized or different-colored crumbs, and they never stray from their monodirectional, single file line.  Enough said.  I would rather dream of Italy.  

Good night then. I wish you equally wonderful dreams tonight.