When the Murphy family left Ireland for a new life in Umbria, Italy, it began as one long vacation until September, and reality, arrived. Danica Murphyreports
WE HAD, what we thought was, a painless change from our old life in Ireland to our new one in Italy.
After selling our home in Greystones last June, my husband Ken, myself and our three daughters moved our family and possessions to what had previously been our summer house in Umbria. A steady stream of visiting friends and family, sumptuous meals "al fresco", a warm pool with stunning views over lush farmland and forest towards Lago Trasimeno, all made for a great summer and a smooth transition to our new life.
When life by the pool threatened on monotony we shook things up with visits to local markets and beautiful towns and villages in Umbria and neighbouring Tuscany. Assisi, Cortona, Montepulciano, Orvieto, and Siena are but a few of the better known towns within an hour's drive. Florence and Rome are easily reachable by train within 90 minutes.
Life was good. We had made the right decision to leave the fast lane of corporate life in Ireland for the quite life in central Italy. No question!
Come September, however, many questions presented themselves.
Cocooned from real life on an extended vacation, we had only experienced the fun side of the country. Fantastic food, wine, and sunshine; beautiful countryside, cities, towns and villages; world renowned art and culture - Italy has it all in abundance.
The other side of the coin came into sharp focus when the summer ended, visitors dwindled, and our kids started school.
We had decided to enrol all three of our daughters, aged nine, seven and four, into the local village school. Day one arrived, and all three headed out with their bright new backpacks, pocket-sized Italian dictionaries, and pencil cases loaded with every conceivable supply.
While they left the house enthusiastically, by the time we approached the big glass front doors of the school the shine had dulled considerably. By the time we found our eldest daughter's classroom, there were no desks left next to other girls - only spaces next to boys. With feet firmly planted by the exit door, she was very clear that she would not sit next to an Italian boy. Once we sorted the seating arrangements, we kissed our poor child with her "deer in the headlights" expression goodbye.
The experience with our middle daughter was more traumatic. She quietly walked into the classroom, with me at her side. She sat down in a desk nearest the door and looked around silently for a moment. Then, without a word, she placed her head on the desk and started to sob. I did what any supportive mother would do; I put my arms around her and started to cry too.
At that point, Ken had to come to the rescue. Once he had gotten me out of the classroom, he was able to calm her down fairly quickly.
Not to be outdone, our youngest made sure that our departure from her classroom was packed with histrionics, tears, flailing limbs, and gnashing of teeth. In what was like a scene from the movie Lilo and Stitch, we finally managed to extricate ourselves from her classroom. Ken and I walked away that first morning with shaken confidence and, throughout much of September, we questioned our commitment to this new life.
With much attention, support and love (not to mention the odd Barbie and Bratz as tangible rewards for the efforts made), the children grew in confidence, made friends and quickly began to integrate in the local community.
Progress for us parents, though, was not nearly so speedy. In an effort to improve our Italian we took intensive classes at a local language school. Progress was difficult and slow. Italian, apparently, has 18 verb tenses (with between two and six conjugations each), thankfully only five are in common daily use.
Simultaneously we had our first interaction with Italian bureaucracy. All foreigners wanting to reside in Italy are required to receive a Permesso di Soggiorno (Permission to Stay) certificate. The process for obtaining this permission required multiple visits to the regional capital of Perugia (another beautiful city), long queues, multiple forms, photographs, photocopies and more long queues.
Having made five, frustrating, half-day excursions to Perugia we hope to receive our Permesso before the end of June.
Integration with the local community began in earnest in October. I hosted my first coffee morning for some mothers from the school - a very unusual event I discovered and a first for many of the women who attended. They seemed to enjoy it, although because I only understand about 60 per cent of the conversation I may have missed something.
Ken joined the local soccer club. At 41, he is proud to be the oldest squad member and the first foreigner to play for the village team.
We discovered, first hand, how important and serious both the grape and olive harvests are in this region. We were invited by our neighbours to help with their grape picking in neighbouring Tuscany. We picked some of the region's finest grapes which eventually found their way into bottles of Vin Nobile di Montepulciano.
We foraged for Porcini mushrooms in the dense forests of Orvieto before dawn with a group of men from the local village. The sight of these 12 burly men, clad head to toe in their military-style camouflage gear bounding into the forest carrying only pen knives and Easter bunny wicker baskets in search of the clandestine delicacies, is an image which will long stay in my memory.
One of the many highlights for us was the harvest of olives from our own olive trees. Family members came over from Ireland for the week long harvest at the end of October. In shorts and T-shirts, we laid the nets, climbed the trees and hand-picked 550kgs of beautiful green, purple and black olives.
Having the time to work, laugh and chat in the open air felt like a throw back to the simpler days of our youth - when summers were long, the sun always shone and we had time and inclination to enjoy simple pleasures. Creating that memory for ourselves and our children felt terrific.
We ferried our harvest to the Frantoio (olive mill) in the local village for processing. Exhausted, we waited and watched while our olives were pulped and pressed into 95 litres of verdant olive oil. Fresh and strong, with hints of spices and pepper, the oil has become a staple in our daily diet. Winter follows the olive harvest, which brings us to where we are now.
The kids are conversationally fluent in Italian and well settled in the school, even having play dates and sleep overs with their new friends.
I have been able to complete a long-time pet project of mine (a cookbook of family recipes and anecdotes) and, contrary to what many of my friends and colleagues feared, I do not miss the corporate buzz.
Ken is enjoying every minute of his new outdoor, physical lifestyle and showing the Italians how to play football Jack Charlton style.
We have all managed to make a few friends. We bump into people we know in the grocery shops and village streets and exchange greetings and news.
So, it begins to feels like real life here now, albeit with a steep learning curve (keep in mind all those verb tenses) and still lots of new challenges.
Having freedom and brain space has enabled us think about our future. Things such as how to spend our time and how to provide a sustainable income for our family occupy a good bit of our conversation. Most of our thoughts at the moment are focused on opportunities in the property sector, but we will have to see what comes of it all. For now, as we watch the next season roll in, we are happy to just live in the current moment of our new experience and hope that our buona fortuna in nostra nuova vita (good fortune in our new life) will continue...
Danica Murphy has recently published a collection of family recipes, photographs and anecdotes inspired by her new experiences in Italy and her Italian family background titled Tutti Di Amore which can be ordered on www.Lulu.com (search Danica Murphy)
