After exploring what Eastern Europe has to offer during the 10 adventurous days of Fall Break, I’ve finally returned to Florence. And I’m relieved.

Through all the tours, post-communist history, stunning views and cheap alcohol, I felt like not all of me was really present. There were moments throughout the trip when I felt a huge desire for everything to end. Even if these were supposed to be the days I should cherish the most, part of me was rejecting them.

Eventually, I realized what was happening: I was finally feeling homesick. But it was a different kind of homesickness. It wasn’t for my home back in the United States, but for my new one in Italy.

I’m surprised I even had time to feel this way, considering everything I was doing during the break.

First we visited Slovenia and explored the breathtaking Lake Bled. Afterward, it was Hungary, where we spent three days in Budapest and learned about its communist history. One night was exceptionally memorable, when we took a scenic cruise down the central river and dined on the city’s traditional meals and desserts.

Our third stop was Krakow in Poland, where we saw a dragon statue that actually breathed fire. We then spent a somber day touring the Auschwitz concentration camp and a museum that showcased its dark history.

The last three days were spent in Prague, one of the most popular stops for our group. This might have been because of the delicious food, spirited culture or enormous shopping district. My best guess, however, is it because of the incredibly cheap beer and intense bar scene. The trip certainly ended with a bang, even if some parts are hard to remember.

Yet through all the exhilarating insanity of the trip, I had random pangs of desire for what was waiting for me back in Florence.

In the different hostels, I missed my simple bed at my host family’s apartment. After trying kebabs in Budapest, gourmet cupcakes in Krakow and stuffed duck paired with red and white cabbage in Prague, all I wanted was some homemade pasta. I tried lots of different drinks at the pubs, but none really measured up to Italy’s wine.

In Prague, I bumped into a man who spoke Italian and felt a surprising surge of relief, rather than the normal apprehension from talking with anyone who doesn’t speak English. After more than a week in cities where every single word was completely foreign, there was finally someone who spoke “my language.”

I never thought I would start to view Italian as one of my languages. And that wasn’t all. Whenever I spent money, I instinctively calculated the exchange rate for euros, not dollars. I was looking at all the new cities and thinking of how they compared to Florence, not Syracuse. It seems like I just needed to get far away from Italy to realize how much I’d really adjusted to life there.

I’ll never forget those 10 days in Eastern Europe. They were, and always will be, some of the most amazing days of my life. But it feels good to be back home in Italy. Even with all of the amazing experiences I had, I realized I’ll always have a natural yearning for the experiences I’ve gotten used to in Florence. No matter how far away I am, through distance or time, they’ve carved out a permanent space in my heart.

That’s why, now, after more than a week without it, I can truly call Florence one of my many homes.

Max Antonucci is a junior newspaper and online journalism major. His column appears every Tuesday in Pulp. Visit his website at www.MaxwellAntonucci.com, find him on Twitter at @DigitalMaxToday or email him at [email protected].

Published on November 5, 2013 at 12:10 am