Two Worlds

You can sit with your love in a cave at Cafe Archetypus in Edgewater. © Photo by Antonio Gerenini

Lately, my husband and I have been making an effort to go out on dates without our son. I decided it was a good idea since this is what I advise readers of the About.com Newlyweds site to do with their spouses and because my husband insisted we have more romance in our life or else. Or else what? I’m not sure. Still, I don’t really want to find out. So, we’re going on dates.

For the first one, we headed out to dinner at Fontana di Trevi in Leonia, a BYOB restaurant that is a big hit with my family. But we were back by 6, so my parents, brother, and sister-in-law, who were all about to sit down to eat with my son, kicked us out of our own house and told us to do something else. Yes, they kicked us out of our house and had dinner there without us.

In any event, my brother suggested we go to Cafe Archetypus in Edgewater. I had not been there since 1996, when it was Cafe Enigma. Back then, there was only one River Road (the address is now Old River Road and the new River Road runs practically parallel to it and features a slew of new condos and strip malls). Newly minted drivers, we’d coast along River Road in our parents’ cars. All clad in flannel, my high school pals and I would sit in a cave, order dessert and coffee (a new-found friend for most high schoolers), and listen to the grunge guitarist of the night whining about the injustices of the world.

This time around I was in cotton and there was no guitarist, not even a poet, lounging around the joint. But the caves were just as I remembered them, replete with women’s body parts jutting out of the wall. Notice the boobies above. My husband had never been to Cafe Archetypus, so he was not transported to his high school years, nor did he know what I was talking about when I started jabbering about Pearl Jam, existentialism, or baggy jeans (they never did make it to his native Europe, which has stuck with far-too skinny jeans for an eternity).

Still, we ordered a strawberry dessert, dug into it with our two spoons, and enjoyed a peaceful moment together sans Baby Boy. Hubby loved the caves, found them incredibly romantic. It doesn’t hurt that candlelight is the only light that enters the place, so you really do feel like you’re in a cave – and your face looks spectacular no matter what it looks like in real life. That alone is enough for me to declare that Cafe Archetypus is cozy and warm and the dessert is pretty tasty, not to mention fun to share with your beloved. Bottom line: It’s one stop on memory lane to which I don’t mind returning.

Di Meglio is the author of Fun with the Family New Jersey (Globe Pequot Press Travel, 2012) and the Guide to Newlyweds for About.com.

Life would never be the same after Francesca got involved with Tony. © Photo by Antonio Gerenini

Get the truth about one of Italy’s most popular islands – and its people – by reading my new weekly blog installments (every Monday right here on this site)

Chapter Thirty – Speedy Love

On that first trip to Italy since Tony and I had become a couple, I was certain I had fallen madly, deeply in love. But was it all too much too fast? Our relationship was accelerated whenever we were finally together because we had to pack in so much of it all at once. I didn’t just visit Italy and see Tony every once in a while during my stay as I would have at the start of our courtship had we lived in the same place. I lived with him while I was in Italy, and we saw each other day and night. Because he lived with his family, I met everyone – from his mom to his sisters and brothers-in-law – just a couple months into the relationship. And I lived with them, too. We ate all our meals with them. While Tony was out running errands or going to work, I was home with his family. The same had been true for him while he was in the States. As a result, we grew close at a fast pace. Things were very serious very soon. Perhaps, I should have been more afraid of the speed, but I was honored Tony wanted to pursue me.

Before Tony, few, if any guys, took a romantic interest in me. I never dated anyone before him. And the guys with whom I hung out were studious, bookish types. Tony was nothing of the sort. He was the class clown, cracking jokes and making puns. Although he was sweet, he could remain detached enough to seem cool and to make you yearn for more. I personally could never pull off that kind of aloofness. And with his height, that goatee and those big green eyes, he was hot. I, Francesca Di Meglio, the girl who no boy ever noticed, was dating a hot Italian guy. How did this happen?

That’s why when I returned to the United States after this trip, I was a bit overwhelmed. I felt as though I was practically engaged already even though Tony claimed to be a commitmentphobe. He was a commitmentphobe, who insisted we committed to one another and introduced me to his family from the start. He was a commitmentphobe, who did not wince when he met my parents before we even officially started dating. He was a commitmentphobe who spoke of fear of commitment but who seemed to have none. I was supposed to be unafraid of commitment. Yet, I wondered whether we were rushing into this love. That wasn’t enough to spark fear or to keep me from loving more. And I knew things would never be quite the same for me.

Tune into this Web site, Two Worlds, every Monday for the latest installment in my blog about my experiences in Ischia, and every other Monday to ItaliansRus.com for the latest Our Paesani column about all things Italian. Di Meglio is also the Guide to Newlyweds for About.com.

If only the real Italy could be in Florida like the fake one in Epcot! Then, long-distance love wouldn't be so bad. © Photo courtesy of Di Costanzo and Gerenini

Get the truth about one of Italy’s most popular islands – and its people – by reading my new weekly blog installments (every Monday right here on this site)

Chapter Twenty-Two – Crazy in Amore?

Maybe dating a native Italian who still lived in Italy was a big mistake. But it was already too late. I was falling in love with Tony. I was certain of this in Florida, where Tony, a known commitmentphobe, brought up the idea of having me visit him in Italy sometime in the spring. I told him I would try, but it would all depend on how things went with the physical therapy for my knee. Although I was walking and getting around, I still had a pronounced limp and lacked thigh muscle. I was going to physical therapy three days per week. It was grueling. I was proud I had made it through the Disney parks so successfully, but a trip to Italy would be difficult. Besides the travel, there was still the chance I would need more surgery to replace the cartilage that I lost. There was fear my (ACL) ligament was also loose.

Still, Tony made me promise I’d visit because he saw a future for us and didn’t want me to think this was just “un’ avventura piccola solo per vacanza” (“a little adventure only for vacation.”) He could see us together for the long haul. Roberto started to see it, too. In between flirting with other women and hanging out with my brother, Roberto asked me what I thought about Tony and what was going on between us. I was honest and said that I was enjoying my time with him and that I had reservations about the distance between us but I was already falling in love. He admitted that he saw in the way Tony and I looked at each other that a love story was beginning to blossom.

Although my heart was happy to finally have found love, and I was having the time of my life with Tony, especially in Florida, where the sun was shining and Mickey Mouse was distracting us from concerns, such as how we’d manage such a long-distance relationship, a part of me felt impractical for allowing myself to feel this way about someone who lived in an entirely different continent. Italy was so beautiful, I thought. Maybe I wouldn’t mind spending so much time there. Wouldn’t love be enough to get us through any obstacle? Was there even reason to be practical about this matter of the heart?

Some names and identifying characteristics of the real people involved have been changed.

Tune into this Web site, Two Worlds, every Monday for the latest installment in my blog about my experiences in Ischia, and every other Monday to ItaliansRus.com for the latest Our Paesani column about all things Italian. Di Meglio is also the Guide to Newlyweds for About.com.

After my trip to Ischia in 2004, the Statue of Liberty waved me back home, but one kiss might change all that. © Photo courtesy of Di Costanzo and Gerenini

Get the truth about one of Italy’s most popular islands – and its people – by reading my new weekly blog installments (every Monday right here on this site)

Chapter Sixteen – Already, a Complicated Life

My question for Tony was simple and direct. “Are you sure this is a good idea because I’m from the United States and you’re from Italy?” His answer was the same, “Don’t worry. Keep kissing me. We’ll find a way to make it all work.” We kissed for another moment and then I returned to my office to work. He smiled for the rest of the day, but the kiss had me trembling both for its passion and the complications it would undoubtedly bring to my life.

While I wanted to believe Tony and focus on the glory of this blossoming love story, I couldn’t help but hear my gut churning. After all, months earlier a trip to Ischia’s hospital with that dang knee injury that was still plaguing me had me wishing I had never seen the place. Now, I was going to get embroiled in a romance with one of its natives? Aaaaah, but he was so cute and charming, and he seemed to genuinely like me, which was my favorite characteristic in a man back then. He did travel all the way from Italy to see me. And did I mention how cute and charming he was?

In the meantime, Roberto and my mom returned from the grocery store just in time for the boys to start preparing lunch and for my parents to head to the airport to pick up my sister Rosaria and her friend Addy. The phone rang and when I answered, there was a familiar Italian voice on the other end. It was Lisa. She was not at all happy. Roberto had not been in touch since he arrived in the States, and she wanted to know what he was doing – and with whom. I quickly had him pick up the phone. Although Tony and I couldn’t hear what was happening on the other end of the line, Roberto’s face told the story of a boyfriend in trouble with his love. If he had been back in Ischia, he’d be sleeping outside with his dog Diego (named for soccer player Maradona, of course) tonight. For much of the afternoon, he looked as if Diego had died.

Singing while cooking (still with a genuine smile stretched across his handsome face), Tony insisted that American salt had no taste and kept adding it to the pot of boiling water, ready to dump the pasta into the pot. As I finished up my work ahead of the Thanksgiving holiday, I was distracted by the kiss and thoughts of being forced to live in Ischia, an island without even an MRI machine, where my kids would lack opportunities, and the people work only six months per year, a place where people really believe that a glass of ice water on a hot day will kill you. At least, I had family like Roberto there. And I made a few friends on my recent trips. Truly, I earned a college degree in the States and vowed to stay in the New York metropolitan area because it was where I belonged and where my real family – replete with parents, siblings, and cousins – either lived or often gathered. We left Ischia with good reason; Ischia made us poor, and America made us rich in more ways than just in our wallets. And I sang to myself, too: “God bless America, land that I love…”

A little while later, Rosaria and Addy, who met my sister while the two studied abroad in Italy last summer, walked into the house. After brief introductions, we sat down to eat. Suddenly, the sullen Roberto, who had just argued with his Italian girlfriend Lisa, was coming back to life. He pushed my sister aside to sit between her and all-American Addy. A dancer, Addy was long and lean and had the face of a supermodel. Blond and blue-eyed, she was the epitome of what Italian boys thought of when they dreamed of American girls. Certainly, Roberto had forgotten his earlier tiff, but I think he also had forgotten Lisa’s name…

Some names and identifying characteristics of the real people involved have been changed.

Tune into this Web site, Two Worlds, every Monday for the latest installment in my blog about my experiences in Ischia, and every other Monday to ItaliansRus.com for the latest Our Paesani column about all things Italian. Di Meglio is also the Guide to Newlyweds for About.com.

Roberto and Tony find excitement in America. © Photo by Francesca Di Meglio

Get the truth about one of Italy’s most popular islands – and its people – by reading my new weekly blog installments (every Monday right here on this site)

Chapter Fifteen – Primo Bacio (The First Kiss)

I’m a planner. So, in the weeks leading up to Roberto and Tony’s arrival in the United States, I planned the vacation of a lifetime for them. We would see all the major sites in New York City, and travel to Washington, D.C., where I graduated from college and my sister was currently studying, and Disney World in Orlando, Fla., where my brother was working. In between, we would celebrate Thanksgiving with Roberto and my American relatives.

The first day of their journey featured a low-key Italian-American Sunday lunch at home and an evening stroll at the Bronx Zoo, which was beautifully dressed in twinkling lights to show off the animals’ homes and celebrate the start of the holiday season. Before we left for the zoo, we took photos of our visitors in our front yard, where every year my father the landscaper puts up a harvest display replete with stacks of hay, berry bunches, and giant pumpkins.

At the zoo, much to the chagrin of my father, Tony quickly took my arm to help me walk through one of the rockier habitats. I was still limping having had only one knee surgery at that point and still enduring three days a week of physical therapy. That was Tony’s in with me because after that he held onto either my arm or hand at the zoo and for the rest of his time in the States.

I was already working from home as a freelancer when the Italian duo arrived, so Roberto and Tony were on their own or with my mom during the day on weekdays. Rather than get bored, Roberto and Tony would walk to Linwood Plaza, a mini mall near our home, complain about how Starbucks coffee is nothing compared to a Neapolitan espresso, marvel at the variety of products Americans sold at what we call a “pharmacy” such as CVS, and purchase used PlayStation video games for the tournaments they would have at our house.

By Wednesday, my sister was coming home from college for Thanksgiving – and she was bringing a friend. In the morning, my mom was planning a trip to the grocery store, my father was already at work, and I was in my bedroom/office slaving away at the computer trying to get all my work completed before Thanksgiving and my weeklong vacation in Florida with the boys, which would be a big surprise to Roberto. (I had told Tony to keep the news a secret from my cousin.)

Meanwhile, Tony and Roberto were lifting their weary heads from the pillow and going down to breakfast. While there, Tony convinced my mom to take Roberto to the grocery store because he and Tony would prepare lunch for us while my parents picked up my sister at the airport.

A sneaky one, Tony began texting me once we were alone in the house to lure me out of my bedroom/office. Once I entered my sister’s room where he was organizing his stuff (but really just waiting for me), he pulled me toward him for our first kiss. A typical Italian, his hands soon landed on the back pockets of my jeans. And I, surprised, pulled away with a question for him…

Tune into this Web site, Two Worlds, every Monday for the latest installment in my blog about my experiences in Ischia, and every other Monday to ItaliansRus.com for the latest Our Paesani column about all things Italian. Di Meglio is also the Guide to Newlyweds for About.com.

Whenever the Ischitani come to New York, it's an experience to remember. © Photo by Francesca Di Meglio

Get the truth about one of Italy’s most popular islands – and its people – by reading my new weekly blog installments (every Monday right here on this site)

Chapter Fourteen – Welcome to America

That phone call in October 2004 came from Tony. He let me know that he and my cousin Roberto would be traveling to the United States to visit me in November. They had made the tickets already, and by coincidence they would arrive just in time for Thanksgiving and stay for a month, just until Christmas. It would be a dreamy holiday season…maybe with a little romance.

From the start, the relationship between Tony and I was a challenge. My father and I drove to JFK Airport to pick up Tony and Roberto. My grandfather – Roberto’s great uncle – insisted on joining us. But he would not come in the car with us. He wanted to drive his own wheels. We all waited with open arms. When the Italians arrived, my grandparents greeted Roberto and Tony, and we introduced Tony to my father before heading back to the car.

As we packed the luggage into the trunk, my father and the two young men teased one another about the various towns they come from in Ischia – “All the wimps come from Barano, all the lazy bums are from Ischia Porto, all the pains in the neck come from Buonopane.” Once we all got in the car, they started discussing Buceto, the wooded area in Ischia that is the place of my father’s childhood and dreams. There, he would pick mushrooms and chestnuts, hike with his family’s dog Fox, and camp out with his sisters and father during the various feast days that had them taking in fireworks from the top of the mountain in their little cantina (wine cellar). My father’s eyes sparkle like the stars in an Ischia sky on a crisp fall evening whenever he gets on the topic of Buceto. Noting this and my father’s brown leather jacket with the collar upturned prompted Tony to nickname him James Dean of Buceto.

There was a lot of traffic that night as we were trying to get from New York to New Jersey, and my grandparents were still behind us in their car. All of a sudden, my grandfather pulls up next to us and starts shouting. We can’t hear him because the windows were down, and we were boisterously reminiscing about my father’s youth in Buceto. We rolled down the windows only to learn that Grandpa was running out of gas. We had to get off the highway somewhere in the Bronx and find the nearest gas station. We made it in the nick of time. But it meant that Roberto and Tony’s first glimpse of the United States was the ghetto. In fact, we saw shady characters with hoodies covering their faces exchanging money in the corner. And the smell of pot wafted through the air.

We took it as an adventure, and so did Roberto and Tony, who are used to the far grittier Napoli, which is right outside of Ischia and their gateway to the mainland. From the moment we got in the car, Tony was secretly texting me sweet little notes. The first was about how happy he was to finally be here with me and how much he was looking forward to this month discovering America. Others followed commenting on how great my father was and what the flight was like.

I was smitten, and I wasn’t paying attention. When we got back on the highway from the gas station, there was a detour. Somehow, we must have gotten on the wrong road. An hour and a half and five more stories on Buceto later, my father and I wondered aloud why it was taking us so long to get home when we were at the Bronx (which is really only 15 minutes away from our house barring traffic). We also realized my grandparents had lost us. They were nowhere to be seen. Up ahead, we saw a sign for Connecticut. We had been driving in the wrong direction. By the time we realized our mistake, turned around, and got home again, we had been traveling for five hours in the car. At least we were all laughing. And we found out my grandparents had just returned home to Long Island when they noticed the mistake.

I sent Tony a text message apologizing for the major error and the lousy start to his vacation. He responded, “I guess this is the price I have to pay to be with you. It’s worth it.” When we entered the house, my mom was waiting with a great spread of food and red, white, and blue balloons to welcome Roberto and Tony. As they were shuffling in and out while unloading the car, my mom whispered to me, “Wow, Tony is tall and handsome!” I couldn’t agree with her more.

Tune into this Web site, Two Worlds, every Monday for the latest installment in my blog about my experiences in Ischia, and every other Monday to ItaliansRus.com for the latest Our Paesani column about all things Italian. Di Meglio is also the Guide to Newlyweds for About.com.

My prince and I when we renewed our vows. © Photo by Bella Pictures

Today, as I watched the Royal Wedding (yes, I was up at the crack of dawn to watch it live), I could not help but remember my own wedding day in Italy and our vow renewal in the United States. And I found myself dreaming of my prince, who is in Italy right now while I’m toiling away in the United States. Despite the challenges of sometimes having to live apart, I love my prince. I thought this photo really captured that; it also happens to show him looking at me in a way that proves he’s crazy for me, and it’s not often that a photo captures the look, but this one did. Many people wished us a lifetime of happiness that day, and I think those well wishers brought us good luck. Let’s do the same for the Royal Newlyweds. You can send them a message (and marriage advice) on the About.com Newlyweds site. Or read their profile to learn their love story. Or both. You can also dream about your own prince or princess and share your own wedding story, too.

Antonio sends messages of love to Francesca in the snow. © Photo by Francesca Di Meglio

Isn't Antonio super cute when he's being romantic? © Photo by Francesca Di Meglio

My husband’s romantic gesture in the snow yesterday inspired today’s blog on the About.com Newlyweds site. Check out the Newlyweds blog and leave a comment about what you plan to do to lift the spirits of someone you love today. You can learn how to write a love letter to boot. Make sure to express your love in a meaningful way as often as possible. I know I’m grateful that Antonio makes me feel loved all the time — even when the snow isn’t falling.

Francesca and Antonio in a cave at Xel-ha, an ecological park in Mexico's Mayan Riviera. © Photo courtesy of the Gerenini family

My husband Antonio and I had two weddings, so we had two honeymoons — the first was a quick weekend trip to Florida’s Walt Disney World and the second was a week-long getaway to Mexico’s Mayan Riviera. I could really use a vacation right about now, and I was feeling nostalgic for Mexico this morning. So, I decided to make happy honeymoons the subject of my latest About.com Nelywed’s blog. Visit the blog, see another photo from our trip in February 2009, and leave a comment on the About blog. I can’t wait to see what you have to say.