Written by Ann Matthew (Vanderbilt University), Student Correspondent for CET Siena, Spring 2024
Another late night in beautiful Siena ended with Sahithi wearing my new yellow donut-patterned flip-flops that I got from the Italian version of Dollar Tree. Heeled boots in one hand and Google Maps in the other, she stumbled through the winding streets of Siena and tried to convince the rest of us that shame is “all in your head.”
The barely-slippers slapped against the uneven stones as we scanned for mortified locals who might have considered the idea of wearing shower shoes in a UNESCO World Heritage site a crime against humanity. We tried (and failed) to stifle our laughter as we watched her march confidently through the city, enjoying the respite of trading in her respectable leather boots for good old American comfort. For weeks, we had been trying to dress and act the part of true Italians, to blend in. But there we were, our laughter spilling into narrow streets, louder and brighter and more American than ever.
We came to Siena with translation apps, patterned scarves, and our best intentions, determined to immerse ourselves in the culture, to speak Italian with the perfect accent, to order coffee the “right” way. But it was in the moments we failed, spectacularly and unapologetically, that we found something even better.
Our loud and lively dinners in tiny osterie, starting and ending with a chorus of earnestly attempted Italian greetings (and some accidental Spanish), made us part of the scenery in a way we never expected. Our daily, rain-or-shine gelato runs became rituals of comfort and joy. Lila and Kat would order their afternoon cappuccinos with glee, mostly oblivious to the espresso-drinking locals probably shaking their heads at them. It was these too American moments that bonded us, weaving threads of shared embarrassment and inside jokes that brought us a little closer every day as we learned from our mistakes.
For my friends and I, Siena has become more than just a backdrop; it is a silent witness to our friendships. The same streets where we teased Sahithi about her flip-flops hold the echoes of our late-night conversations and spontaneous adventures. We have found our sacred spaces in the most ordinary of places: The kitchen where we wait for Peyton and Sydney to return from their evening passeggiata, talking about everything and nothing, watching terrible movies while eating kebab and chugging cans and cans of lemon soda. Our broken front door that I try to kick down for half an hour until Safaa comes to rescue me. Long after we leave, I imagine Siena will still carry traces of us in the air that once vibrated with our too much-ness.
As much as we wanted to pass for locals and do everything perfectly, standing out in a new place has taught me that fitting in isn’t always the goal. Sometimes, it’s in being unabashedly ourselves–flip-flops, loud laughter, and all–that we find our truest connections. Siena hasn’t just given us a place to explore; it has given us each other. That might be the most valuable souvenir I’ll get to take home with me: friendships stronger than shame (if it’s not just in our heads) or medieval city walls, ensuring that we belong no matter where we go.