Page 1 of Bella Rosa
A Place of New Beginnings
Rosalie
Thesunshineisdifferenthere. The people are too. They both have something in common. They're free.
At least that's the way I would describe it. That's the only explanation I can think of as to why everything feels so different since my plane landed a few hours ago.
I feel like I can breathe again.
Maybe it's because I'm in Europe for the first time since I was fourteen, or maybe it's because this feels like a dream come true. I can't be sure. All I know is I'm here and I'm ready for my adventure.
Three weeks. That's how long I have in Italy, in Eden Valley to be exact, to write the article that will finally get me my dream job.
When my boss Susan Williams, the editor and chief of Foodie magazine, told me about this opportunity, I thought it was a cruel joke. I'm finally being considered for a staff writer position after four years working as an editor.
I spend my days proofreading, fact checking, and editing photos for the staff writers at Foodie. I'm so tired of reading all about my colleagues’ adventures. I'm glad I finally get to document my own adventure. I have the opportunity to show my writing and my own photography.
The prompt for my article is clear:Go to the up-and-coming food destination of Italy's famous Eden Valley. Write an article talking about my favorite restaurants I eat at while on my trip. Submit the article for review at the end of my trip.
This should be easy. I get to spend three weeks in southern Italy. I'll be two hours south of the Amalfi Coast, surrounded by beautiful rolling hills and vineyards. Sounds like the perfect place to take in the restaurant scene.
If I impress Susan and her team, I get to come back to New York to my dream job. Rosalie Mae Auclair, Staff Writer and Photographer for Foodie Magazine has a really nice ring to it if I do say so myself.
If I don't impress them, I guess I'll have to keep waitressing on the side to supplement income. Oh goodie. Being an editor doesn't cut it for the cost of living in New York and my student loan payments.
Being a twenty-six year old with two jobs doesn't always go over well at Christmas dinner as you can imagine. I've learned to ignore the snide comments from aunts and uncles I only see twice a year. That's two times too many in my opinion. Let’s not talk about the constant stream of worry I get through texts from my mother.
I know I want a successful writing career and my own apartment in Manhattan that's bigger than a closet. I want free range to write about food that can change someone's life all while still being able to afford to put food on my own table.
It’s why I love food so much. It’s an essential part of life, but it can be made extraordinary. It can be a means of celebration, a tradition, or a vessel that holds memories. The last reason is why I love it so much.
When I think of my father, I think of food. I think of the way we used to go to new restaurants together, and the way he would always get the weirdest dish on the menu just so I could try it. He said he would sacrifice and get the weird dish so I wouldn't have to. That way if neither of us liked it we could share my food.
I feel like I'm keeping his memory alive somehow by writing about my favorite food destinations. So far those destinations have only been in New York, but now I get to experience an entirely new side of food in a place I have always dreamed about.
I push my hair out of my face and take a look around the beautiful cafe that I’ve turned into my sanctuary while I wait for my train. It's been a rough eight hours to be honest. Jet lag is not going to be my friend.
But as I sit here and take in the hustle and bustle of Naples, Italy, I can't help but wonder how I got here.
A small town girl from Illinois doesn't get opportunities like this. Most positions at prestigious magazines are filled internally or through major connections. After moving to the Big Apple for college to pursue my writing degree, I fell in love with the city. All the noise allowed me to fade into the background and finally focus on myself, my love for writing, and photography. It also allowed me to stand on my own for once.
I got a lucky break when my application was accepted for assistant editor in the travel department. That may sound glamorous, but the job mostly consists of editing for grammar and not stepping foot outside of the United States.
I've been trying for this promotion for two years now. I didn't go to a prestigious school, so I’m not in the inner circle like so many of my coworkers. I often get beat out for promotions and the best assignments. I've been taking freelance jobs here and there to improve my skills and portfolio. I guess that hard work has finally paid off!
I'm not sure what snaps me out of my thoughts. It could be that I'm currently melting from the extreme heat or the nice older man sitting next to me who is trying to hand me my train ticket that I hadn't realized I had dropped beside my table. Maybe I shouldn't still be wearing my sweater from the plane and maybe I should have gone with the electronic ticket instead of one so easy to misplace. Oh well.
He holds my ticket out to me and says, "You dropped this, miss." His Italian accent is so thick I almost can't understand him.
Oh my gosh, he is the cutest old man I've ever seen. I don't know how I didn't see him sitting there before. He's kind of got the stereotypical Italian grandpa look to him. Even though he is sitting down I can tell he is on the shorter side. He has on one of those traditional gray flat caps and a suit jacket that doesn't quite match his dress pants. He is also rocking a button up shirt, bow tie, and a cane. If he was from my hometown I bet his name would be Gus.
"I see you're off to Azzurro. My daughter and her husband live there with my granddaughter. Why are you heading that way?"
I then proceed to tell him all about the new opportunity at Foodie, and just like any good grandpa, he listens intently. I wonder if my dad would have been like him. I realize I’ve trailed off, the memory of my dad causing my heart to ache. So I recover and conclude with, "I just don't know if I can give them what they are looking for. They have impossibly high standards and I'm not a part of the ‘in’ crowd. I'm just nervous that if I don't get this job I may never get another opportunity like this. This is my dream."
Wow. I don't think I've ever admitted that to anyone. I’m not entirely sure if I've ever even admitted that to myself. Unaware of my internal crisis, he gives me a light smile.
He looks at me like he knows something I don't, and says, "Don't worry. Our hearts are like a compass. They have a way of pointing us in the right direction. When you feel that pull, you'll know what you should do."
