This series is a collection of my immediate thoughts on what I saw and lived through in Italy, where I moved for work in September 2025. Sometimes it's diary entries, sometimes it's poetry, sometimes just runts about everything and nothing. Enjoy. LOG 01
I didn’t know that lactose intolerance was something to be penalized for.
I ordered a croissant with a cappuccino for a menu price of 8.90€.
I wanted it with oat milk, which is extra, so this price didn’t apply and
I had to pay 10.20€. The oat milk is 0.50€ of that price.
I don’t mind paying extra for the milk, but why shouldn’t I be able to enjoy the menu price? It’s not like I chose to get all bloated after consuming lactose.
I raised an eyebrow and diligently paid as I always do. It’s the principle that gets on my nerves.
Thanks for f***ing up my first Italian log, juice bar.
16-9-25 – Vienna Airport
LOG 02
When I started thinking about how to approach recording my upcoming adventure in Italy, I faced a problem. A high number of unfinished projects, including three books from my previous adventures. Like most of my projects before, they fell victim to my ‘Yeey, let’s work on something new!’ energy and eventual loss of interest caused by my ADHD.
I knew I needed a new format.
Something that would allow me to keep it simple and force me not to over explain my motivations or my past. Then, as I was hiking in the mountains above Les Crosets in Switzerland, it came to me – logs.
Log in – Log out.
Simple records of thoughts and of what happened at the time. If I feel like it. And If I don’t, I’ll just write it in points. No more ‘I’ll write it later’ and remorse of having full pages of notes meant for just that.
Just logs. Some shorter, some longer, some rants, some poetry, some travel, some boredom.
Welcome to my Italian logbook.
16-9-25 – Vienna Airport
LOG 03
I spot towers of Bergamo on a hill above the airport as we land.
I smirk.
Oh yeah, this is why I do this.
This is why it’s worth trudging from country to country, not being sure who you’ll have to share your home with – the beauty, the history, the amount of knowledge you gain just by being there.
This is what I’m in for.
16-9-25 – Bergamo airport
LOG 04
I exit the airport and I hear: ‘Welcome to Italy Marie.’ I follow the voice and see two people holding a sign with the same inscription.
‘No, that’s not for me,’ I remind myself.
Then I do a double take.
And I squeal – She’s right there!
One of the reasons why I took a job in Northern Italy is standing at the airport together with her friend and a welcome sign.
Before I know it we are in each others’ arms. I’m beyond surprised. It’s so like her to do something like this and yet, I had zero suspicion.
16-9-25 – Bergamo airport
LOG 05
‘It’s too good to be true,’ says my suspicious brain as I’m unpacking my suitcase.
Two hours ago, I got picked up at the airport by the owner of the language school I’m going to teach at. He showed me all around the town, the school and dropped me off in my new apartment.
The place is a bit old school but freshly painted, with a new shower and all the little stuff that you may need like towels and kitchen utensils.
It feels super homey.
I’m literally waiting for the other shoe to drop.
16-9-25 – Undisclosed town near Bergamo
LOG 06
This town smells.
I slept with my window open and I got woken up by a smell of cow dung fertilizer. At least that’s what I think it is.
I guess it shouldn’t be surprising, as the land around is practically flat and full of fields.
But damn.
It smells really bad.
I remember having this problem in Switzerland a few years ago, but there, it was the drainage system that smelled on certain days. On those days, we called our town ‘La Tour-de-Sh**t’.
I wonder if my new Italian town will get its new name as well.
17-9-25 – Undisclosed town near Bergamo
LOG 07
I might take my boss up on the offer of a bike.
Yesterday he told me that he has one extra and if I want it, I can take it. I declined it immediately because I hate riding a bike.
I hate meeting cyclists on the road when I drive and I don’t want to cause the same negative feelings to other people who are driving.
However, this town has a very good system of cycling lanes including separate underpasses, so I am a bit tempted.
The distance from my apartment to work is almost two kilometers, which is totally fine — twenty-five minute walk. But if something happens and I would be late, it’s quite far to have my feet as the only means of transport. That’s another reason for a bike.
I will see. I might take mercy on bikes in the end.
17-9-25 – Undisclosed town near Bergamo
LOG 08
Something tells me that life in this Italian town is going to be very, very quiet. I walked around the town, through the centre and despite there being quite a few people — students, elderly people and some middle aged people sitting in the bars and restaurants, it felt like a sleepy place. Like one of those towns where rarely anything happens and if a pin drops on the floor, everyone knows about it the same day.
Only time will tell if I was right.
17-9-25 – Undisclosed town near Bergamo
LOG 09
Some parts of the pavements in the old town are paved with pebble stones. That is not that unusual, I’ve seen it before. But what surprised me was that pebbles were also used for the construction of the old castle and some houses in the centre. You can see the pebbles taking turns in lines with red bricks.
According to wiki, these are river pebbles and were used for construction in the thirteenth century.
17-9-25 – Undisclosed town near Bergamo
LOG 10
I’m not sure how I feel about teaching only individual lessons.
I’m quite sure that my boss had mentioned it during the interview, but somewhere between then, now and a couple of other interviews I managed to forget this little detail.
I love teaching groups. My previous school in Malta taught me to manage big groups of students and there’s real magic in pair work, pair checks and group work. With more opinions and different life experiences in class it’s easier to keep the conversation going.
Well, I’ll have to get used to it.
18-9-25 – Undisclosed town near Bergamo
