Cousin Ferdinando and my granddaughter Iysa

When I first arrived in Florence, my cousin Ferdinando took me to an outdoor cafe near the Piazzale Michelangelo with a magnificent view of Florence. He was pointing out the sites— Bellosguardo, the Duomo, Palazzo Vecchio, and Santa Croce—when the waiter came to take our order. Smiling, I asked for a red wine.

Ferdinando’s face fell. “No. She takes a prosecco. We take two prosecchi.” The waiter nodded approvingly. “Certo, signore. Subito.”

I was stunned. “Why did you change my order?” I asked defensively.

In his halting English, he explained, “In Italy, you must fare una bella figura. This means you must learn to do things correctly, bella, our way.”

“All I did was order wine before my meal. What could be wrong with that?”

“Boh, in America there is nothing wrong, but in Italy, you fare una brutta figura. Wine in Italy is enjoyed with meals. Prosecco is a good choice for an aperitivo which is what we are having: a little drink before dinner. This is our culture, our history.

My reflection: I felt embarrassed, like a child corrected in public. Yet I was also grateful. Ferdinando was opening a door into a world I longed to understand.

Something to think about: Every culture has its own rules—how to tip, how to hail a taxi, even how to eat pasta. Travel opens up the world and teaches us tolerance and understanding. I was grateful to have help.

That evening in Florence was only the first of many such lessons.