Old Europe
The last time I moved out of London, I landed in Milano. That was nearly 30 years ago, and I had just completed sixth grade. In ten days I leave London, headed for Milano again.
My memory of our departure from the UK has always been different. But, after receiving a phone call from my father two nights ago, I’ve started to recollect the summer of ’79 in sharper detail.
“I’m in Zurich, and you’re in Milano,” was the first thing my father said as I answered my mobile. “Abba,” I replied, giggling. “Shall I grab a cab and come and meet you for dinner?”
En route to the US from Israel, my parents had stopped in Switzerland for the night. Here in Italy, to rent an apartment, I’d just arrived at my hotel when my parents dialled in.