Hello there, my friend!
I feel like I haven’t talked to you in ages! Time flies when you’re eating (a lot of) pizza!
Imagine a world where you eat pizza and pasta daily, gelato for dessert, and don’t gain (much) weight because you’re walking everywhere!! Sound like heaven? Close—it was Italy. How I’ll ever be satisfied with pasta from a box again, I don’t know. And my motto thus far in life has been, “Why cook anything yourself when you can buy it already prepared elsewhere?” OK, OK, I get it now. Homemade does taste better. I think in Italy there was a lot of love and a lot less preservatives in their food. And it tasted amazing!
But I want to do more than just make you hungry with today’s letter. I wanted to tell you about some eye-opening things I saw there—item number one.
Toilets.
Come on; you know this is an important topic. And my family will tell you that I am hyper-concerned with toilets and the toileting habits of my loved ones. I can guarantee you that if you come to visit me from another city or state and we go out for the day, I can locate all public restrooms in Palm Beach County. What can I say? It’s a gift. And so it was when we were in Italy. All one of my kids or grandkids has to do is look at me and say, “I sort of have to go . . . “ and I am on a mission to find the closest bagno.
All bagnos were not created equal in Italy, however. In the USA, I expect certain things since I’ve been using them for upwards of 60 years. But you never quite knew what you would find behind the toilette door. Dare I say, “Italian bathrooms are like a box of chocolates; you never know what you’re going to get.” (Perhaps one shouldn’t use the words “chocolates” and “toilet” in the same sentence, but I did it anyway.)
Take, for instance, one restaurant we visited in the small city of Vittorio-Veneto. There were two doors, one marked “Signori” and the other “Signore.” No little stick people were wearing clothing that indicated where I should—ahem—“go.” No other people were coming and going, so I was left to figure things out alone. I took care of things quickly and made a hasty departure without seeing anyone else, so I may never know if I made the right decision.
You also never knew what sort of receptacle you’d find behind the bagno door. I’m not picky, so it didn’t matter, but one place seemed to have an “optional” toilet seat. I’ll have to include a photo of that one. Oh yes, I took plenty of pics in the bathrooms.
Another noticeable difference between America and Italy was the handling of its garbage. (I’m sorry that I’ve talked about toilets and trash so far. I’m getting to the good stuff, I promise.) We had our whole family with us: seven adults and four kids. In Venice, we rented an apartment; it was two apartments that opened up to one another in the middle. There were five bedrooms and three bathrooms, and two mini-kitchens. In all of that space, there were two tiny trash cans. We are big recyclers, so we kept that stuff separate, but 11 Americans (one of which still wears diapers) can make a lot of garbage. As we walked around the city, I also noticed that trash cans were not prevalent. In America, I feel like there is a trash can on every corner, and it’s usually brimming full.
It reminded me that when we traveled to Vancouver, Canada, a couple of years ago, wherever I saw a trash can, there was also a recycling bin and a composting container. I want to be a better steward of our planet and produce much less garbage than I do now. We are too quick to throw away anything and everything without thinking about the consequences.
OK, enough about toilets and trash. Let’s get down to something encouraging, shall we?
We stayed at a lovely little hotel in Vittorio-Veneto called Hotel Calvi. It has been in the same family for four generations and is currently run by Alfredo and Flora. When we entered the door, Flora came out from behind the desk and said, “Are you Mr. Kevin?” (Read that with an Italian accent, please.) She and Kevin had corresponded via email for a while as coordinating a family of 11 required extra planning.
I felt like I was in a movie. There are only 14 rooms in the whole building. We took up four. Flora is an artist, and one can see her beautiful paintings throughout the hotel. Each room is unique and uniquely decorated. The windows opened (no screens) to the yard out back (Flora called it “the garden.”) There were roses of every color, lavender, thyme, rosemary, a river ran past the property, and on the other side, a hill sloped up into a mountain. Donkeys walked by every day on the hillside. I don’t think I’d ever heard a donkey “hee-haw” in person before!
I could go on and on, and don’t even get me started on the Dolomite mountains! I need to get to my point.
I remember thinking when I was there, I wonder what it would be like to grow up here and see this every day! Would it ever become old?
Fast forward to being back home in South Florida. As I always do after a vacation I love, I long for, mourn for, that place I was, remembering the beauty of it all. And just when I start to get pretty deep into “why do I have to live here?”—I open my eyes and see that it’s pretty great here, too.
I live where there are palm trees and sunshine, bird of paradise flowers out my back door AND front door. It’s warm here every day. I can drive about half an hour east and stick my feet into the Atlantic Ocean. People all over the world wish that they could live here.
It reminded me to look at old places with new eyes. Yes, Italy was stunning and magical and I had a wonderful time. But people have probably said the same thing about where I live. I bet if you look around where you are right now, you can find some pretty amazing things, too.
Sometimes you just need to look around with new eyes.
I hope you find beauty in what’s right next to you today.
Written with love – – – Patti XOXO💗
Toilet seat optional? I’m not quite sure how to behave in this situation.
