Viaggio in solitaria

Monday afternoon my solo trip comes to an end. While I’m completely excited by the thought of being reunited with my love, I’m equally thrilled to know that I can travel solo and independently with complete contentment for close to two weeks. Can you?

The time I have spent alone in Italy has been unforgettable. How could it not be when all you have to think about are your own needs? Traveling alone means focusing on only your own wishes and wants. When you’re tired, you sleep. When you’re hungry, you eat what you want. When you’re presented with another day, you make of it what you will without considering anyone else’s interests or desires.

Being in a country in which you don’t speak the language and are dependent upon others for being better educated than yourself, inspires a lot of inner dialogue. There have been far more conversations in my head than out loud. This, of course, doesn’t mean that I haven’t exchanged thoughts and words with others. I’ve had discussions here in Italy that have left me weepy and inspired, sometimes even simultaneously.

My first stay, in San Terenzo, was with a couple who were in their 70s. Their home, which they’ve lived in for more than 35 years, was a delight to the eye. Everywhere I looked I saw something whimsical and beautiful. There were flowers and plants and books and art, along with the literal fruits of their labors – fresh lemons, herbs drying, and capers brining in a large jar.

Together, with Google translate, we talked about their simple and quiet lives and I expressed my dissatisfaction with the American lifestyle and, in my opinion, poor quality of life. We spoke of the drive Americans have for accumulation and how this prevents them from ever really relaxing and savoring the moment. Carla said she believed that Americans felt the need to have so many guns because of two reasons – their inability to accept “others,” those unlike themselves, and to protect all of their possessions.

When I told her we train children in our schools in how to hide from intruders with guns, we both cried.

It’s not normal.

My stay in Florence has been in the beautiful home of a retired chef/restauranteur. His home, again, is a study of living simply and without waste. The walls are covered with photos and artwork and repurposed wooden wine crates have been fashioned into furniture and shelving. His kitchen is magnificent in a way that a stainless steel applianced, granite counter top and fancy tiled backsplash American “dream” kitchen will never be. It is practical and well thought out and, most of all, well used. I hope to replicate his candied lemon peels and simmered cannellini beans with sage, onions and garlic back in my own simple, yet functional kitchen when I’m once again home.

Gabriele, approaching 80, is as vital as man 20 years his junior. His philosophies on food, health and living have placed him in a position to enjoy an active life in his retirement. On my second day here, I encountered him on the street and I was struck by how alive he looked. He’s both an inspiration and evidence.

On my final solo evening in Florence, I took a rooftop yoga class at sunset. There were about 10 women in the class, the majority being from the U.S. Everyone spoke English and it felt indulgent to be able to carry on conversations at our simple dinner post-class with women of various ages and backgrounds.

I enjoyed the experience very much, with two particularly interesting women standing out for me. Both were in their early to mid 20s, one a Black women who is teaching African American Studies at the very same high school she herself had attended as one of the few POC in the building, a situation she says is still very much the same. She spoke matter of factly of isolation she felt during her education prior to college and her envy of the history owned by the Italians, while her ancestors’ accomplishments and feats have been erased from the record.

The other woman I spent some time talking with was Dutch, and studying art in Florence for the summer, who can’t believe it is even necessary for such a class to need to exist. Not because she doesn’t understand the validity of the point of view, but that she can’t comprehend that Americans don’t learn all history. This second woman also struggled to grasp the fact that student loans come at a high price, healthcare is something not everyone has, and that paid time off from employment for vacation or child rearing is not a fact for more Americans.

Yeah, me neither.

To travel is to see the world and taste life. When I travel alone I am acutely conscious of my role as a representative of a place, a country. The more time I spend outside of the United States, the less I want that to be the place I call home, at least for as long as I remain healthy, capable and active.

While I may not know the language, I certainly like what people here have to say.