WHERE MY SOUL RESIDES

Exactly one week ago, I was still in my PJs and barely left my bed all day. Why? Because I had just returned from my latest globe-trotting adventure in Italy with my son, and not only did I bring back photos, souvenirs, and fantastic memories, I also brought back. . . Covid. Fortunately, Aaron did not contract it. Probably because he had experienced his own bout with Covid back in August, so maybe he still possessed some immunity? Who knows. My parents, who had also gone to Italy and met us for a couple of days in Venice, came down with Covid as well. Fortunately, we are all on the mend, but this virus is no trifling matter. And all three of us have been double-vaxxed and thrice-boosted. However, to those who say that we must learn to simply live with this virus, which is no different from the flu, I say - HOGWASH.

I get a flu shot every year, but before 2020 I did not adhere to the strict precautions and protocols I adopted during this pandemic of social distancing, face masks, and hypervigilant handwashing. Yet never did I become sick with the flu. I am fortunate to have excellent health, but throughout my life have occasionally contracted strep throat, bronchitis, and other bad colds. Yet even when Aaron came home from college sick with the flu in January of 2020, coincidentally just before Covid was about to change all of our lives, I still did not catch it from him.

All of this is to say that I've now seen firsthand how incredibly contagious the Covid-19 virus is. Of course, with all our traveling and exposure to so many people for two weeks, it's easy to see how I could have gotten it anywhere, which is why I was dismayed when all the mask mandates were lifted from travel. Many times throughout our trip, Aaron and I were two of the very few people who continued to wear masks in crowded indoor areas and on public transportation. My fear is that when those of us who have followed all the recommendations still manage to become infected, it only adds fuel to the fire of those who refuse to believe the science and medical experts. However, I am done trying to reason with the unreasonable, so that is where I will leave this topic. . . For now.

On to Italy!

If the pandemic hadn't occurred, I would have planned a trip to Europe as a graduation gift for Aaron upon completing his studies at UC Santa Cruz. But alas, we all know what happened. Then, last year, Aaron's girlfriend, Lexi, announced that she would be doing a semester abroad in none other than - FLORENCE. Long story short, I seized the opportunity to take Aaron to visit her and give him a tour of the place that inspired me to write my first novel and show him all the reasons why I love Italy so much. For various reasons, Bob was unable to join us, so it became a mother/son trip.

Aaron and I are similar in many ways, but he admitted that he would not feel comfortable embarking on that type of trip on his own; whereas I when I was his age, I traveled to several European countries, either by myself or with a friend. And this was before the internet, cell phones, and GPS! I often marvel at how we, of a certain generation, managed before all that highfalutin technology. Yay us!

Our itinerary entailed flying from San Jose to Milan. After one day in Milan, we took the train to Trento to visit an old friend. The following day, a train to Venice, where we met up with my parents who would stay for two days, while Aaron and I stayed for three.

Then, we would go our separate ways, my parents traveling to other parts of Italy, while Aaron and I went to Rome.

From Rome, we continued on to Florence.

Afterwards, because I am such a rock-star mom, we went to Lake Garda so Aaron (roller-coaster enthusiast) could experience an Italian amusement park: Gardaland!

We returned to Milan for our final full day in Italy, then flew back home.

I once heard a statistic that one of the top regrets people have at the end of their lives is not participating in a study abroad program. I've always told Aaron that every young person, if at all possible, should travel to a foreign country. Ideally one where English is not the primary language spoken because that type of travel has the ability to change your life. It is also imperative that this kind of travel should be done while one is still young enough to be impressionable before life's stresses and obligations begin to weigh one down, causing a person to become jaded. I do regret that I did not study abroad either in high school or college. But I made up for it the summer after I graduated from UCLA, when I lived and worked in Lugano, Switzerland, while immersing myself in the Italian language with the goal of becoming fluent. And it absolutely did change my life.

In preparation for our adventure, I kept reminding Aaron that this was not a vacation - this was a trip. It would be thoroughly exhausting and overwhelming and not at all relaxing. BUT it would be incredible and memorable. And it was. Seeing the haunting waterways of Venice, the ancient beauty of a city that has stood for centuries in water, dazzling palaces, unbelievable basilicas and duomos, the endurance of ruins from before the time of Christ, splendid gardens, and sublime, jaw-dropping works of art - one cannot help but feel moved by history and all that humankind has accomplished and endured.

The obvious beauty and delight of Italian culture was enhanced by the added bonus of two experiences of breaking bread with real Italian families in a real Italian homes. First, we were hosted in Trento at the home of my friend, Luciana.

She is the widow of Luciano, whom I dedicated my novel to, along with my grandma. When my dad was in high school, Luciano was a foreign exchange student who lived with my dad's family for that year. After my stay in Lugano, Switzerland, that summer in 1988, Luciano and Luciana welcomed me into their home for a couple of days and I have remained in touch with them ever since. Sadly, Luciano passed away in the late summer of 2020, and I never got to see him again. So I was determined to visit his widow, Luciana and their son, Andrea. Aaron and I had a lovely lunch of smoked salmon penne and a mixed green salad, followed by a spice cake at Luciana's house that has a spectacular view of the valley surrounded by the Italian alps.

Luciana does not speak any English. Aaron speaks no Italian. Andrea and I speak both, so it was great practice for us with each other's languages. Thank goodness for translation apps! Later that evening, Luciana also treated us to a delicious dinner at her home with a couple of other friends - Bruno and Paula. They are the parents of Chiara, who had lived with my parents in San Clemente for a summer over 20 years ago. (Also inspirations for some of the characters in my novel) We had cream of zucchini soup, thinly sliced roast beef, roasted potatoes, and three flavors of gelato for dessert. The entire evening was a mishmash of heavily accented English and rapid-fire Italian. And in typical Italian fashion, they were all quintessentially expressive and passionate in their discourse. It was all highly entertaining. In Florence, Lexi's host family graciously invited Aaron and me to dinner our first evening there. We were treated to a first course that consisted of three kinds of gnocchi (tomato sauce, four cheese sauce, and pesto). The main course was some kind of scrumptious turkey in broth, roasted potatoes, and red wine. For dessert - Torta di Nonna. On the walk back to our Airbnb, Aaron and I felt like we would burst from so much food, but it was sooo worth it.

It is difficult to describe all the amazing things we saw and did. I am still trying to process the experience myself. I suppose a small blessing in disguise regarding my Covid infection is that it forced me to be very quiet and still upon returning from our trip. As a result, I am taking my time reflecting. Perchance, I needn't put it all into words right away. Maybe, this will allow me to save my impressions for the sequel to High Water that I am currently writing.

The one thing I can say for certain is this: Each time I visit Italy, I feel myself returning home. And each time I leave Italy, I feel a part of my soul has been left behind. Perhaps that is why I must go back. . . Often.