Il Nostro Risveglio

It’s balcony season again and our first Spring in Verona is a revelation. Back in Virginia, after so many years, we knew by heart the melody of Richmond’s April symphony, the cues and hues as neighborhood blocks reawakened one after the other in dogwoods, magnolias, and tulip poplars. Here, la nostra prima primavera (our first Spring) continues its reveal with May and June surprises like new friends around every corner: violet glicine (wisteria), white ciliegio e susino (cherry and plum), fuscia albero di Giuda (Judas tree), blue giaggiolo (iris), and un arcobaleno di tulipani e rose (a rainbow of tulips and roses). One Sunday, we took a family hike, climbing up toward Castel San Felice where city views are spectacular. Along the route, hillsides of flowers followed the arcing sun, turning their yellow and purple faces in unison like satellite dishes at New Mexico’s Very Large Array. Pure delight.

After a late breakfast of frittata and blood orange spremuta, Amy Lee transferred flowers to planters while basil and mint germinate on a windowsill. Neighbors Francesco and Grazia appeared on their adjourning balcony and we traded numbers with the promise of an aperitivo soon. Germinating. It’s what we’ve been doing for more than six months and less than twelve.

That’s how a friend answered when I asked how long it took to find his groove. He moved from the US to Rome and I remember his answer vividly because it seemed so oddly specific. And now that I’ve past that mile marker, it’s not lost on me that nine months is a proper school year and the gestation period for certain mammals. So here we are, emerging from the womb, born again, like budbursting vineyards on Verona’s outskirts in Valpolicella, Soave, and Lago di Garda.

I’ve conquered my first personal goals of Italian fluency. I still feel marooned on the wrong side of madrelingua in school meetings and groups of cross-talkers but I can chitchat on the bus, flirt with the florist, conduct business at the bank, explain a toothache (mal di dente) to the dentist, and describe a bunion (callo) to the chiropractor. I can read all of the monthly supermarket circular and most of the weekly Vanity Fair Italia. I attended una mostra (art show) and even managed to discuss the intense and controversial works of Maffeo D’Arcole1 with a Veronese architect. Julian’s accent and innate ability to r-r-r-oll his Rs surpass mine, but at fifty-four, I’m proud that the work I’ve put into my brain is finding its way out of my mouth.

And from the In-Ever-So-Slightly-Over-My-Head Department: with the infrastructure of family, friends, and language in place, the next big piece is income. My 400–hour tourism and hospitality program2 finished last week. I’ll earn my certificate once I complete another 400 hours of tirocinio (professional internship) and then pass the big exam’s three parts: multiple choice, oral, and presentation of a project. Here’s a sample of questions from the practice test. I thought I was hot shit after nailing page one. Page two shook that confidence and then page three left me crying uncle. Suffice to say I’ll be reviewing my 300 (!) pages of notes between now and November.

Here’s where I’ve landed with work. Some time ago, I set the intention to get out of the wine industry but stay wine-adjacent and find a way to contribute locally and nationally as a bridge between Italy and English-speaking countries. I knew that I wanted to work for Italians and get paid in Euros to write, explore, learn, and share. One of my wisest friends likes to say, “Go through the open windows!” so when two Veronese finestre opened wide, I defenestrated myself.

The first window brought me to Doppio Diploma, a program that offers Italian high school students a chance to expand their education and international acumen by also earning an American high school diploma through online courses. With Julian completing his first year of Italian middle school and my first term as a class representative, I understand the strengths and limitations of both systems. Better than either one alone is dual exposure. I believe this wholeheartedly. You can see one of the DD vids I’ve done HERE.

The second window opened to Soluzioni Travel, an agency for viaggi su misura, bespoke travel experiences. We are just getting started together, but the idea is a tailor-made dream for me. For twenty-five years, the agency’s been offering white glove service to Italians adventuring around the world. Now, for the first time, they’re turning that expertise toward incoming travelers. My job is to cultivate relationships with the most interesting winemakers, growers, and artisans; get to know the region’s sites, history, and byways; sniff out the best dishes, ingredients, traditions; learn the local language of culture in Verona, Veneto, and Northern Italy, and then introduce it to curious travelers.

Italy does not need more cruise ships and tour buses. My four months of tourism training taught me how to build a sustainable future. Instead of go-go Instagram trips to Pisa for more Leaning Tower pix or yet another tsunami of oversize suitcases through Venezia, we’ve got to inspire people to discover the slow-motion hospitality of Italy's historic villages, local dishes, and family producers. The trade-off is that when you detour from oft-traveled routes trampled by over-tourism, you leave behind inglese, too. That’s where I can help. Soluzioni sees me as having the poet’s heart to comprehend soulful Veneto and the bilingual tongue to voice her stories in English.

My first clients are a Pacific Northwest couple looking for a getaway that includes winery visits, farmers markets, cooking class, hiking in Dolomites, lazing at Lago di Garda, plus lots of spritzes / pasta / gelato, a little touring / shopping / spa, and all of the Veronese history and flavor they can muster from five-star accommodations and luxe transport. After interviewing them, my team and I are crafting a made-to-measure excursion for two. I’m thinking this could become a thing.

To document places and people along the way, we’ve created a channel that I’m calling Letters From Verona, a play off Letters to Juliet, that will cover things worth writing home about. Soluzioni and I will cast a wider net soon and start spreading the word, but for now, I’m happy to let this gatto out of the bag to my readers first. You know how I sink my teeth into an experience—if you’ve got a hankering to taste Italy, let’s just say … I know a guy.

Nearing the 11-month mark…