Delicious Paradox
Savoring the Slow in the Land of Espresso
They say if you love something enough, it will reveal its secrets to you. And that, gentle reader, is really all the excuse I have for presuming to tell anyone how to travel: Love. An unreasonable passion for a land that's already well loved, well appreciated and, lord knows, well traveled. Or perhaps, says the impassioned voice, perhaps not always traveled so well.
I don't claim to have penetrated the innermost heart of Italy in my journeying. But as someone who's gone well beyond skin deep, it does pain me a little that so few foreign travelers succeed in more than scratching the surface of Italian life. Granted, Italia has a bella figura, a beautiful surface, and if a gelato in front of the Colosseum and a passing glimpse of the Pietà is enough to satisfy, then nothing wrong: have at. If however you sense there's more--more beauty, more meaning, more paradox and glorious absurdity--if in short you find yourself enamorato (smitten), then it's up to you to get on more intimate terms with the Bel Paese.Â
As with any prospective love, you don't want to rush things. The mind boggles at itineraries that aim to "do" Italy, from Venice to Sicily, in 10 or 12 days. Quickies have their place, sure--but on a first date? Piano, piano.
I suspect people who approach their trips as a mad dash don't usually return for a sequel, since they've already skimmed the cream of the country (in their minds), and probably had quite a frenetic time of it. They probably wound up with a case of psycho-emotional indigestion, occasioned by course after heavy course of sight-seeing with nothing to cleanse the palate in between. Italians, who are obsessive about their digestion, know that a well-balanced meal includes a little crunch and a shot of bitters, not just rich cherry pickings. By the same token, an itinerary gets cloying when attractions aren't balanced with the earthy rhythms of local life, and consumption with a little legwork.
The impulse to see and do (and eat) as much as possible is understandable, but rushing about in an effort to cram everything in is likely to backfire. Why? In part because such an approach is contrary to the spirit of the place. That spirit is full of delicious paradox, in which sexy speed (think Ferrari and espresso) coexists with rich and majestic slowness (think a two-hour weekday lunch). The yin and yang of Italian life, these speedy and slow aspects don't compete but rather complete one another.
The fast side is more evident in the big cities, naturally. But sticking to the cities means going where all the other tourists are going. It's difficult to forge meaningful connections with Italians under these circumstances. In effect, by sticking to the well-trodden paths of Florence, Venice and Rome, you're sacrificing depth on the altar of glamour; you're missing the sweetness of the slow. If you wish to sink deeper into pleasure, nourishment and (even, yes) meaning, it pays to venture into the hinterlands.
If you do decide to explore the countryside, you're faced with an overwhelming number of options: famous cities are few, but villages and towns are everywhere. So, short of a personalized recommendation or a local friend to settle the issue, how to go about deciding whereabouts to roam?
By taking a page from the book of that prized animal, the truffle pig, and following your nose. Pre-trip research is a decent chunk of the fun of travel: start by reading up on different regions, looking at photos, asking yourself what kind of landscape speaks to you. The sparsely populated volcanic hills of Basilicata are worlds apart from the alpine reaches of the Dolomites or the gentle ranch lands of the Maremma (coastal Tuscany). What place holds an inexplicable allure? Trust that. Then drill down deeper, zooming in on the map, literally. Google shamelessly. Start to define a zone of interest for yourself, up to about 100 x 100 km--there's sure to be plenty within that area. As you research, you'll begin to get a sense of what town might make a good base of exploration, or a good starting point for an A-to-B route (or a loop). A quick map search will help ensure that there are B&B's and restaurants along the way, a sign that visitors are welcome and that others (mostly Italians) find the place worthy of a visit.Â
If you find yourself worrying about the lack of famous sites on your itinerary, remember that small is beautiful. With local attractions--lesser known ruins, tiny churches, a swimming hole, waterfall, hot spring or grove of ancient trees--there's a good chance you'll have them to yourself, or share the experience with just one or two other visitors (who, in less traveled areas, are much more likely to be curious and friendly). Remember, too, that whole towns qualify as sights, as per the borghi piu belli d'Italia (list of the most beautiful towns in Italy).
My own most meaningful or beautiful moments in Italy have often come unexpectedly: coming upon a river that took my breath away with its pristine beauty (no mention of it in the guidebook), or stumbling with my wife upon a little chapel hung with bibs, the shrine clearly dedicated to babies lost in infancy or the womb. The best meal I've ever eaten (in Italy or elsewhere) was in a tiny town recommended by our host in another tiny town in the Piemonte. More memorable than the Colosseum were the Etruscan ruins of Populonia, with nary a soul to be seen. Better than any souvenir were the enormous green olives and wheel of fresh pecorino we bought from a farmer at market in Sulmona and brought home in our carry-ons' more charming than any Roman boutique was the small town pop-up shop selling museum-worthy Easter eggs made with obsessive devotion and spectacular ingredients.
In a way, it almost doesn't matter where you go, since small wonders are to be found just about everywhere. The trick is slowing down enough to sink below the figured surface and into the depths that await. Just don't expect to return unscathed by love's arrow.
(Further reading: here's my account of a recent foot journey to the center of Italy.)
