Weeks 19-22 (let's just throw in 23, too)

Where do I begin?

Italy, how about. From a car to a plane to a shuttle to a plane to a shuttle to a plane to a bus to a metro to a walk to a sweet apartment with a view of Milan on a rainy evening. The first day of 16 without any obligations, except to ourselves in enjoying the adventures and misadventures that awaited.

We journeyed from Milan to Genoa, Genoa to the Emilia Romagna region, and finally to Turin, with stops in Lake Como, Parma, Modena, Bologna, Ferrara, Alba (ish), Asti - and a final night in Frankfurt. I managed to keep a journal the whole time, which was my goal, and I also took pictures, despite my idea to only take mental pictures instead. A cute but totally stupid idea. (When you see a statue on a cathedral with its guts hanging out, how can you not capture it for your personal collection?!)

Duomo detail, Milan

Galleria Vittorio Emanuele, Milan

Basil gelato, Genoa

Lake Como

The trip was beautiful and challenging and enlightening and took more work than most trips. We developed vacation routines in short spurts. We met and addressed our usual challenges in traveling together, with my proclivity to be a tourist (and ability to sight-see for hours) and Joel's to blend in as a local (and find time for naps and downtime), and made new discoveries about why we travel. We almost figured out the non-rules of Italian roads. We balanced each other in stressful situations. We found moments that reminded us of other places we've been and people (and dogs) we love, and felt wistful. We slept on hard beds.

Genoa

Menomoka, in Modena

Nearly every evening was ushered in with Aperol spritzes and potato chips. I stuffed myself (uncomfortably, at times) with gelato, pasta, cured pork products, focaccia, and maybe not enough cheese, if I'm honest.

In Palazzo Rosso, Genoa

Dozza

Genoa apartment view

Giro d'Italia after Barolo tasting

Modena, from the duomo

View of Serralunga from Azienda Agricola Rivetto, where we tasted wine

House dog, Luna, Castel San Pietro Terme

Serralunga viewpoint, near Alba

Genoa

Lake Como

Sforzesco Castle detail, Milan

I keep thinking of the faces of people with whom we shared small transactions and larger conversations. They didn't mean much to me in the moment, though I knew they would provide the color to the memories of our time there.

The people I don't want to forget:
-Luisa, our host in Milan, who asked us to remove our shoes when at the apartment. She is vegan and had a beautiful collection of plants. She had a framed collection of autographs on the wall in the entry way. She was relieved when Joel spoke Italian to her (this would be a recurring theme on this trip). (We climbed 94 steps to her top floor apartment, multiple times per day.)

-The unnamed woman who met us at our apartment in Genoa, who awkwardly, mostly wordlessly, gestured around the apartment to show us around, and opened the fridge and pointed out the wine that was ours to be enjoyed. (It was enjoyed.) Also, only one person at a time on this antique opium bed.

-The Lisa Bonet look-alike who served us at Lanificio in Turin. I didn't like her vibe and she smirked at Joel when he ordered his drink, as though he were clueless. I ordered a glass of wine and she looked at me blankly, so I said it again. We got two of whatever Joel ordered - out of spite or out of miscommunication, it will never be known why.

-The guy who sang every night on the Vittorio Veneto piazza in Turin with his portable sound system, the same five songs. I gave him my last Euro on our final night there.

Piazza Vittorio Veneto, Turin

-The woman who helped us with our bike subscription in Turin. She did the whole thing in English, and when Joel complimented her on her English (in Italian), I half expected her to hug and kiss him. She was so pleased.

ToBike selfie, Turin

-Angelo, our dad in Emilia Romagna. He made us breakfast every morning (warm-but-not-toasted bread, butter and jam, warm and cold milk, coffee, juice, yogurt) and spoke nary a word of English, but his warmth and kindness spoke to us.

-Jacopo, Angelo's son, who was slightly pompous, but helpful in providing ideas of where to go and how to get around the region. He "plays with engines" at his job working for Ferrari.

-The server and the host at the restaurant we visited twice in Turin. The host had a Rob Reiner look about him, and after apologetically telling us of the 20 minute wait for a table, handed us some sparkling wine with a smile. We had the same server both times, and she seemed a little cold on our first visit. Upon our return, she remembered us and what we each ordered from two nights earlier as she made suggestions. Again, she appreciated Joel's efforts in Italian and complimented him. It was busy that second night. "I am sorry, it has been a hard night," she said at the end of the meal. She shook our hands and thanked us when we left the restaurant. A perfect final meal in Italy.

Gran Madre, Turin

-Haj, the bespoke tailor from London who we met at a Meet Up for English speakers, and someone I would be friends with if we lived closer. Her portrayal of overly-attentive Turinese retailers was spot-on.

-The guy at Wild Mazzini who explained all the data visualizations to us at the tiny gallery.

-The German server in Frankfurt who apologized for the German-ness of not providing food past 10 p.m. at the outdoor lounge at our hotel. He found some peanuts to tide us over after our delayed flight.

I'm not sure what else to say. It already feels forever ago. I'm glad I kept that journal.

If you want to look at a larger jumble of pictures, out of order and unorganized, be my guest: The Entire Italy Album (It's daunting, but I hope to add labels soon.)