Greetings from Pisa, my last stop on my great Italian tour: Rome, Assisi, Florence, Desenzano (Lake Garda, Garda, Sirmione, Verona, Brescia), Milan, and Cinque Terre. You can read more about first three stops here!
Tomorrow I’ll be flying to Budapest to meet up with a surprise guest on my travels (tune in next time 🥺👉🏼👈🏼).
I didn’t feel like a traveler for my first couple of weeks in Italy, I felt like a tourist.
I took refuge in planning: every little event of the day came from a TripAdvisor guide and I had itineraries….itineraries!!!
But I was overwhelmed from the stark changes in my life: Living out of a backpack, being in a new place every week, using communal bathrooms, meeting people every day, and sleeping on a bunk bed (especially the dreaded top bunk) was all just a ~tad~ jarring after being stuck in my childhood bedroom working from a laptop for five months. The farthest I traveled was to physical therapy and back.
So coming back from those five months of ACL recovery and having a summer left to do my fellowship gave me a sense of urgency: I have to get this trip right, make the most of my second chance.
So I put tons of pressure on doing and seeing everything in each city I visited (there’s a Roman ruin under this public bathroom! Then I must get the ticket. The audio guide? Of course!!). I drained myself so much that I had no more bandwidth for the spontaneity of solo travel.
But I’ve finally hit my stride… I think. And by hitting my stride I mean, feeling like a traveler, not a tourist. And by feeling like a traveler, I mean 1. No expectations, enjoying the wonderful randomness that comes my way (TripAdvisor be dammed) and 2. Making time for new people. It’s always about the people. If you’re too tired to make new connections at the end of the day, you might as well have skipped the Duomo and the five! stops! all! included! bus! tour!
So without further ado, here’s a post that’s a little about Italy and a lot about new connections and surprise adventures.
But first! A snippet from Pisa, where I’ve subjected an innocent Brazilian tourist to find an angle that accommodated my backpack in one of the cringiest pictures you can take (one of my new skills is having 0 shame in asking a stranger for pictures):
Armida and the Ursulines of Desenzano
I FINALLY made it to Desenzano. And I mean finally because I was supposed to go earlier in my fellowship… twice. Once was around Christmas. That was rescheduled due to visa issues. The second time was rescheduled due to, well, my inability to walk post-op.
For a long time it seemed like I would never get to Desenzano, what you could call the spiritual center of my fellowship.
This little town on the beautiful Lake Garda is significant for two reasons. For one, it’s where Saint Angela was born, the founder of the Ursuline order. I went to an Ursuline high school in Dedham, MA. It inspired me to continue thinking about faith after graduation and was an impetus for this year of “extended pilgrimage.”
But the second reason I was grateful to finally make it to Desenzano was to meet Sister Armida, one of the Ursuline sisters living in Saint Angela’s 16th century home. The minute I started planning this fellowship, I reached out to the leadership of the Ursuline’s Roman Union. And they put me in touch with Armida, my wonderful, selfless, patient, and knowledgeable coconspirator in my travels. It was Armida that encouraged me to try the Camino de Santiago. It was Armida that arranged my visit with the Ursulines at Tours. It was Armida that organized my lunch with the sisters in Rome. And it was Armida that brought me to Desenzano and hosted me for ten wonderful days.
So after zooming for a year, what a joy it was to give her a hug in person when I got off the train in Desenzano.
After an introductory gelato with Sister Armida to go over our itinerary, I joined her and the other two sisters that live in Angela’s home for mass and dinner.
The first thing I saw in Saint Angela’s ancestral home was three nuns trying to open a bottle of champagne for my arrival.
Sister Patrizia is Polish and Sister Annunziata is Italian. All three communicate in Italian. Armida served as a translator between the four of us, but as I have often encountered throughout my travels, language barriers aren’t as high as you think they are.
The sisters’ personalities shined; it was easy to get to know them simply by their actions.
Patrizia is a bundle of energy; she always has a smile on her face and is always helping someone else. Whether she’s singing in the church choir, running a children’s camp at the parish, or driving the other sisters around, she’s constantly and selflessly on the move. (One day I visited the parish camp and saw her leading over fifty children in … a TikTok dance)
Annunziata is the oldest of the three at 87. That has yet to stop her from an exceptionally active lifestyle (rest is not a word in her vocabulary). In one day she cooks, volunteers at the parish, walks back and forth from church, and practices her English on Duolingo (she lamented the Duolingo owl’s pestering when she misses her lessons).
One day, after spending the entire morning directing one of these skits for the children in the local parish, Annunziata hurried home and cooked me homemade sage gnocchi and her famous pepper dish. When Armida and I tried to clean up, she scolded us in Italian. We finally convinced her to let us do the dishes and she went off mumbling Italian frustrations (something I could, indeed, understand).
In my mind, I’ve adopted her as my honorary Italian nonna.
Aside from spending time with the sisters in the evening, I embarked various excursions around Lake Garda and Desenzano.
One day I took the ferry to the town of Garda and hiked up a lakeside cliff:
And then treated myself to the best meatballs I’ve ever had in my life:
Another day I took the ferry to the (extremely) charming village of Sirmione:
I visited Verona which was a longtime bucket-list item.
The setting for Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, it’s impossible not to feel some ~magic~ and ~romance~ when looking over the red roofs, quaint cafes, and impressive Renaissance buildings. I even went to Juliet’s iconic balcony.
Armida
The highlight of my stay in Desenzano was getting to know Armida. She’s a formidable woman who’s led a formidable life. Armida, who makes it a point to exercise every day, told me all of her stories over walks between the lake and Angela’s house. While I huffed and puffed along in the 95 degree heat, she went along with a problem.
Armida joined the Ursulines at 19 in England, where she grew up attending an Ursuline school. She went on to serve in England, to direct an orphanage in French Guiana, and to teach and be a principal of an Ursuline school. Before coming to Desenzano to give talks on Angela’s life to visitors, she served as the secretary of the global Ursuline Roman Union.
On those long walks, we talked about Angela and the Ursulines, but we also talked about politics, relationships, our families, adjusting to new roommates, and traveling. We talked about life.
And we became fast friends.
I share all of this because when people ask me about my visiting religious communities, there’s often a tone of incredulousness: how do you do it? How do you interact with the sisters!!?? Do they speak!!??! Do they have TV??! Do THEY EVEN EAT!?
The sisters I’ve met, whether they are Ursulines or Benedictines, have all been wonderfully unique and yet very much like “us.”
They have preferences and simple indulgences. Armida, like me, likes pistachio gelato. She likes her wine chilled, while Annunziata likes it at room temperature. She likes walking and tai chi.
They have frustrations. Armida’s upset with the state of UK politics. Annunziata gets irked when the DuoLingo owl sends her a notification.
Becoming a religious sister is a life choice, much like the major life choices we all face. Take marriage. Armida calls her vocation a marriage to Christ, which is how Saint Angela described it. The relationship carries similar joys and frustrations, celebrations and sacrifices.
Milano and the Long Lost Cousins
After (sorrowfully) saying goodbye to Armida and Desenzano, I took the train to Milan where I had contacted one of my mom’s first cousins, Denise. Though I was ready to stay in a hostel, Denise very kindly offered for me to stay at her family home.
I’ve only met Denise once. She, like my mother, was born in Venezuela to Lebanese parents and immigrated elsewhere. Denise’s specialization in breast cancer surgery brought her to a world-renown hospital in Milan.
Aside from literally saving lives on a daily basis, Denise is a mother, fashionista (her wardrobe and taste is unreal), and social icon in Milan. Denise had a friend in every single restaurant, store, and museum. And if she didn’t, she made one. Our first evening together, we were walking along one of Milan’s canals, the naviglio, and found a Venezuelan-owned textile boutique. Denise immediately went in, introduced herself, and made friends with the owners, promising to spread the word about their new shop. She’s like that at all times: friendly, generous, and quick to make lasting connections.
She swiftly became a role model (and style icon).
While Denise performed (lifesaving!) surgeries during the day, I went out an explored Milan. The highlights were the Duomo, their central cathedral, DaVinci’s vineyard, and, most importantly, Starbucks.
(Oh sweet, sweet iced coffee. You may recall from my last post that I had encountered a debilitating dearth of cold coffee during Italy’s historic heat wave. I’m officially a Dunkin girl, but after four weeks of enduring the Italy’s stubborn devotion to hot coffee, I jubilantly ran into the cold, foamy, icy embrace of the green mermaid.)
And look, they even spelled my name correctly (unprecedented…usually the dreaded “Karen”)! Retribution for my weeks of suffering and sweating through scalding espressos.
At one point Denise asked me where I was going next and I told her Cinque Terre. There was a youth hostel in one of the villages.
“Oh! My girls are there on vacation, I’ll take you with me, you’ll stay with us!”
And just like that, a youth hostel excursion to Cinque Terre turned into five joyful days with my two little, long-lost-cousins.
We stayed in Monterosso, one of the five villages, or “terre,” of Cinque Terre national park, a UNESCO world heritage site.
And deservedly so. On the Ligurian coast of Italy, Cinque Terre is most noted for its seaside mountains that crash very suddenly into the sea. Nestled between the massive cliffs are the five, colorful and so-quaint-it-hurts villages. They aren’t built on the mountains, they’re built with it. Let me show you what I mean:
As soon as I walked through the door of the apartment, Elena, nine, gave me warm hug and asked me how I could carry all my stuff in one backpack (which I later demonstrated). Rachele, 11, begged us to hurry to the beach. They wanted to get the seats closest to the water. They handed me a pair of one of their precious snorkeling goggles so I could both swim with them and avoid the treacherous “meduza” — jellyfish — that sometimes torment the little girls of Monterosso.
And just like that, I became fast friends with my long-lost-second-cousins.
A Welcome Twist
What I thought would have been a week of hiking and going out with new hostel friends turned into doing TikTok dances, judging handstand competitions (Elena has the most… creative ….technique, but Rachele’s were always the straightest) and sneakily buying gelatos for my little cousins. The girls are incredibly bright and outgoing (often chatting with waiters and store owners…everyone knows them, just like their mom). They both go to an American school in Milan. Their formal English has obviously already been mastered because they’ve moved on to “bruh” and “your mom” jokes. They sound like two Americans, that’s for sure.
I took the mornings to hike between the five terre, but the majority of my days were spent with the girls. I even took Elena one morning to do the trek between Corniglia and Vernaza (after spending 20 minutes discussing what shorts and shirt combo she should wear for the hike).
The week was nothing I expected or planned or even thought would be a part of my year of travel. (One does not often plan to make friends with a cancer surgeon, a nine year old, an 11 year old, and three nuns).
And I loved every unexpected minute of it.
Not all of the ~cool~, story-worthy adventures happen meeting and partying with young travelers in hostels. Encountering new family became a thrilling and unprecedented adventure, too.
And it was all a very lucky coincidence…sometimes you can’t plan these things. You just have to be in the right place at the right time. And, of course, open to a new plan.
La Bella Vita
One of the highlights of my visit to Monterosso was the day I spent with Denise and the girls on a boat, touring around each of the terre.
We stopped in hidden alcoves, swam under waterfalls, sailed by Italian beaches. We stopped in each of the terre, looking into shops, getting lunch, sampling gelato. And at Manarola, Elena, Rachele, and I even braved some cliff jumping.
Early into the visit, looking out over the umbrella-clad beach of Monterosso, Denise said “this is la bella vita Italiana.”
As I laid on the boat, thinking about the generosity I had encountered from my family here and my friends in Desenzano, that phrase “belle vita” floated through my head.
Travel: The Cure for Social Awkwardness
It’s easy to forget the way you change over a whole year of travel. The changes just become part of you, no longer changes. But looking over the past couple of weeks, I can’t help but feel proud of a … hm what’s the word…. a social flexibility .
I’ve always been pretty outgoing, but to walk into a new convent and immediately have conversations through a language barrier is difficult. To spend a week with new family is daunting.
It’s not that I couldn’t do these things a year ago. But perhaps it would have been more awkward, stiffer. Perhaps my conversations would have been cordial and surface-level rather than the personal and vulnerable conversations I had with Armida and Denise.
Now I enter these kinds of situations with a certain “F it, why not” ease. Because you can learn something from every kind of interaction, whether it be with a religious community, a youth hostel, or some little chatty cousins.
And I’m excited for life-after-fellowship, for the new opportunities I’ll seize without a second thought, the new people I’ll meet, the deep conversations we’ll have. I’;m excited for the unexpected joys.
P.S. The Great Italian Pedalo Incident
Now I’ve already mentioned the girls going cliff-jumping. It was about 20 feet, no small task for the little ones. They’re indeed very brave.
That’s why I find myself chuckling at their rather peculiar risk tolerances.
My first day in Monterosso, the girls were persistently asking (begging) Denise to go on the “pedalo,” a pedal boat with a little water slide on top. Looked like any kid’s dream and so the next day, Denise gave in and rented it for an hour as the girls jumped and squealed. They very seriously passed me a pair of goggles in order to be able to explore with them (and look out for meduza, too).
So there we went, Denise and I offering the leg power and the girls holding on waiting for us to get to the right spot in the water to leap in and slide off the boat.
Here’s where the rather odd risk calculation comes in. We jumped off a cliff. But somehow, about 20 yards from shore, the girls were petrified to enter the water.
“Mom we’re too far! Mom we hate this pedalo! Mom take us back to shore!”
“More we’re going to collide with the other pedalo!” It was at least 100 feet away.
Denise and I were cracking up.
We struck a compromise of sorts. I spent the next hour climbing between the pedaling seat and jumping out into the water to patrol for jellyfish and any other ~marine threats~ so the girls could slide in peace.
A couple days later, I ended up babysitting the girls for a night. They asked if we could do the pedalo the next day. “How about a second gelato instead?”
And now a little shoutout to Elena and Rachele who want to be on my blog to “get famous.” (Hate to break it to them…I’m no Bari Weiss yet…).
Better than Bari Weiss !!!! I love your writings!!!! 🥰🥰🥰
Loved it! ❤️💚💜