The fire of all five senses

“The five senses are the ministers of the soul.”

Leonardo da Vinci

Salò and the southern shore of Lago di Garda

My return to Italia began two weeks ago after a 7-month hiatus in France. I drove directly from Nice (Nizza) to the town of Salò along the southern shores of Lago di Garda. I visited the northern shore of the lake and the town of Riva del Garda last year (read about that here). However this time, I found myself in Salò on my way to Verona and then to Venezia.

I have to give an Instagram friend credit for pointing me in the direction of Salò and this region. Although popular with many tourists, particularly Germans, it has a healthy full-time residency. Even though it was late September, the city was bustling day and night with tourists and locals. It was a beautiful stop along my route to Verona.

I found a wonderful location near the city center along with two gentle hosts Beppo and Silvia. They were the caretakers of a large house and owned a restaurant in the garden. I spent time talking with my hosts about their lives in Salò and the restaurant they have operated for over 30-years.

One night they invited me to dine at their restaurant as their guest. It was my first real Italian meal since returning. I ate an entire week’s worth of calories in that one meal. When Beppo found out I was a vegetarian that only encouraged him to pull out all the stops from his garden. I dined on delectable stuffed fiori di zucca, roasted vegetables, pasta smothered in fresh truffles and a selection of desserts. I never saw a menu, but simply plates of food that arrived. My taste buds were firing up to the very end when I had to ultimately claim defeat. The meal finally ended with a limoncello and two days without an appetite. 

One of my favorite days was spent on a rented bike traveling through the hillsides villages around Salò. The bike paths wound through vineyards and olive groves as they delivered me to unknown destinations and coastal views.

I’ve included some photos of the town and region below, and I think you’ll agree that this is a special place in Italia to spend several days and familiarize yourself with the locals.

The surprise spark of senses

I didn’t expect the impact of my return to Italia to be terribly emotional. However, it was felt just after I arrived in Salò and visited the local supermarket to stock up on my provisions for the week. When I walked into the market a wave of comfort hit me. The smells of the food from the bakery, shelves of familiar products, fruits and vegetables with names I could pronounce, they all greeted me with warmth. I held on to my grocery cart and breathed everything into my chest, the fire of all five senses. My emotional reaction in a supermarket surprised me, and made me question, “How could I have left this place?”

I knew the answer to that question. Yes there was a pandemic in front of me and a failed relationship in my rear-view mirror. At the time I had few friends to call my own in Torino and a healthy fear of language incompetence. So France was there to welcome me with friends, familiarity and a pandemic to force me into deep thoughts. But I wondered if I perhaps gave up on Italia too soon.

Now, the pandemic is waning. I know I am stronger, and I speak more confidently. It’s a far cry from that first full week in Roma, almost three years ago. I still remember how those first few days had the fire of all five senses, but in a way that was uncomfortable and a bit fearful. Now the spark of all five senses in the grocery store is welcomed. It seems to confirm I’m on the right path with the right plan.

My next stop is Verona, the town made even more famous by Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet. This will be my first time there and I’m quite excited to visit. It is a city that I am contemplating for a more permanent base in Italia. It has a reputation for being one of the most beautiful small cities in Italia and I hope it can light the fire of all five senses.

My next entry will highlight my visit to Verona and my time spent revisiting Venezia. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy the continuation of my next chapter in my ever-evolving book. It is entitled “Un’identità” which translates to “An Identity”. I think it fits in nicely with this entire return to Italia experience I am having. Reliving those first few days in Roma allows me to make my own personal comparison and appreciate just how far I have come in this part of my journey. It also gives me pause to think about my identity that is constantly evolving and wonder over who I am becoming.

Un’identità

I guess we all have an identity we cling to for most of our lives. Much of the early part of our identity is formed for us by our family, then friends and our environment. Our position in the social circle of life also plays an important role in that. But as we grow older, we have the opportunity to choose again. We have the chance to reinvent ourselves over and over again. Or, in my particularly case, life forces us to reinvent at some point.

We continually refine, beautify or recast ourselves like clay pottery into the next best thing to carry us for some undetermined window of time until fate requires another iteration. We always have the clay in our hands and the sculptor’s wheel in front of us, even after life has dealt us with some lumpy clay and a not-so-perfect wheel to work upon. It’s always our choice what we do with it.

This journey to re-identify myself began today, my first full day in Rome. It was driven by the need and desire to sculpt my life into another shape. It’s not that the previous one wasn’t good enough. In fact, it was beautiful until the vase shattered. My life experiences became larger than the vase could contain, and perhaps I simply had to break it purposefully. For all the beautiful things it carried and the life that it witnessed, it could no longer serve in its present form.

Even before the death of my husband, Darin, the vase was showing some wear. There were cracks and fissures in its surface. Life was becoming stale, my senses were tempered, and I struggled shaking the dulness off of and finding, once again, my purpose in life and how to light the fire in all five senses.

Darin was feeling the same dullness that I was. The idea of us recreating together in Italy, stepping off of the moving sidewalk of life and being more in control of our experiences, was appealing to both of us. We believed it would be easier to find our senses alive again, even after the wear and tear of an international move.

But today I find myself walking the streets of Rome alone, not knowing exactly where to begin to look for an identity. I have a tremendous amount of faith that someting greater than me brought me here, but I would be lying if I said I was confident or even remotely knowledgeable of what will happen next.

I know I have to show up for a language class beginning on Monday, which is several days a way. Other than that, I have no other commitments. I simply have time that I must fill and memories that I must try to keep at a distance for now. It is too easy to be overwhelmed with emotion.

The emotions come from a myriad of feelings. It’s the realization that after years of effort, I can call Italy home. That’s quickly followed by the awareness that I have no other home to return to at this point. Then there is the question if there will ever be another person to bring me coffee in bed or wish me a good morning. Will someone ever again carry thoughts of me just before they fall asleep at night?

I decide to keep walking. It’s good for me to have the sights, sounds and perfume of Rome to be a barrier to all of those questions and feelings.

I have been walking for at least an hour or longer. I don’t know at this point. My desire is to simply keep exploring. I know that if I return to my apartment the weight of emotions will take over. I’m not ready for that. I’ll save those for the evening when the feelings won’t squander the sunlight and warm air of this beautiful February afternoon.

I find myself walking past the American Embassy on Via Vittorio Veneto. It’s impossible to miss in the stately Palazzo Margherita, named for the former residence of Italy’s Queen Margherita. Strangely the sight of the American flag and the armed personnel out front give me a sense of comfort and nostalgia. Perhaps knowing that I’m not too far from American terra firma is a good thing for now.

For the last two years walking has been my antidote for grief. In Palm Desert I could walk for hours as I tried to process the series of events that were unfolding in life. Darin and I used to walk together often until he could no longer find satisfaction or comfort in his daily routine.

I maintained the habit of the daily walk after he passed and found myself often walking alone for hours. When friends or family would visit, I would take them with me and point out the various sights and locations that had significance to Darin and I, but usually I preferred to revisit those alone.

Walking among nature’s suburban desert world was a way for me to focus on something that was more constant and permanent. It allowed me to step above the continual churn and change in my own life. Those walks became a moving meditation that allowed me to open my mind to what was possible instead of the impossible thoughts that awaited for me upon my return home.

It was during these walks that I began to form the beginning of a new identity. I began to feel more familiar with the feeling of being alone, and the shape my life might take. Those hours spent on my feet with my legs pushing me forward symbolized a greater strength that would allow me to propel my life forward and change everything in the coming months. It was the same strength that was needed to throw back that heavy blanket of dullness and grief that had enveloped me. I needed to feel the fire of all five senses again.

Walking is all I want to do at this point in Rome. But now the temperature is dropping as the sun begins to create shadows and cooler air fills in the void. It’s time to turn back and begin the walk back to my new home.

I decide to take another loop around the Colosseum, avoiding an easy ride on the Roma metro. I am walking towards Rome’s Termini train station now through the district of Monte. It is a good decision. There is so much energy surrounding me in this area. Locals and tourists mix and spill out onto Via Cavour and the streets that lead up to Piazza Cinquecento and Termini station. It’s Roman living at its best–a bit dingy, chaotic and loud, but it’s Rome.

I decide that I will come back in the coming days to revisit this place. The metro would certainly be more convenient and faster, but I think I’ll walk when I return. It is how I want to experience this new home of mine. I believe it is the best way to feel the city and uncover its plans for me. Those moments on my feet with my legs propelling me forward will add form and shape to the squishy unformed clay identity that rests in my hands.

Thanks for your continued support. This post was particularly difficult for me to finish. I have arrived in Venezia. Shortly after my stay began, a friend of mine lost his father. Although I did not know his father, I do know the son he raised. His son has been a good friend of mine. We share the same experience of unexpected loss, grief and discovery. I want to dedicate this post to him and his family, along with his journey of discovery.