It was about a week into our month in Italy when David and I enjoyed a short escape from the kiddos (thanks to the fabulous Mary Martin, who was spending some quality cousin time with them), when I floated the following thought: “You know, maybe we should just cut our losses and head somewhere else?” Within a few minutes we were huddled over our phones, furiously reviewing maps and looking up distances. “We could be in Croatia in 10 hours. I hear it’s nice.” “Oh! Would we train, ferry, or fly?”
Why the urge? Well, because Italy, at first glance, wasn’t what we pictured, expected — or really desired. I spent a lot of time in Italy as a teenager and then in my 20s — hiking in Cinque Terra long before it was “discovered,” horseback riding in the Italian Alps, swimming in the caves off Positano, and wandering the streets of Florence feeling practically alone. But in the intervening decades, I have to confess: I think I’ve aged better than it has. What once seemed magical now seems crowded, loud, graffitied, and, frankly, sullied. In Venice, a moment on the sidewalk leaves you jostled by an umbrella-wielding tour guide, and, when walking around Rome, you can go half an hour without hearing a word spoken in a language other than our own native tongue. Even those super-charming-sounding towns we saw on our 70-mile bike ride through Tuscany (Pienza, Multipulciano, Montalcino) seem spoiled — irretrievably Disneyfied and seemingly bleached of real LIFE. It’s enough, well, to prompt a girl to get out a map.
Ultimately, though, cooler heads prevailed. After some more discussion, David and I ditched the escape plan and decided to redouble our efforts to love Italy for what it is, right now — in all its beautiful ruin.
In so doing, we doubled down on Orvieto, the small town in Umbria where we had rented a longterm apartment and decided to call our home base. We decided to enjoy THAT town — totally new to us both — for what it is (not just for the fact it’s on the train line and is, as a consequence, in close proximity to the rest of Italy).
And what Orvieto is, we discovered once we s-l-o-w-e-d d-o-w-n, is glorious.
For those who haven’t heard of Orvieto (and, until about eight months ago, I would have been in this group), it’s a town of 21,000 perched on a giant rock formation about 90 minutes outside of Rome. It’s special because it has all the history, beauty, and creature comforts one associates with Tuscany (e.g., truffles, gelato, vineyards, vistas, Medieval cathedrals, winding narrow streets, and a Mediterranean climate), but, since it’s in Umbria, remains unburdened by Tuscany’s cache. (So, shhhh, don’t tell anybody about it.)
Here’s a glimpse:
Also this:
Then, after deciding to plant our flag firmly in Orvieto, we made another radical and crucial decision. We decided that, instead of trying to explore museums, visit caves, and notch more tourist “must-sees,” we’d just live life. But leisurely. And in Italy! We’d take a break from our break! I declared Orvieto a “tourism free zone,” and, even in the face of a noted art museum and a well-reviewed cave walk, we stuck to it.
With that plan hatched, we befriended the town’s tennis pro (the talented and extremely patient Giuseppe), got into the sport, and found what we think will be a hobby that we’ll bring back with us to Palo Alto and love, as a family, going forward. (The fact that the tennis court had expansive views of rolling hills, an historic monastery, vineyards, and the town’s stunning chapel also didn’t hurt.)
I also got a little glimpse of what my life would be like, if, instead of having kids and immediately chasing tenure (starting my current job with a 2-year-old and infant), I had instead chosen a more leisurely path. Who would I be, if, for the past 12 years, I hadn’t been on the go practically every second? It turns out, I like that alternate me quite well.
For instance, when we have more time, the kids and I turn into energetic and enthusiastic cooks and bakers, even if our results leave something to be desired. (Witness our attempt at bread making, which consumed two full afternoons, though, in our defense, I’m not sure we ever really figured out the Italian word for “yeast.”)
When we weren’t torturing flour and water, each evening, we’d crank up Van Morrison and Norah Jones on iTunes and make delicious pastas, bruschettas, and salads, with ingredients from our local spots, where we got to know the purveyors well (even if communication remained rudimentary).
I also hiked most days, as there was a gorgeous path around the entire “rock” that is Orvieto. Here are some representative wild flowers.
I also turned into an avid reader, with highlights being the soulful “Less” by Andrew Sean Greer and the equally magnificent (though pitched at the younger set) “A Little History of the World” by E.H. Gombrich. (We’re reading the latter aloud to the kids and all learning a ton in the process.) Indeed, beyond these, I’ve read nearly two dozen books so far — with recommendations welcome!
In sum, for a couple of weeks there we woke up every day, without any plan. We’d devour books, watch movies (“Top Gun” and “Mrs. Doubtfire being faves), listen to music, walk, cook, eat, play, and talk. In short, we’d have the “family time” you plan to have as a family but that, so often get erased by the never-ending stream of seemingly-more-important errands, work e-mails, appointments, housekeeping chores, little league, fall ball, etc. etc. etc.
All told, I think when David and I look back on our days — and the kids look back on their childhood — we’ll think of our weeks in Orvieto as a highlight of all of it. And nestled somewhere in there, is a lesson for going forward.
Fanatical Sabbatical 