We’ve promised our kids that for their final year of high school, they could pick a parent, pick a place and we would do our best to make the trip a reality. The kind of promise you can be flippant about when your kids are little and high school graduation seems like some other lifetime, far removed from bedtime stories and wrinkled works of art, thick with paint and hanging on the fridge. And yet here we are. My first born. My Katie. All 5lbs 3 oz of determination that made me a mother and changed my life forever. As she grinned, twirled in the mirror, and announced the blue satin grad dress was the one, the truth settled in; this was it. It’s time.
I’m not sure either of us know why her chosen destination was Italy. Maybe because she’s heard stories of when her dad and I travelled Europe in our early adulthood, or maybe some romanticized notion of rugged coastlines, cute cafe’s and markets, either way, we were both pretty excited to book 10 days to explore. “I just want to do all the touristy things” she said, too busy to spend much time researching, which was just fine with me. I knew would easily fill 10 days in a country so rich in beauty, history and, of course, food.
This year has been a blur for Katie. Every minute of her day is consumed with school, sports, theatre, her job as a hostess, her friends and boyfriend, and I feel like we hardly get to see each other beyond the occasional family dinner, late night cereal hour or as she breezes through the kitchen on her way to school.
So as we boarded the plane for her first international trip, I took a deep breath, so grateful for this time with her. However, 24 hours later I was struggling to remain grateful. An exhausting red eye with very little sleep, and a ridiculous series of planes, trains and rickety trams to finally get to our Airbnb in Rome was tough. Paired with cool rainy weather that felt even colder then the spring thaw happening at home, and we were both left feeling irritated, overwhelmed and wondering why we thought Italy in March was a good idea.
But then after a nap, we were feeling ready to get exploring. Last year, I spent an evening in Rome due to a delayed flight on my way home from Croatia, and I remembered a street, near the Trevi fountain, that felt like the perfect place to start. And then I settled in to experience one of the best parts of parenthood that is difficult to describe and easy to miss. I got a front row seat to watch her discover something completely new. She was wide eyed. The lights, the narrow streets, the uneven cobblestone and buildings, fountains, statues, older than anything she had seen before. She dove into a plate of fresh fettucine and announced it was the best she had ever tasted. And so began 10 days of eating, drinking, wandering (and a bit of running) through the incredible country of Italy.
Ok, so I know this is a run blog, and yet here I am getting all nostalgic about raising kids and eating fresh pasta. Of course I ran in Italy, but that wasn’t the focus. I solemnly swear I will be back for a run trip; next time to Courmayeur for Tor Des Geants, but for now I’ll recap the few runs that let me explore in my absolute favourite way.
Being a typical teenager, Katie was quite happy to sleep a little longer while I went out for a couple kms. How surreal to weave through narrow streets, past apartments with laundry hanging off balconies, and buildings over 1000 years old. Roman aqueducts still stand in many places, modern cars whipping through narrow streets underneath them. One morning in Rome, I was doing my best to dodge pedestrians, vehicles and scooters and came across a horrific accident. First responders were on site and I couldn’t look away quick enough to see pools of blood on the pavement and streaked down the side of a Fiat. I was ready to cut my run short, and head back to Katie, thankful I was in one piece.
My favourite run was along the coast of Sorrento, where a little exploring and a Strava heatmap took me to a gorgeous grotto early one morning. A spot normally full of swimming tourists, but all to myself.
I think I ran four times over ten days, a slow week for me, but we sure covered a lot of ground on foot everyday. Our first day in Rome we wandered all day and well into the night. Covering all the touristy things, the Forum, Coliseum, and making our way back to Trevi, Spanish Steps and of course a gorgeous Italian meal.
We spent all day absolutely in awe of the history, a little annoyed with the crowds, and completely enjoying the feeling of having nothing else to do but meander. The next day we went on a tour of the Vatican and St Peter’s Basilica. I told Katie it was sorta a shame that this was the first European church she saw, cause everything else is going to pale in comparison. She was pretty tired out from walking so much, but I managed to bribe her (with gelato) to go up to the top of the dome, 551 steps and totally worth the effort for that view. She agreed. Eventually. And yes, I Strava’d it.
We moved on that night, taking the high speed train to Florence. I texted my brother. He and his family were travelling around, visiting my niece who had been in England for the year. I knew they were in Italy the same time we were, however it didn’t look like our itineraries would overlap so we didn’t plan to coordinate anything. I asked if they had any favourite things they did in Florence. He wrote back that they were at the Duomo, less then five minutes away from where we had just finished dinner!
We met for a serendipitous gelato in the Duomo square and traded travel stories. They were just wrapping up three weeks in England, France, Switzerland and Italy. They highly recommend we do a Fiat 500 tour, saying it was ridiculously fun. Katie was skeptical I could drive a standard through the Tuscan countryside, but I took the chance, trusting my brother when he said it was worth every penny.
Damn, was he right!
The tour operator picked us up in downtown Florence, and took us to a car garage outside the city where we could pick our favourite old school Fiat 500. We were given a quick tutorial and off we went. The tour guide led the way, and we followed, careening around the corners and laughing hysterically. At one point, the brakes failed, and that’s when I realized the horn didn’t work either. We picked up speed down the hill, passing the Fiat in front of us, out of control, before I could downshift, then pull the handbrake to stop us. The tour guide laughed and said those old drum brakes did that sometimes, and he shrugged. Said we’d be fine.
Lunch at a gorgeous little farm in the Tuscan hills where they gave passengers a heavy pour on the wine, and then we had another hour or so of cruising around. We laughed so much that day.
I remember looking over at her, grinning as we passed olive and lemon trees, the sun filtering through the leaves and illuminating her hair. How lucky are we. How could that little one, who made me a mother, possibly be here, a little day drunk in Tuscany, and nearly an adult?
We spent the late afternoon wandering through the Uffizi, amongst Da Vinci’s, and Botticelli’s. Michelangelo’s and Caravaggio’s.
And of course, David. Or at least the replica on the square. A stroll past the Ponte Vecchio, back by the Duomo before a late night train to La Spezia.
Kirk and I had hiked Cinque Terre 25 years ago. Painfully young and newly in love. I had heard that its popularity had boomed since then, threatening some of its charm. However we must have been early enough in the season the crowds we were warned about were non existent on the trail, and barely noticeable in the towns.
It turned out to be one of our favourite days. A much different pace than ripping around in a Fiat, we paused to enjoy every view of those Mediterranean waters, and stopped for seafood in Corniglia for lunch. We had been warned online that the trail was closed before Riomaggiore due to trail damage. But there was no indication of that once we were out there so we just kept going. Turns out we were going straight up that mountain, instead of hugging the coastline like we should’ve. It meant we had to abandon the trail and take the bus back to Levanto to catch the train, barely making it in time. But I’ll never forget the way we laughed and ran through the tunnel towards the station, wondering how we managed to accidentally climb an extra 500m of elevation, Katie yelling over her shoulder that it felt good to run.
We settled in for another late train into Venice, headphones in, mud on her shoes, starting to feel the rhythm of European travel life.
My vague memories of Venice were that it was a dirty, smelly city with a pretty unique gimmick (the canals for streets) but not worth the trip. But Katie insisted, recalling a book she was enamoured with in elementary school, and again, the desire to do the touristy things. And Venice is certainly that. Touristy.
But wow were my impressions ever wrong. The canals were pristine, even sparkling blue, and the city was vibrant with all the charm that captivated her school girl imagination. We had a perfect day, wandering over bridges big and small, gawking at San Marcos cathedral (arguably just as gorgeous and gaudy as St. Peter’s Basillica) eating all kinds of over priced treats and of course stopping in every shop on every narrow street to gush over every beautiful thing.
This is where I sometimes look at her and wonder where she came from. Katie is a shopper and I most certainly am not. She finds endless joy in looking for the perfect purchase while I am quickly bored and even disgusted by lavish consumerism.
But it was cool and rainy during our day in Venice, and there was something about those tiny shops and the knowledge there was absolutely nothing else I had to do that made shopping with her that day, a lot of fun. Something would catch her eye and she’d give me a pleading look to go inside, then hum and haw over which friend would like which bracelet or whether that purse would match her outfit.
Other then shopping, of course we had to splurge on a gondola ride, once again giggling and posing for future IG posts, not that it needs recording, this memory is solidified.
After a long day and thirty thousand steps all over the floating city with 435 bridges, we made our way back to the Air BnB outside the city, exhausted, but so, so happy for such an incredible day.
The next day we made our way south again, this time past Rome towards Sorrento, with an afternoon stop in Pompeii. The city had already captured her imagination thanks again, to a book she had read as a child, and even though I had been there before, I was also in awe of the story, the lore, the sheer magnitude of an incredibly preserved ancient Roman city. We didn’t have a lot of time, so of course we prioritized finding the preserved bodies, huddled together in terror, and the main palazzo, excavated columns still intact.
We sang a lot of that Bastille song that day, mostly cause there were literally clouds rolling over the hills, bringing darkness from above (over Vesuvius) but also cause we are ridiculous.
She’s been so busy lately. She’s involved in a million activities and responsibilities and I can see the demands robbing her of that carefree, playful girl in blonde pigtails.
And yet here we were, half way across the world, singing, laughing at our own inside jokes, curiously exploring an entire city of ruins, imagining a life within those walls, forgetting that our life back home sometimes feels overwhelming.
We ended the day in Sorrento after taking a regional train that clattered along for an eternity, before ending in the dark and rain at the cutest Air BnB we were quite happy to crash in. Katie was exhausted. We had been covering so much ground everyday and it was catching up to both of us. So I let her sleep the next morning and I went out for a longish run (when I found the grotto!). We had booked a cooking class to make fresh pasta and tiramisu; the perfect way to spend the cool, grey day.
Again, we giggled our way through mixing eggs and flour, and running it through the pasta roller. Solemnly swearing we would only ever eat fresh pasta from this point on. (That promise was quickly broken!)
A few glasses of wine, a lot of amazing food, and laughs with new friends in the class left us ready to have a slow afternoon and evening wandering the streets and hitting up the top rated restaurant in town. How we had space for more fresh pasta is a mystery.
I’m not gonna try and understand it.
I’m just gonna enjoy that it happened.
We packed as much as we could into our last day of travel, visiting both Positano and Amalfi. Those tiny towns built into the cliffs are playgrounds for the incredibly wealthy, flooded with the rest of us, salivating over the beauty and dreaming of what it would be like to get to call those cliffs and beaches home.
Katie and I just strolled, taking it all in. Doing our best to pause time. Well, at least I was trying to pause time. But I have the privilege of looking back on my life and feeling content, able to just enjoy the moment. I’m not sure she feels the same way.
I know she’s itching to get out on her own, and wow is she ever ready. Yet I also know she’s feeling the pressure of what to do next, how to make it all work. How to do it all.
I sometimes worry I’ve set her up for unrealistic expectations with the way I’ve lived my life. I hope she also sees how much I’ve had to use self compassion, rest, accept ‘good enough’ and move on. And I hope she doesn’t push herself so hard she misses moments like this.
Sitting on the sun-warm rocks, eating lemon sorbet in the sun, watching the turquoise waves.
Our journey home was a long one. A bus, a regional train, a high speed train, airport train, Ubers and three flights. We were tired. And she started thinking about how busy the next few months would be for her as she barrels towards graduation.
But for now, just for a minute, I look over at the gorgeous young woman beside me.
Not my little 5lb peanut anymore.
A few days later she is mulling over her options for life after grad. She tells me she would like to prioritize some trips on her own, maybe with friends, maybe a year abroad. I know this is a marker of incredible privilege, one I suspect this next generation may struggle to experience given how the economy is changing. But I sure hope she can get out and explore on her own and see how big this world really is.
Now, please enjoy a series of incredible Italian food pics!
Run me Wild 