Veneto & Friuli Venezia Giulia

It’s been a few weeks since we last blogged. Mostly because we’ve been traveling, but also because it’s been so hot that it’s harder to be motivated to do much more than sit in front of a fan (yes, a fan, because A/C is a lot less common here than in the US)!

Before I write about our recent trip, I want to step back and tell you about the regions of Italy.

Italy is divided into 20 regions which are, in some ways, like our states. Many of these regions you’ve probably heard about, like Tuscany, Campagna, Piedmont, or Sicily. Five of the regions have a sort of special status. They are fully part of the country of Italy, but they are considered “autonomous regions”. Unlike Italy’s other regions, these five have a little more control over their own affairs because of their geography, history, or cultural identity. Some have strong French, German, or Slovene influences. Others are islands with strong local traditions and culture. The reasons for this special status are historical and cultural.

I was excited to learn about these regions. I am not technically able to travel outside of Italy without risking my residency in Italy. I’ve been here more than the 90 days that are allowed in the Schengen countries of Europe. Because I have a pending citizenship application, I am allowed to stay in Italy past the 90 days. But other countries like France or Germany might not see it that way. So we’ve essentially made peace with the idea of staying put in Italy until things are “official”. Poor us. But in truth, I have been getting a bit tired of Italian food. Hard to believe. And much of what we’ve seen is starting to look a bit familiar; piazza, Roman ruins, hilltop castle. It’s all incredibly beautiful, but I was starting to crave something just a little different. Perhaps these autonomous regions would do the trick. Maybe a visit to one of them would be like leaving the country without actually leaving the country.

Two of the five are a little harder for us to get to—Sicily and Sardinia. We may make it to Sicily this winter when it’s cooler, but Sardinia, while I’d love to go, just might not be in the cards. The other three are close enough to make easy road trips.

So we started out with a trip to Valle d’Aosta a few weeks ago. We wrote about the trip itself, but we not much about the culture. I was genuinely excited as we crossed into this special region. I was hoping to see something a little different and, even more importantly, eat something a little different. The architecture changed almost immediately. The towns we visited looked more like Swiss Alpine villages—which makes perfect sense since it borders Switzerland.

I couldn’t wait for dinner.

Unfortunately, we arrived at our hotel in Courmayeur a little late and many places were already closed. We ended up at a small restaurant that mostly served pizza and the usual Italian staples. It did have fondue on the menu. Fondue and polenta were about the only things that felt new (and honestly, polenta isn’t exactly that “new”). And the fondue came with the standard cured meats for dipping, and the rest of the menu followed the familiar antipasti, primi, secondi, and contorni format. The other restaurants we looked at were much the same—maybe one or two dishes that weren’t on menus elsewhere in Italy, but not much beyond that. The homes and building definitely looked different, and the mountain scenery was a major change, but the food was solidly “Italian”.

So last week we set out for the regions of Veneto and Friuli Venezia Giulia. The latter is one is another of Italy’s five special autonomous regions.

Below is a photo of the Italian regions. The pins are where we have pin and the blue circles highlight the 5 special regions.

When we got to Verona, I was seriously surprised at how much international stuff there was. There was an international pharmacy that specializes in helping foreigners. There was food other than Italian! Of course Italian food still dominated the scene, but there were more options than we’d found in Florence. It wasn’t always obvious, either. What looked like a typical Italian restaurant often had burgers, wings, salmon, potatoes… no Thai or deli sandwiches, but things… options. Exciting! You can tell from my writing that I really am craving some non-Italian food!

Verona itself was just… pretty. I get why Shakespeare set Romeo and Juliet there. We used an app for a self-guided walking tour and were quite impressed with the history that was visible and beautifully preserved. When strolling through Verona you move seamlessly amongst well preserved Roman ruins, including a large coliseum, Medieval buildings, elegant palazzos, and lots of lovely piazzas. The town felt vibrant and well preserved without feeling run down.The squares were probably the coziest and most inviting we’ve seen yet. Other cities have squares that are more architecturally impressive, but Verona had a warmth to it that we just loved!

One medieval square had an ancient fountain from which Koji was delighted to take a drink, and a host of buildings colorfully decorated wiht frescos from the 1400’s. It contained a market, just as it had 600 years ago, although todays “market” featured refrigerator magnets, hand held fans, and granitas, rather than mutton or grain.

My favorite evening was one when we left Koji behind in the hotel to recover from the heat, and just wander the city as dusk fell. We stumbled onto Castelvecchio just as the sun was setting and slowly walked across an ancient medieval bridge that connected the castle to the other side of the river. It was truly magical. Unlike some of the other castles we’ve visited, this one felt like a place people had actually lived in—the kind of castle you imagine in fairy tales. It even had a moat and a drawbridge. We didn’t rush back. Instead, we meandered along the river, enjoying in the fading light and watching people enjoy the cooler evening air. Magical!

We thought two nights might be too much for Verona. Instead, we left wishing we’d stayed longer and are already hoping to come back.

Next we went on to try out our first stay at an agriturismo. Think of it as somewhere between a bed & breakfast, an AirBnB, and a farm stay. There are agriturismos all over Italy. Many are working farms that have converted part of their property into guest accommodations, often serving food made from ingredients they grow or produce themselves. They’re scattered throughout the Italian countryside and are a great way to experience a quieter side of Italy.

I was not expecting air conditioning, a large space, or almost anything really—and whoa what a surprise! It was hands down one of the nicest places we’ve stayed. This agriturismo was part of a working family winery making Proseco, along with a few red and white wine varietals. We literally walked out of our room and into a vineyard. And it was inexpensive as heck! It wasn’t close to much, so driving was a must, but it was absolutely perfect as a stop between cities.

Our main objective in coming to this part of Veneto was to check out Treviso and, of course, to try tiramisu. What we didn’t realize is that we would discover unexpectedly, one of the most beautiful regions we’ve seen in Italy. But first, Treviso.

Treviso is sometimes called “Little Venice” because it has canals that wind through parts of the historic center, although on a much smaller scale than its famous neighbor. More importantly, from our perspective was that it is widely credited as the birthplace of tiramisu, with several cafés claiming to have created the dessert in the 1970s. Whether that’s completely true or not, it was reason enough to visit.

Well, a mini Venice is a S-T-R-E-T-C-H, but I can see how one might say that. The canals were scenic and beautiful in their own right, but had little in common with those in Venice. I actually think Treviso would be wise to drop the comparison to Venice and instead just promote itself as a beautiful town on a river with many lovely little canals running through the historic town center. Think swans and weeping willows rather than gondolas and serenades.

We did our research ahead of time on the place where tiramisu was supposedly “invented”: Le Becchieria, an old and respected restaurant that now, with its tiramisu fame, has added a bakery café for those seeking this famed dessert.

I had a twinge of missing my dad here. For some unknown reason, when he met Daren back in 2010 over breakfast one morning at my brother’s house, he was already talking about what we’d have for dinner. Like many Italians, food was never very far from his mind. He didn’t know Daren from Adam, but somehow decided Daren liked Fra Diavolo. Later that evening, when we picked up Italian takeout, there was the Fra Diavolo for Daren and tiramisu because, apparently, “Daren & Gabby like it.”

This was quite funny to all of us at the time—my dad deciding who liked what. The funny part was that Daren had never even had Fra Diavolo before that night, although he did end up really liking it. Gabby, on the other hand, never liked tiramisu, and while Daren certainly wouldn’t turn up his nose at it, he’d never have called it a favorite. Well now, after nearly five months in Italy, Daren claims that tiramisu is in fact one of his favorite deserts, and the one at this little restaurant in the small town of Treviso, is the best!

So here we were in the birthplace of tiramisu… and I thought of Pops. As I said, I’m not a fan, but this was truly the best tiramisu I’d ever had. We usually share desserts, but we each got our own piece, and it was 100% worth the calories—and getting completely full.

Later that day we took a drive and discovered the unexpected highlight of the trip: The Proseco Hills, the place where the famous Italian bubbly is made.

The hills between Asolo and Valdobbiadene are a UNESCO World Heritage Site, recognized for their centuries-old vineyards and the unique landscape shaped by generations of winemakers. This is the heart of Prosecco country. While wines labeled “Prosecco” can be grown and produced from a wide range of places across north-eastern Italy, only Prosecco from two small regions, Valdobbiadene and Asolo, can be designated “DOCG”, indicating the highest quality and strict adherence to the ancient methods of growth and production.

We drove through several of the towns. Each one we came to was more beautiful than the last. The views were drop-dead amazing. Rolling hills covered with vines. Proseco grape clusters hanging down from the vines. The Alps themselves looming in the north. Farms, churches, and houses dotting the hilly landscape. We had the windows down, Koji had his head out the window, it was the golden hour, and it will forever be one of the more memorable drives I’ve taken in my life. Daren mapped out the entire route, and I’m so thankful he did.

Our last stop was the autonomous region of Friuli Venezia Giulia where we hopefully would find some hearty Eastern European food. On the way, we stopped in Aquileia, another UNESCO World Heritage Site. Once one of the biggest and wealthiest cities of the Roman Empire, Aquileia is home to remarkably preserved Roman ruins, one of the world’s first Christian churches, and among the largest and best-preserved mosaic floors in the world. It’s considered one of Italy’s most important archaeological sites.

And yet… it was here, walking down the street in the burning sun on our way to another church, and I thought, I don’t think I can walk into one more dimly lit church, crane my neck to look at another fresco, and pretend to care why or how it got there. I had officially hit historical site overload.

So I sat outside with Koji in the shade and urged Daren to go geek out on this stuff. According to Daren, the mosaic floor was truly spectacular. The basilica was first built in 313 AD, but the current structure dates from the 11th century. However, the floor is the thing that visitors come to see. You enter the church on a raised plexiglass floor and look down on an enormous expanse of mosaic floor perfectly preserved from the 300’s, showing scenes from the bible as well as animals and fish and complex Roman designs. It’s amazing to learn that some of the original structure was destroyed by the Huns, yes the Huns, but the floor remained intact.

After Daren finished viewing the church, we were getting hot, hungry and cranky, so after an unremarkable (truly terrible) lunch, we hopped back in the car and headed for Trieste.

Trieste has an interesting historical and cultural background. It only became part of Italy after WWI. Prior to that, it was a major port city in the Austro-Hungarian empire where goulash, schnitzel, and beer were more likely to be found than pasta, pizza, and red wine. It’s history, culture, buildings, and traditions share more in common with Vienna and the Balkans than with Italy.

We arrived smack in the middle of a Sunday afternoon in July, not far from the famous Miramare Castle. Right on the water at a cute(ish) hotel on the Adriatic where it looked like Spring Break: Trieste Edition.

There was no beach to speak of—just a few miles of stone and concrete waterfront where hundreds of people were stretched out in the sun or under the trees. There were stairways leading down to the water and the whole city was swimming, or so it seemed. It was a scene! I wasn’t sure I was going to like this place. Too crazy? Too busy?

So we headed into the city and left Koji back at the hotel enjoying what turned out to be the best thing about it—the air conditioning. Naturally, we started with gelato and coffee. We went straight to the recommended gelato shop, but the line was so long you had to take a number, so we skipped it and found another place in the main square where we could sit in the shade.

The gelato was more like ice cream, and my Americano (I think) tasted like classic drip coffee. I don’t know for sure, but it smelled and tasted unlike any coffee I’ve had so far in Italy. I loved every drop of it. Maybe things were different in Trieste. Afterward we wandered through the canal area and walked up to Castello di San Giusto for views over the city.

When we got back, the crowds had thinned enough to allow us to walk along the waterfront with a dog, so we took Koji for a walk. For dinner we stopped at one of the permanent food kiosks along the way. I wasn’t expecting much, but my sandwich was one of the best sandwiches I’ve had in a long time. Daren got a burger that he said was great, and we finished with Nutella crêpes.

By evening the crowds had thinned further, the air had cooled, and suddenly Trieste felt completely different. The place started to grow on me.

The next morning I went for one of the most pleasant runs. Monday morning was a completely different world; sun, cooler temperatures, and no crowds. Later we grabbed Koji and walked down to Miramare Castle. That ended up being my favorite place in all of Trieste. With my historical site overload still in full force, I insisted Daren tour the castle while Koji and I enjoyed the shade and people-watching. I went back by myself the next day and wandered the grounds for a long time.

We went back into the city one more time before heading home, but I think we’re officially “citied” out for a while. Instead, we spent most of the afternoon reading and talking along the waterfront before ending the day at an American restaurant that looked like something straight out of the Old West.

You’ll likely sense a bit of travel exhaustion if you read between the lines above. We are incredibly lucky to be able to have these experiences, and we have seen and done so much. But there is such a thing as too much of a good thing, and I think we may have hit that point during this trip. It’s not black and white. We loved so many of the things we saw and did, but some of the little annoyances that you either don’t perceive, or don’t assign much weight to on a brief vacation, can start to grate a bit more after many months. It’s also very apparent that the heat is has a major negative impact on our enjoyment. It’s just very hard to escape the hot sun and the air conditioning that we are so accustomed to in the U.S is not as ubiquitous over here. That is where we are. We are taking a bit of time off back “home” in Gaville to rest up. But we’ll be back on the road next month with a trip down south to see the family and spend some time on the beach.

Until we blog again!

On Taking the Crutch

My father is 72 years old, and his health is drastically failing. He was released from a two-month stint of back-to-back hospital and nursing home stays just last weekend. He is now staying with one of my brothers because he cannot be on his own. While he is home alone most of the day, he refuses any licensed home care. Why?

Most of us grew up with the important message that it is vital to be independent and to do as much as you can on your own. It’s a great message. We should learn as early in life as possible to care for ourselves—do our own laundry, prepare meals, provide for our own food, shelter, and clothing. Relying solely on anyone else for the long term is risky.

What we have interpreted is to not take the crutch if we don’t need it. Walk on your own two feet.

But when is the message taken too far? When should we take the crutch and lean on others?

Example—

Back in 2014, when we first got our dog Koji, he was an exuberant, wild little 28 lb plaything fresh off the trucks from the south. I hadn’t had a dog in over 25 years, and I could count on my hands the number of times I ever leash-walked a dog. My husband and our children had never had a dog. We put a leash on him, and I instantly realized I couldn’t control him. So I purchased a harness.

Before that harness arrived, we had an electric fence put in, and the installer/fence trainer told us we would have to take control or the dog would control us. This applied to walking, eating, crating, drives in the car—basically everything. When that harness arrived, I was embarrassed to have ordered it and put it in the back of the new space I cleared out in what was now the dog’s cabinet.

Fast forward a year—I was walking Koji one morning before work and, as usual, having trouble controlling his pulling with his now 70 lb body. A squirrel ran by, and he pulled me down forward while the leash came out of my hand, and he ran off into the woods.

This became a regular occurrence. I stopped wearing flip-flops to walk him. I had my cell phone close by in case I needed to call for help. I often had pain in my arm from being yanked, and my right hand and lower arm were perpetually red from wrapping the leash around so many times. Being pulled down and sliding on my belly a few feet was a regular occurrence that I lived with.

It took another TWO years when one hot summer morning Koji saw a squirrel and I was pulled down again that I saw the area was safe from cars, and I just let go of the leash.

At this point in my life, I was in a 30-day mental health outpatient treatment program and going to be late if he didn’t come back soon. I didn’t want to walk in with my legs and tummy scraped up. I only imagined what they might think. And that is when I realized that they would think I needed to walk that dog with a harness.

It was like the clouds parted as I lay on the ground watching Koji happily bouncing back from across the street that I remembered I still had that harness somewhere and that there was no shame in using it. I saw plenty of people with large and small dogs alike using harnesses. I didn’t think any less of them, and even if I had—who cares? They are using what they feel comfortable with to live alongside their furry companions.

Later that morning, while I shared my morning dog walk story with my group during check-in, I tied it to a tool we had learned just the previous afternoon. It was about adjusting our expectations to be able to live alongside others by accepting reasonableness versus reality.

I don’t want to digress too far down the rabbit hole, but this does tie in.

The previous afternoon, our group lesson therapist made the connection to the reasonable/reality tool while one of the younger male participants was complaining about what a poor role model his father was. Our therapist asked him if it was reasonable for him to want a father he could look up to, and the young man said yes. He was then asked—knowing the reality of how his father behaves—if it was a realistic expectation to have of his father… the answer was no.

I didn’t like that answer. I was sort of struggling with it the previous 24 hours up until I was describing my morning walk with Koji. Was it reasonable for me to want to walk a dog with just a leash and a collar around his neck? Yes, it was. Given my dog’s size and lack of professional training, was it realistic for me to do so? OH HECK NO.

I went home and took out that harness and never fell down since.

This is now a famous story I tell when teaching yoga and my students are in pigeon pose. As I lead the student to the pose, I encourage them to grab some props around them—a blanket, bolster, or block. As I walk them through the pose, I demonstrate where to use the props should they need them. Most do not touch the props. As we lower our foreheads down, I often see students struggling as they attempt to take their bodies to places their body is resisting.

A woman practicing yoga on a mat with blocks, in a seated posture, smiling peacefully.

Pigeon is a pose that is held for a while. As your body adjusts to the new position, the worried, clenching muscles loosen and the body is able to go deeper into the stretch. I tell the proverbial crutch/dog walking harness story and how there is no shame in just accepting what is reasonable to want and realistic to accept. More often than not, a few students will reach their arms around and find a prop to help support the pose.

There are many tools I have forgotten until I heard them enough and ones I scarce use from that outpatient mental health treatment and other forms of therapy I’ve participated in before and after that. But the reasonable vs. realistic one has stuck to me like a welcome new invisible and incredibly helpful limb. It has allowed me to take the proverbial crutch and adjust my expectations in the healthiest of ways.

There is a part of that initial ingrained message about doing it without help that is important and shouldn’t be forgotten either.

Example—

I had toe surgery in January and knew I would be non-weight-bearing for at least 6 weeks. I knew I would get crutches, but I know how much I dislike crutches. I knew I would have to depend on help with driving the entire time and doing almost everything, particularly that first week when my foot had to stay elevated all day.

I took the crutch. I accepted my husband’s help.

But I took it further in both directions.

I purchased a knee scooter and one-legged half crutch so I could be arms-free.

I got up off the couch and crawled to the floor to stretch when I could.

I took my third shower alone while my husband was working. I tried out the half crutch and performed every movement slowly and mindfully. I knew he was close by if I needed help, but I attempted to do it alone.

Taking the crutch doesn’t mean taking advantage or giving in. It means using what is available when it’s needed, but not using it if it’s possible to do without it.

It’s about taking only what is needed.

It means accepting what is reasonable vs. what is realistic.

It means using props in yoga until you no longer need them. Should it be one minute later when your muscles relax, two years down the line, or never… it’s all okay and the way it is.

I often tell students in pigeon that my left hip is inflamed (which it is) and demonstrate using the blanket to cushion that side.

I will often see a smile break out as I then tell the dog harness story. I see their bodies soften, visually communicating the acceptance they feel toward their body and personal abilities. I tell the story often and premise it with, “If you’ve done pigeon with me before, please bear with my story as I tell it to the ones who haven’t heard it.”

I hope, like me, that hearing the same message several times helps it to stick. I hope they take the message off the mat like I took a lesson hot off a therapy session and can apply it to other areas in life. I hope they create their own stories of taking the crutch and sharing it with others who struggle.

We all struggle. We all remember a lesson or two that has stuck. I’d love to hear what has stuck with you—as it might help me too!

Love to all. Namaste.

Thanks for taking the time to read. I’d love to hear your thoughts!

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